I am Prufrock

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 …

without song

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 …

I’ve been here before

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 …

When I grow up I’m gonna be an old woman

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 …

I don’t need to walk around in

There’s this story in a book about zen teachings. The story goes some dude argued that his appearance and behavior didn’t matter so much because his inner self was good. The other stuff was just surface. The teacher offers him a fine wine, and he enthusiastically says he would happily take some. The teacher brings out the wine in a jar (one that functions like a bedpan/urinal in that country). …

No. Let’s do that again.

Just start typing. Enough of this thinking. Waking up to a whirring mind is not optimal.  It would have been better to do a lazy turn and smile at my lover’s sleeping form. I would have taken being licked awake by Ripley. The intellect is resentful of this intrusion of work in my home. “Hi. What do you guys want?” Noot and Ripley are watching me type. Maybe they’re trying …

cleaning house

Every once and a while it is time to clean all the things. Part of it is leaving mom and dad’s place and seeing all the memory laden things there. Mom is talking selling the house in time. It’s okay, they are only things. We have memory enough. Makes my own place feel h e a v y. Too much. Still purging and rearranging.

cleaning house

Right. Tabla rasa.  New Year. Figure out the title after I figure out what I’m doing. But then again, that’s a bit of life right there, isn’t it? Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone… Christmas was good. I mean, it really was great to hang out with my brother and sisters. We had a video chat with Beau and met …

circle of life

What to say? I made longanisa the other day and found myself singing Longanisa…Longanisa…men have named you…(to the tune of Mona Lisa) And I remember dad singing that. He loved Nat King Cole. And it wasn’t sad — a happy memory. Thanks, dad. Wrapping my head around aging and mortality. Meanwhile, Jordan is 9 months old today. Beau and Emily; Andy and Kimberly are expecting babies any day now. Jake …

outside

With the changing weather, the hip aches and the leg gives out in unexpected bursts. Holidays approach and I think of dad often. It sneaks up on me in the way I groan in the morning. Geez, just vacuuming the house — because that was his thing. Sometimes it is okay, but more often I am sad still. i chock this up to hormones, and weather, and a creaky body, …