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
Humanity

FLIP FLAP, Zombie Mom scuffle.

A list, and a lot of mind-flakes.

  1. I hate Putin. I cannot understand. I heard a guy on tv saying america is weak but supporting him by buying oil. this from the same citizen-base who blames gas prices on presidents. I’m so confused by the way people look at things. I just cannot understand any of this and my heart is broken for a mindset that says its okay to destroy a nation, for any reason at all. What the fuck.
  2. I don’t watch tv news. But I get suckered by what shows up on my computer screen sometimes. Flickering light of doom.
  3. I am having a hard time with my brain. Adjusting to life outside of my house is proving much more difficult than I’d imagined. (i mean, realistically, not hard, but listen..) I’ve spent most of sixteen years completely at-home. Time moves differently here. There were jobs, small ones. There was and is, a pandemic. Time and space give my brain an elasticity that goes away when everything is rush and hurry. The scheduling of my life has taken a new, more powerful role and yes, i can adjust. I keep bumping into these speed bumps though, and i fall off the road. For instance, I don’t take a lunch at any of these jobs, because what? lose money? no. So, i arrive home around 2 or 2:30 without having had food. I’m not good at feeding myself, and the kids are home and so i forget. So, I’m derailing around 4, moving automatically but not well, and thinking about making dinner or preparing it, and then suddenly its taxitime or bedtime, and i haven’t written, haven’t done a single thing for my inner world, and goddamnit. Its a problem.
  4. Zombie mom is not a good mom.
  5. I’m having a giant plant sale in May. Snapdragons, pansies, sunflowers, nasturtium, you name it, come and buy it. Me. All me. And both my farmers are trying to help me and dude, nothing is planted yet. How does one wrap one’s brain around so much potential and possible disaster all at once? I do not know. I’m sometimes freaking out.
  6. Zombie mom is not a good mom.
  7. I’m starting another refinance process. I’m starting my taxes. They both feel just as good as each other. Skunks with porcupine quills. Imagine that.
  8. Hi, and I’m sorry I haven’t written more. Believe me.
From awhile ago, but goddamnit. I own this post. Here I am.

Humanity

Deadening, the season.

Why does it feel so twisted to take down the tree every year? I’m happy, yes, to make a little space. But I’m mostly concerned that I’ve got an empty space that I’ve got to heat somehow, that its too nordically sparse. that somehow a cold bear will find its way to hibernate in that corner, while snow falls on him.

and there will be a lone figure walking off into the shadows between the trees, and it will be me.

Today is bright and sunny though, and I’ve been looking at seed catalogues a lot, but it all feels fraudulent somehow. This tease on these cold days is just a delusion of mine own, that spring will ever arrive. my intellect knows that it does, that it gets colder first, and wet, and then life bursts forth. but my animal brain, the primitive goo riding side-saddle next to my internal glowing orb? that goo is convinced that a bear is coming.

let it be sung.

-lovelove, in january.

landscape photo of forest
Photo by Anton Atanasov on Pexels.com
Humanity

well then, or, Eat your Joy.

I’m coming in from the cold to let you know that i’ve had my most profitable month ever here at lovelove, and i want to be open and transparent with you about how i am doing, financially.

I made $1.39 from the ads that you see alongside the writing, this month alone. Those ads that i have no control over, except to allow them. This brings me to $13.27 since 7/2018. Never let it be said that writing is not lucrative, friends. I am living proof. I only have to reach $100 before they’ll write me a check, so there.

Just wanted you to know. Suze Orman, eat my grits.

Now.

I’m doing okay. I have dreams going on, and meditations, and sadness, and sacredness. I’m clearly on the cusp of some things and trying to jar myself into action, smooth bumps and load vehicles and the like.

I’m working more days of the week, outside and I love the feeling of my heart pumping as I carry feed and water for the hens. And baskets and baskets of eggs. I’ve also started at a flower farm nearby, and between the two, I am awash in beauty regularly.

Its all experimental, after all, this life. Its all experimental. I mean, experiential. exponential?

Make sure you are fed, dear ones.

Eat up your joy.

Lovelove,

me.

selective focus photography of joy free standing letters with lights
A word I happen to have above my stove, but haven’t photographed, so I’m stealing someone else’s …Photo by Natasha Fernandez on Pexels.com