8000 words

Summer has blown my brain up. It was faster than I expected, this falling to pieces bit. I feel pretty flustered by the demands and the comparisons between the funhouse and the momhouse. I suppose I should just give in and do what they want, or suddenly be the person who makes plans. (not my forte)

I’m a go-along girl, always have been.

I used to judge myself for it. But I don’t anymore. And, when i need to, i can kind of make a plan. kind of. Trying to entertain myself when the kids are gone is pretty damn tough. No one to go-along with? Its been a pretty tough learning curve, and I am really not close to done.

Thankfully my eldest teen makes his own plans. So there is that. One taken care of. The other two ? They are learning.

god. I hate summer. (i mean, no i don’t.) It challenges me all day, every day, and I think I use fall and winter to rest, and recuperate.

But yesterday, my friends, with the fires lit under my ass by some friends, and the kids away with funparent, I wrote 8000 words.

8000 words. It feels like the beginning of a tidal wave, somehow. It is definitely a personal record, and was definitely necessary if I’m to have any hope of finishing my current job on time.

8000. What a fantastic number.

Don’t you want to dance around in it? Shimmy in your silver dress?

I do. I really do.

(too bad I need another few days of that kind of victory to be all done. I asked for the month of july off, with no work from this particular client. Went over like a bag of bricks. So, I have to get this done and well, and soon. And shockingly, the days are full of things, and lulls and more things, and I find it hard to sit and type, and dream and write. Shocking. BUT! I am hopeful now, because I am well underway. So hopeful. )

Its amazing to me how hung over I feel this morning. I sat down to get another few pages in, and my brain was disconnected from the process. I’m literally in another, liminal, space, half in my own katebowie mind, and half in a world of bartenders and fae spirits. Yes, that’s what this one was/is about.

So dang, my friends. 8000 words.

and tomorrow is my birthday. Shamalamadingdong.

how i keep track. It helps me to see, and begin to pick out patterns. Boy, my mornings can be busy. WTF, indeed. 🙂 Kind of like the notes I made when I was keeping track of contractions. Yeah.

love love,



so. summer. its here. (sustain)

Its tuesday, it is technically the fourth and a half day of summer. (not counting the weekend when they are at their dads, if so, that would be two more days, because facts matter. actual facts, i mean.) I have had children tell me they hate summer salads. I have had children crying because they can’t do something every day. Teenagers have cried on the inside at my absolute bitchery. what happens on the outside is sullen, and often involves speed-dialing their dad to complain. this makes me feel SOOOOO good.

Also? this is the second day of non-beachy weather and so, kindof home-bound. I have had talks about how we can’t get ice cream every day and if we’re going to buy the ‘pitch back’ and the ‘gymnastics bar’, then we are going to have to figure out how to like summer salads, because take out is for special events, not EVERY GODDAMN DAY. I have had talks, to deaf ears (not my own) about how to fill time when bored. Today I will take a phone away, for the charges I found when I woke up this morning. It will be banner. BANNER.

GUys. This is tuesday, of the first full week.

(and i have 30,000 words to write in the next ten days.)

(i’m getting up very early. werk.)

I’m fine! I really am! I’m going to be fine! I’ve done this before. I’m totally chill. I don’t mind driving them around, I don’t. I could do with a little less complaining for their charmed lives, but I’m fine. we’re good. Next year, everyone is getting a damn job. Less time means less complaining, right?

Not my bunnies. But just like ’em..Photo by Pixabay on

I’m still poet-ing with my old friend and I just love it. There is a piece of me that is so damn happy to still be alive, alive enough to be poet-ing.

the latest thing I wrote in that exchange? This:

-am watching a baby bunny outside,

clover and green are what sustain.

and me too, these small things sustain.

Sweet, right? So tiny. but so lovely.

sustain, baby.

love love,



Friday funday. Sigh, yep. Prep time.

Today is the last Friday that the kids will be in school this year.

They have two and a half days next week. Thanks everyone, for that half day. I’m going to make so much use of it and write a few thousand words for work in like, two hours. I love it. (can you hear the blister in there? Ouch. If words could seer…)

I’ve just completed a marathon of errands and house-stocking in order to greet the summer. Once a week they will spend a weekday with their dad, and every other weekend as well. So we are going to be ‘together together’ for so very much of it. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again, but believe me, I am preparing.

I’ve got my beach pass, a rolling beach cart, a cooler, wait, no I don’t. shit, my seven hundred pounds of hamburger, my six thousand bags of chips, a small orchard worth of apples, a garden which will handle the cucumber/tomato situation, as well as a surprising number of red peppers. The farm down the street will supply the corn by mid-July, most likely. Maybe end July.

I’ve discovered, well, i’ve (re-)discovered wine coolers which make me feel like a fancy lady but don’t put much alcohol in my system. I’d get more drunk if an alkie sneezed on me. So there is that to look forward to at the end of the day, and each of the kids has a friend with a pool. So I feel pretty damn squared away. Everyone has a swimsuit that fits, also, and I’m pretty sure everyone has some kind of sandal. (hmm… that third kid… maybe that’s a thing…)

There is sunblock and there is aloe vera gel in the fridge. What else do I need?

Tell me, quick, my time is running out.

(and no, I don’t know why I feel like the gates of summer will clang shut on me if I’m not prepared enough. I mean, I can just go BUY more sunblock, right?)


Heading out for Summer Survival Preparedness Day. There’s a bunker to fill.