Tag: repetition

Humanity

Just give me a few hours in the morning.

Lovelovemotherexpletive

I’m in my hammock, i’m typing in my hammock. Technology is confounding. it enables everything, and sucks everything dry. It has turned my brain to literal mush. but, i digress.

Its summertime. I mean, june used to be kind of spring-like, but with climate chaos and all, its summer. woohoo. kind of, right? its a little bit of a downer, really, but if you are running yourself into the ground, you don’t really have time to think about it.

But i do want to tell you this. i am typing in my hammock, and its the morning, and my kids are all at school and i’m done with most of what i need to do . … i even took care of a bunch of logistics, concerning their overnight stay at their dad’s tonight, permission slips/checks all left on the table to be collected and etc. etc.

I am a genie, but in nobody’s bottle baby.

I don’t need to be anywhere until 1:30, and I should be writing smut, or romantic erotica, if you feel like it, but the laundry is swinging on the line, my feet are happy to be at rest, and its all good, man.

I have a lot of things to say, and a lot of questions to ask, I really do.

One of my sons is mortified that i ask him to get rides home all the time. He says no one else does it. Is this true? Am I scandalous in my inability to drive all three all the places? Am I really? I can’t really do anything about it, but man, it feels shitty. I can’t tell if its just him or if he has a legitimate beef. He does not like me all the time these days.

But mostly, its an amazing time here. Summer. Kids will do a lot of fending for themselves this summer as I will be working six days a week. I feel unprepared but am making small motions towards getting them entertained. we will see. Summer is not really my favorite season. I know you are shocked and appalled but damn, its really true.

its hot, and getting hotter and i’m now full circle so i’m going to stop. here’s a photo of my hammock.

Yes, i know how sexy i am,. yes i do.

Love you guys. wish you all the love and support you need for whatever season you are in.

Humanity

Sweeps

Lovelovemotherexpletive

I’m at a baseball game in the middle of the day. I mean, I guess they are all in the middle of the day. Fair enough.

I spent the morning trying to arrange rides for all the kids. It was successful and everyone is going to have a good time and that makes me feel all glowy, while i feel like shit at the very same minute because I am absent. this is not good. (goddamned school vacation, and all) and then i drove to my mom’s so that she could drive me to work.

Then, at work, I spent the morning walking my boss’s dogs because one of them was having surgery and my boss was feeling crazy stress and worry and so I went with her to the vet.

And now I am here, having gotten my car out of the shop for an insanely large amount of credit card usage. Its another one of those splits. 1.I am thrilled to have my car back and I would throw any amount of debt-incurring at it to have it back. who cares? and 2. I am feeling nauseous about finances.

But i have my car, and i made it to the game to see him play. I’m good. Its all good.

And I’m sitting in my car, looking at the greens and the golds, and the faintest blue of the sky, and being swept with meloncholy. I feel watery.

I don’t see a way out of some of where I find myself, well, not a way that I like.

Sigh. You know what new phrasing has arrived in our american language that I really like?

I am feeling some type of way.

I am.

I am feeling some type of way.

But I have my car, and I made it to the game, and I am sitting in my car doing something I really love to do, write, and think, simultaneously.

So there.

I am going to find a pigpile of joy today, never you fear. But for now? Watery.

Humanity

I like being busy.

Lovelovemotherexpletive

I know. Its with a certain amount of chagrin that I say this, knowing how I’ve been complaining these past few weeks.

My projects wrapped up. and while there is a tiny thing I could do, I’m finding myself utterly at a loss and swept away by emotions. I do blame perimenopause for some of it, yes, but not all.

working for myself, at home, is not an easy gig.

i’m thinking i might go binge on the walking dead, because i can hide from the gratuitous gore and just hang on to the mystery of who is going to survive or what will ever cause things to get better. (i’m on season six somewhere so don’t say a word.)

the kids are also away this weekend and i’ve had them for the past two, so there is this gaping maw sensation. I’ve got some entertainment in my social life these days but i’m thinking i’m going to take the weekend off from that too. and so, its just me, and tv.

never fear. i’ve got a crockpot going and have fed the chickens and things look normal from the outside. but still. this month. tsk.

Its nice to think about cooking good food. I’ve been assigned brussel sprouts and butternut. Plus, mashed potatoes. All will be well. I can actually just live on those, anyhow, so we’re good.

love you guys. hope your search for food will be fulfilled.

-lovelove

My ladies, of Flying Carrot Farm
Humanity

Car dealership. Again.

Lovelovemotherexpletive

Last time I was here, they handed me the keys with the caveat, ‘if it doesn’t work the first time, just try it again.’

The dealership. The guys who are supposed to know every single thing about the make that they sell.

Sigh. They also suspected that I was turning it on wrong. The car I own, and have owned for almost ten years.

Its my boobs. My boobs are so damn distracting that men of all ages are fucking idiots and think I can’t turn on my damn car because I have breasts.

So. here I am again, same place, because you know, i need my car to turn on every time, and my mechanic insists that the keys have to be programmed by the dealer. he wouldn’t do me wrong, i’m pretty sure. he probably knows i have breasts but he might not have noticed. or, it didn’t matter that much. he certainly thinks i can start my own car.

person in grey shirt handing keys
‘ Good Luck Out There’. Photo by Negative Space on Pexels.com

I’m going to leave here today, hopefully, and buy myself some lottery tickets. One or more, and maybe some scratch tickets, because you know? You just can’t win if you don’t play the game.

also, the coffee machine here is out of order.

I SAY THAT IS OUT OF ORDER!!

love you.

(I’m working on my latest writing project in the waiting room here. only 20 K more to go. Did I tell you the whole place is under construction? It is. yes.)

really, its love, i swear.

  • kate
Humanity

What is in your margins, January?

Lovelovemotherexpletive
  1. In response to an Isabel prompt : some of that quote that brought me to my knees last time, what is in your margins, baby? what’re you constantly underlining, again and again, like new every time?

  1. Colors, always colors. I’m downright a.d.d. when it comes to distraction by beauty. Color, shape, the painting I no longer do, the detraction of value from myself for that. Oh. So much. Slight miss, peeled off, scraped off, value gone, value gone. Not creating, not. Scrape, peel, scrape peel, bare walls left. And more, peeled, scraped down to studs. And then what? Where then? Shelter gone. Zero. And wind. The wind blows through. Again. That’s my underline, right there. the biggest one. over and over. manic. manic. manic.
  2. I keep finding these men, these men who really cannot fit a woman into their lives, and I keep thinking of their loss, to lose me, this valueless non-creator, and then I see again that I am so uncertain I can do this all again and I know I use them to distract, like pretty shiny pennies.
  3. Can I live on macaroni and cheese with an occasional tomato thrown in? Is rickets a thing for me now, on this pirate ship of a pandemic house? Am I at sea now, for months at a time, while the kids take their boats out again and again and I am home… rocking in my chair on the waves.
  4. I’m not there anymore, I’m not there anymore, my chant when I wake from the bad dreams. Still, five years out. Anxieties about something so far gone. This brain, and where she roams when I sleep. Poor thing.
  5. I stick my head in the plants. I run my hand through the rice. I light the tree until I feel the itch for space and emptiness . and it itches. And I return to dreaming of painting.
  6. I woke up at four today. I feel pleasure in this, though I acknowledge that my evening will be affected. I have added another thousand words to the work writing and I am so glad and also, sad that there is still so much more to go and I’m running down my timeclock. Sometimes I think I deserve this, this halfass pride in work that I don’t want anyone to read. You know those cheapass romances that you buy for .99 on amazon? That’s me. I write that shit. sometimes. Welcome to the ambivalence. And return.
  7. The potato bugs have moved in, must be the season of… what? Mate? Coldness? They are everywhere. Slow moving creature of prehistory. I love how peacefully we coexist. I’m not sure when we decided we could, but we did.
  8. I keep meeting addicts. I keep finding them, the sharp, the intelligent, the weak, the traumatized. I find them, I love them. I have shifted away from taking them in, housing them, and that’s the change in the margins. Just a color change, same words, but progress. Big.
  9. I understand how deeply I need winter. This return of the cold, the dark. The stay home. Pandemic or no. this is the acorn buried deep. This is the time I understand how to protect my children. Stay. Warm. Socks. Hats. Lights. This is the time I understand.
green acorn
Photo by Eriks Abzinovs on Pexels.com