Tag: writing

Humanity

Bullets clattering.

Lovelovemotherexpletive
  1. My son turns 16 today, is already 16, in fact. What a joy that kid is. I admire the hell out of him and can’t wait to see what his life will hold. ( i mean, i can wait, i can wait, but it will be a joy, it will.)
  2. I’m supposed to be writing a shit ton today. I’m not. Its not quite ten and i’ve been eating a lot. Birthday boy isn’t here, I had my celebration for him last night. I feel unhinged. Do fathers feel this or is it the damn chromosome thing of female?
  3. I mowed the lawn this morning to try and beat the heat and discovered that barefoot is actually not safe and also, that random swerves and curvy paths are not as satisfying when you only mow for a half hour. i have a maze-like path i have to follow in order to get to the garden without walking in tall grass. This morning’s interpretive mowing was shortsighted.
  4. I just had the most fun ordering the summer reading books for the boys. Honestly, I’m going to read them all, including some re-reading. Slaughterhouse 5? BABY! And, i don’t think i’ve ever read Black Boy, by Wright, so I should. And I will. Best summer morning ever. (see #2)
  5. I’m also writing here, (#2 again) and I feel good about it, shimmering in my sweat as I am, I feel good about it. Having books coming in the mail is a pretty damn enticing thing. I have to finish the writing in order to make money to buy more books. Someone help me (besides the two people i have already enlisted to hold me accountable. Oh god.)
  6. I downloaded an app which will block my from social media when I ask it to. So helpful and I’m incredibly aware of my own self-disdain. “For chrissakes kate, just press ‘off’!” well, thank you very much, inner critic bitch.
  7. I don’t have any more bullets. I’m out. Hiding behind the suv in the shootout, no ammo. Either come and rescue or let it be quick. Maybe the work won’t see me if I crawl under the suv?
grassy meadow with flowers in nature
Not my lawn, but a happy one! Photo by Jill Burrow on Pexels.com

Maybe?

love love,

kate

Humanity

8000 words

Lovelovemotherexpletive

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,

kate

Humanity

so. summer. its here. (sustain)

Lovelovemotherexpletive

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?

european-rabbits-bunnies-grass-wildlife.jpg
Not my bunnies. But just like ’em..Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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,

me.

Humanity

Poem: not sure you’ll get it. s’ok tho.

Lovelovemotherexpletive

Kids running, street lights buzzing- on, repetitions unplanned for. Distraction, uncoupling, loose car on a track.

My daughter cracks because mom didn’t look. How many times have I wanted to be witnessed? Just WITNESSED… i understand and it still cracks me. i can’t be looking all the time. she must learn to be her witness, and me too, i must.

lack, i am aware of how it plays, how it pays, the dividends of remorse, fear, mistake, compulsion. there is no thing to hold me then.

plenty. there is that too, and i spin in my time alone. each day making up for a sleepless night, a horrified waiting, a heartbreaking arrival. the ratio has not been worked out. but i’m gaining.

young female blowing huge balloon in sky
Photo by Gelatin on Pexels.com

*tried something new today. talked with an old lover yesterday who always challenges me with his words, and i remembered how much i like to twist and turn in poetry, and in challenge. so, i shared it. don’t know if any of it will resonate. but it does for me.

old dogs. new tricks. welcome summer.

love love,

k

Humanity

Old enough.

Lovelovemotherexpletive

Shah, right.

I got my taxes delivered to the tax man.

(my aunt can now breathe more freely…)

And after doing so I walked around the downtown of the small city I live near. I love this little city. I’ve spent some of my young adulthood here. There is so much that keeps changing and so much that is still the same. I re- remembered about crazy people and eye contact vs. no eye contact. Its debatable, really. Eye contact lets them know you’re not a pushover and also, if they’re truly crazy, gives them the belief that they should talk to you.

which i do not like.

So be it. call me walled off, whatever.

I’m old enough to do what I want, right?

I opted for no eye contact today but I did return the hellos I got with a hello and a smile directed at my own feet. And I did get a fabulous coffee and a breakfast sandwich that someone else made. AND I spent some time remembering the skater boys who owned the skate shop and who were so damn cute. I imagine they’re all dads now… Their store is hella bigger than it used to be, and I’m pretty damn happy for them. I spotted the restaurant that is so good at social media stuff. It was a good time. And I drove off like a grown up, feeling so happy that my taxes are now in someone else’s hands. There is a gaping hole on my desk where the paperwork was. How brilliant. How old am I, you ask? Plenty old, I say.

But there it is. I am just old enough to feel the satisfaction of one less dead branch hanging over my tent. One less broken rung in the ladder. This is the week I replaced all the flickering light bulbs and re-hung the clothesline. These are the things. And in my days and nights when I don’t recognize them as ‘enough’, there are other things too.

There are the secretaries who call the wrong number on the medical form when they should be calling the kid’s dad. We laugh, and they get all the information from me anyhow. Because I’m the mom. Women are good, and we laugh together. I like that.

My garden is growing, in fits, and waiting is hard for me. legitimately hard. but I have a thing to do every day now when I’m avoiding a feeling or a project and its good for me, and i think the cucumber plants know my name now, so we’re all doing better for it.

And I’ll be okay about the summer. I will. (just remind me of this post, when i forget mid-july and begin to despair.)

And my tax man is already asking me questions and I am in love.

I’m definitely old enough.

love love,

kate

what an interesting photo, you say? hmm. yes. Intersections of empty. And a fairy on a frog, intersected.