Category: reflection

Mid November and it was 70 degrees and sunny. I bought my mid-life crisis convertible beetle and have no regrets. Diggin’ the scene with a gangsta lean, whoo hoo.

It’s a shell; this container of mostly water propelled by questionable mind. I feel the exact opposite of grounded. You know? Where you are so very present and in the world? My mind lives in the ether. It connects through wires and the web. My persona is this edited carefully lit entity that gets pushed through zoom or discord for some time before I disconnect. “Disconnect” is a good word. …

This object (me) at rest is so very invested in remaining so. I’m not sure if I’m depressed. It’s not a matter of shame. Probably its the whole notion that depressed means sad, and I am not sad. I am tired. I am withdrawn. I am unwilling to engage. I am numb. Having been diagnosed as depressed a number of years ago, I have vague recollections it was just like …

…in the wilderness. So, 2020 is a thing. Those of us who are living it right now get all the weight this year is slamming down. For future me, who may very well not read this post for another year unless I get back to my writing thang (or maybe you who are not me who are wondering what in holy hell are you talking about?), it is the year …

Three years of hormonal swings, occasional depression, misanthropy and my body’s break down… I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all I’m on the other side and I don’t know who or what I am. Still mom. The relationship didn’t survive, so scratch girlfriend – single lady I guess. Professor. Artist. In the room they come and go talking of …

I remember that crazy dizzying in love feeling. That was a long time ago. Since then, I’ve kept that shit on the chain. Losing that much of one’s self to another is crazy. Why would you entrust so much of yourself to someone else’s keeping? Stupidm this game of limited affection. I don’t imagine myself being able to give it up again.   I thought about chasing him. About standing outside …

Grumblings of conspiracy. Whispered discussions in the hall. Certainty that the end is near. Academia. Or maybe, that’s just anywhere that people clump in groups; where someone has to be in charge and is beholden to someone above and to many below. Yeah. That’s it. Just had to remind myself that this is a tiny repeating tempest and that age has no bearing on maturity. It’s fractal, this pattern. I’m …

Wondering at what point I turn into a little old woman? Oh, math. 2015 – 1962. Right, 53. I keep forgetting. It keeps sneaking up on me, this time passing. It’s in the sound of my sons’ voices, their stature, their shapes. It’s in the chance reflection in some glass and the after beat of realization that it is me. It’s in announcements of friends’ grandchildren. Friends that I know are …