Humanity

twitch

I only posted three times in the whole month of April. That seems like a rather extreme dropoff. On the flipside, it will be pretty easy to do more in May, and since this is now post #2, things are looking rosy.

My plant sale is in less than two weeks. I am all aquiver, my farmer is like, ‘yeah, lets put up a table and see what we have that’s big enough’. I may need to adjust my level of ‘get ready’, and by a lot. maybe this is the notoriously stoic new england farmer thing? i’m quiet but pretty far from stoic. epic, yes, but not stoic.

This week my chicken chores expanded a whole bunch, in helping the farmer move the birds from one coop to another. It was a lot. I realized my age and how far I am from being a farmer. It is good to remember how much they do, and how nonstop their work is, and then pay more for the food they give us, because we should. It costs more energy and life force to plant and grow a real-life cucumber than it does to make a hotdog. It really does. But hot dogs have so many machines involved, so much shipping, so many ingredients we should probably care a whole lot about. Why can we buy a whole pack of hotdogs for so cheap? Why? Eat more cucumbers. Put ketchup on it, I don’t care.

Roe v. Wade is about to be overturned. I never have had an abortion but don’t judge any one who has, because fertility and womb care is for each woman to do, forever and ever, amen. Intensely personal life choices are supposed to be private, and sacred. Now my daughter, my nieces? will not have access if they don’t want to have a baby? I guess the state I live in is more important than ever. If she stays here, it will always be an option for her. I guess if we go from electing a president who thinks grabbing pussy is a thing, it makes sense that we end up with less freedom over our own lives than we had before our pussies got grabbed.

Sigh. That just put me off my writing mood.

woman protesting for women s rights
Photo by Duané Viljoen on Pexels.com

Humanity

A list: what surrounds me

I’m not doing ‘well-considered’ lists today. this is off the cuff and fast. Ready?

  1. I’ve got an old agatha christie book at my feet, bought it at a savers, for its cool-ass cover. it was a bit of a trip to read, the way in which hercule poirot moves through the world and I can’t do anything but picture steve martin trying to say ‘hamburger’ again and again. (Funerals are Fatal)
  2. i’ve got my feet curled up by my side, the cotton socks and the dirty jeans a sign of how little i care for myself. I had to put on dirty jeans today, because i haven’t done my own laundry in a long damn time. good thing i work in dirt. that’s all I’m saying.
  3. i was part of a writing group this weekend and I’m glad about that. It felt really nice and nourishing to have people around my kitchen table, and i really do love people, all my introversion aside.
  4. people are truly fascinating, even when they are boring or totally fucked up. (noone was totally fucked up this weekend, i swear, or boring)
  5. we’re all pretty fucked up. there’s so much goddamned fear out there. its tough to get through the day without bumping into someone’s fear and anger.
  6. i’ve got an empty package of ‘candy kittens’, mango flavored gummies that I ate the other day. the wrapper still here. I want to say i used it as a bookmark but i think i might be lying and its just trash lying around my house.
  7. a mug of tepid coffee, reheated to try and get the chill out of my bones. this spring weather shit can just kiss my ass. its ‘almost’ worse than winter. my toes get wet, its windy, raw. the mess is seething. the world is burgeoning. i suppose its the slick gross of afterbirth or something majestic.
  8. fuck. i’m cold.
  9. i am swaddled in cotton, tee shirt, sweatshirt with hood pulled up and over my hat. i am sure i look ridiculous.
  10. I’ve got dinner in the crockpot and it already smells boring and mushy, and i cannot tell you how much i hate not looking forward to eating. maybe i’ll buy us a dozen donuts for dinner.
  11. my daughter’s tablet is here, and the pile of books next to me is topped by the scissors, which are literally never where they should be. today, they are here. They are a pair of willful bastards.
  12. I’m being held up by the pink velvet sofa. And I will always and forever be happy that I picked the two of them up off the side of the road, even if the cat is mauling them mercilessly. bitch. but i love them. hold me, sofa, hold me.

love you. thats my story and yes, i am sticking to it.

-lovelove

Humanity

Sweeps

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

Momadriver

Dromedary?

Yes, same thing.

Yesterday all three needed to be picked up at the same time in three different places. One, in another town. At the last minute, literally, their dad calls and asks if I need help. (it is his night that night so he’s in town-ish) I send him to pick up the farthest away who just called saying he’s hiding in a shed to keep out of the wind. Go get that one, fella.

All was well. Next week, things will have adjusted, and others will be involved. Certainly.

Surely.

Because i’m in the middle of a cycle of ‘toomuch’. I have perfect mom hours and I get home and I drive for the next three hours and then make dinner and then I fall down dead. I’m full of busy and the downtime I have is filled with lethargy, television and scrolling.

Even when the kids are gone, and the house is quiet, I am struggling to find my way to my space. I’ve added meditation minutes to each day, and plants, lots and lots of plants. I need to go put a chair in there. Maybe i should meditate in the plants. kill two birds and whatnot.

See? Even the meditation and beauty-hunting get multitasked to death.

Multitasking is the devil.

One of my jobs is bossed by a woman who has one million things running through her brain, as most farmers do. But the threads between the items, tying them into a web of ‘done’ have pulled loose. (my description, not hers) So things get left undone all the time. And, not in a way that is hurting her or her business, its just how she’s developed her system, running it solo as she does. And she knows what to prioritize, and ‘finished’ can be an unnecessary goal. Sometimes I dream of sneaking in and finishing all the things I’ve left behind, not even for her, just for me, so I can rest easier.

The great luxury of time and a slow-moving brain is that you can focus on one thing, beat it to death, revive it and send it on its way.

(hollah to the easter story, unintentional, and no blasphemy intended.)

But the release, the ‘send it on its way’ is part of the story. And, in oblique reference to the above hollah, its probably the most important part. Right? For living on…?

my brain is not slow, this i know. but man, I am missing the time to let it leap. Ask me to pick forty-five perfect nasturtium blossoms in under five minutes and I’m on it. But getting into writing, or letting my mind wander over a keyboard is so much more difficult to fit into a five minute block. And there’s kids here quite often, and I’m responsive mostly. And I haven’t figured out how to give myself a way to write each day yet. Its been since January that I’ve been working all week. . . And Now its the end of MARCH, and is this my IDES, I ask you, is this my torment?!

I know i’m whining, and I’m more irritated than you are, i swear.

I’m here. There’s my big plant sale in May, a thing that will finish… and I think my brain will be more interwoven after that. My house will be less full of plants, and maybe my fingers will run for more clicketyclack. I’m hoping so. Deeply.

I’m leaving you with a photo of what goes on the compost heap. Truly amazing. So, I want you to think about this, (she says also to herself),

when you are focused on a perfect blossom, maybe you should be focused on the perfect dirtpile. when you are focused on finishing, maybe a focus could be on starting.

what the hell man?

Purple pansies in a compost heap.
Humanity

The end, my friends.

i should definitely not type this.

However. Tomorrow, they all go back to school, and my work day ratchets right out to fill the space. A whiz-bang.

I’ll be fine. It also happens on a tuesday, when they spend their night at their dad’s. So i will come home to a house that is quiet and empty of all the things. except seedlings, the house is full of seedlings. And i’ve been told the farm is ready to take more of my seedlings, so there will be two locations full of seedlings in a hot minute. So much explosion of growth.

And writing. (i’m not ending it)

I’ve had a really hard time getting my writing job done. really hard. I’m so damn afraid to take a break because I fear never going back. I still owe one and a half books, so I’m tied to it some. BUT goddamn. All I feel is dread about myself, and my inability to lock it down, focus, fit it in, make it work while the kids are home, spend all my spare minutes on it, all that jazz. It is not the feeling I want flourishing right now. It hurts my head.

But what happens if I stop it? If I stop saying I am paid for my words? What then? I feel a blankness descend when I think about a life when I am not talking about it, or playing with a word or two. what the hell man. I’ve painted, and stopped. I’ve grown things and stopped. I’ve quilted and stopped. The constant has been here, this blogging crater I fall into once a week or so. What if I stop writing? Will I curl up and die on the inside? I might. I don’t have a lot of faith in my inner fortitude on this one.

Will I be more upset with myself if I don’t die? Will THAT be the real death? The ability to soldier on without the beauty of the word? The end of it all. the no-spark.

I know. Maybe you can’t follow all that. Its a mood. Like the bookstack I might never get to.

like taxes.

like taxes.

  • love you guys,
  • love love.
selective focus photo of pile of assorted title books
Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Pexels.com