Starting up. February’s ending game.

I know I’ve been off my game, I’ve felt it. I haven’t been writing, but I’ve been full of thoughts about how I’ve not been writing and that, honestly, can just bite it. Its not enough, its not.

Its like the taxes that are sitting next to me on the desk. The actual job would take ten minutes. So, why are they sitting next to me on the desk and not winging their way to their destiny? Hmm.

So, I’m going to set myself the task of writing again, for real, again. I’m not holding myself to every day, but 5/7 would be pretty awesome. March it is. The anniversary of our discontent.

Sigh. all the ‘last times’ that we didn’t know about. a year ago. I predict not much writing about it really, i am not really producing a time-capsule for the sake of history, after all.

I find that the writing connects me to my deeper self, and i’m bolstered by the sharing of it. The imagination that tells me there are a small multitude cheering me on, and maybe doing their own thinking of their deeper selves.

I want to go back to that tether ball pole, idly waiting for players. I need the tether, in this chill spring. A whole tumult of change is arriving, again, and I do like the smell of the dirt in this season. (though the mud? questionable)

End of February. Beginning of March. What have we here?

What have we?

Love love,


black and white chickadee
Photo by cmonphotography on

Fucksake and fingers crossed, February.

I’m disconnected from things right now.

Seeing the end of winter coming, (fingers crossed)

The possibility that I will actually have all three in school tomorrow. (fingers crossed)

I’m hopeful about a couple of things, and castigating myself for the hope. (for fucksake.)

I’m signing up for more classes that will teach me more things. I’m looking forward to that. (fingers crossed)

Today I have to take a test to prove what I know about supportive coaching. (fingers crossed)

Someone far north of me posted pics of daffodil greens poking through the dirt. (fingers crossed and oh my god, i need to go check my yard!)

Taxes. (fucksake)

Covid continues despite my hopes for spring. (fucksake and fingers crossed, both)

I just hit 25K words on a project that has to be over 30 in four days. (fucksake and fingers crossed, again.)

I have just eaten two entire boxes of candy. Now I need a much larger writing break. (FOR FUCKSAKE KATE!)

love love.

fingers crossed,



Drop the Flinch, February.

I have a new office.

My back is turned to all of the kid action and there aren’t any plants or birds to stare at. The desk my laptop is on is empty still, empty of knicknacks and unnecessariness. Its definitely strange. The two pieces of artwork in front of me are fascinating me. They are darkly colorful and I dig it.

I have new guilt.

I can’t really hear the boys who are remote learning. I don’t see them start milling about when it is time for lunch. This is roughly my third day with this space. Today was my first day with kids in school and an actual routine and I forgot to make them lunch. I forgot to make them lunch. I’m pretty sure they just ate snack food all day.

Hmm. Am I a 70s mom?

I don’t think of myself as a helicopter parent at all. but clearly, it is not necessary for me to be in the middle of the action.

So is this guilt or am I feeling a loss of relevance? Or, have I done my job so fucking well that they function at a subsistence level without me just fine? Like, the wolves will not get them, ya dig?

I’m here, its almost dinner time and I’m still in here, typing. I got three times as much done today as I usually do. Its all the uninterrupted time, looking at the damn computer, that’s what it was. What will happen now that I know this trick?

When the boys were little I was in a shock-and-awe phase for quite a while. They were so damn risk-friendly, I was flinching all the time. After a while, I got over it, as a survival mechanism, an adaptation to have a healthier life. There is a point you have to look away, for your own health.

And that’s where I find myself again. Looking away, at least, more often. What will open up for me? What will open up for them?

I know, I know, Virginia Woolf. I know.

but yeah, that. here it is.

love love.


Well, hell’s bells.

I’m pissed really. Today’s prompt is ‘open heart’ and I ate a ton of highly hydrogenated sugars and so I fell into a slump and started to watch tv at noon. Lets talk resistance, shall we? or should we actually tackle the subject I am loathe to address? I mean, that’s an entirely novel idea, yes?

fuck the resistance. i’m so tired of it. what purpose does it serve me right now?

i got up, opened three doors in this house, turned the heat off and let the air rip through.

the subject:

Honestly, sometimes the lonely is crushing and worry about the lonely being eternal is a real thing. BUT there is the practical, nitty gritty detail of ‘am i willing to jump into another real thing?’ (no, there are no offers on the table, but I am back on a dating app and if the suggestion of a phone call makes me want to vomit, isn’t that something I should look into?)

Maybe I’m just not ready. Its really possible. Maybe I’m letting a whole lot of things make me nervous and insecure. Body, fitness, age. Maybe I’m tolerating a level of BS from old friends because of that. Maybe I let someone gaslight me this week and I realized it only afterwards, and I should have been quicker on the draw on that one. I have had enough therapy. I’ve even seen the goddamned movie.

The air rips through, babes. I don’t have to be stuck. Let it rip. Lets allow our hearts to be whatever they are and let the air flow through us until we are ready. Deal?

The air is blowing a lot of shit around that I thought I had cleaned up. Dust bunnies galore. The metaphor is so thick you can see it. Right?

Its a beautiful day here, and you can weep and gnash and nap and hide and that is fine. and sometimes you have to fling open the doors and get some help, even if it knocks shit around.

the wind just slammed this door, chair or not. so i think i’m good for a little bit.


love love,



Oh Definitely: a Business Proposition.

The bath was good.

and, i don’t know man. the weight of these days is still here. I’m doing what i need to do, I have a therapy appt, a friend is going to hook me up with weight watchers, and i’m going to spend the day reading. I’m not even going to go get the tomato i need for the tacos. (tomato be damned. kids will eat beans, meat and cheese and be damn happy about it.)

here are some good words :

  1. jump
  2. popcorn
  3. wherewithal
  4. liminal
  5. rainbow (so damn literal and yet hardly.)
  6. burble
  7. knee (the knights that say Ni)
  8. sheep
  9. bologna
  10. marshmallow
  11. luminary

I think i’m a fan of the lumen. clearly.

these are words i jotted while in a class i am still taking in order to be a coach of sorts, to get people to see that they hold their own answers, and can actually figure their own shit out. how bout that? and while i think it is COMPLETELY worthwhile for someone to do this work, i’m embarrassed about it, for me.

because the blue collar in me poo-poos it. and it is so generational, and complex, just that sentence. has to do with my dad, and my utterly ridiculous self-identity as a toughie.

because i’m a total puff. marshmallow indeed. mostly.

partly, that is what is going to make me a great coach, because i love easily and freely. and want the best for all my people. the best of the best.

and how freaking obnoxious is that? is it going on a business card? am i going to frost my hair and wear crystals ?


i’m not in that good of a mood today. but really?

i am the statue of liberty baby. ‘give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free… ‘

yeah, i can point your ass in the right direction.

try me.