So many days, so many words

Today, I am me. That would be the first image with the green wall. Today’s words: me, relieved, alive.

Yesterday and the days preceding I would have said “This is the year that I became my age.” This wasn’t a thing until recently, but mortality and all that is knocking hard.


Words: content, centered, breathing

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This would be the self I recognize – generally chill, imperturbable, at ease. Whew. I now understand temporary insanity and will try to be better at empathizing. In the meantime, happy to be. It means that this person is still there and she’ll be back.


Today: myself, contained, reclaiming

Yesterday: mercurial, breathing, reaching

Friday: tearful, mercurial, down

Ragged breathing. Tears streaming. Stupid stupid stupid. And then like some passing storm, there’s this woman I know just for a bit. It’s tiring being on this roller coaster. Today was pretty good. Bought a dyson and have been reclaiming the house. The house had gone to hell. Kim was going to drop off Jordan for me to babysit yesterday, so there was a reason to clean house. Ah, the catharsis of exerting control over one’s environment; the meditative bit of chucking detritus.

That and taking care of Jordan took me out of my head for a bit.

The head monkeys gain power as I talk to them, so anything to bring the focus from inward out is  good thing. Well…anything that doesn’t ask for conversation.

I am aware that as I flounder alone I am losing orientation to the world, that locus defined by relationships is loosened as I’ve set myself adrift. Leaving a sign on the port – gone fishing.


Up and down
In and out
High and low

I’m a Pink song.

When that pocket of contentment, that sunshiny bit burbles from the never never,  I gather it, tromp in a circle three times and curl into a ball and stay there trying not to disrupt that precious bit of alrightness.

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a visit to the attic

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Words: ambushed, nostalgic, mercurial

It was good until the rains came. But that’s just the body. Silly body.

There was no Spring. It was cold, and now it is hot. Heat rises. It is something one notes in an attic bedroom. Refusing air conditioning. Seems like a trick when the heat was a necessity a scant few days ago. Besides, it’s comforting to hear the sound of rain and thunder.

Been thinking of the monkeys in the attic. They’ve been quiet, or maybe there’s just been a changing of the guard. The ape that tells me I will not have love; the capuchin that tells me I am fat – they’ve been quiet. The attic just has boxes of dust covered memory. They don’t even hurt to open. It’s just sad. Sadder still to find myself camped on the floor wiping tears.

a difference a day makes

Jim was gone for a week and I had the boys. After four days of a rushed frenetic morning panic and getting everyone everywhere just-in-time, “Fuck this shit.”

Shocked. I say into the silence, hands clenching the steering wheel consciously driving the speed limit while glancing at the dashboard clock every 10 seconds, “Tomorrow YOU get yourselves up, YOU make your breakfast, and I am leaving the house at 7:15. If you’re not ready, you’re being left behind. Fuck. This.”

I don’t swear around my kids. I don’t swear much at all. I stop the car, “Get out.” No Goodbye-have-a-nice-day-I-love-you this day. I admit I screamed in rage the rest of the way to work. I had two minutes to cry in the parking lot. Totally. Unrecognizable. Who is this woman?

Friday, the boys awakened themselves. They made their own breakfasts. They packed their own lunches. They were ready. We had forgiven one another…I think. Jim returned late Friday night, but I kept the boys one more night. After I dropped them off with their dad on Saturday there was blessed s i l e n c e.

The rest of the weekend there was a speaking to no one but the dog and the cats. No social media.

And I sat.

And I made myself a meal or five. And tea. Lots of tea.

Slowly, the reserves recharge. Bits of soul expended regrow.

I’ve been seeing someone. Well, not lately. The general withdrawl from others has included him, and I keep giving him permission to leave. Not that he needs it, but this cannot be easy and I feel badly at the hurt I know I must be causing. Tona says this insanity is temporary. For her it was a year and half of insanity. She had to remind herself that this person was not her. Sometimes I remember. Sometimes I recognize the woman that is underneath.

Music. And the sun is out. Get it and feel good.

“…whatever good there is to get
get it & feel good/ get it & feel good
snatch it & feel good
grab it & feel good
steal it & feel good
borrow it & feel good
reach it & feel good
you cd
oh yeah
& feel good.”

Ntozake Shange (get it & feel good)

still selfie-ing

Words: alright (an upgrade from okay), rested, nostalgic

Observation: the inner feelings don’t necessarily match the exterior

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Getting pretty good at the selfie-ing. It’s Elaine’s super power to be able to use an SLR, turn it around and aim it so everyone is actually in the shot.

Selfie lessons learned in this scant two weeks:

  • Stick your head out forward like imitating a chicken. It’s like an insta-facelift
  • Position the camera so it’s tilting down toward you so your face had dimension. I think the primary reason people think I am photogenic is that I am short, so this their camera is almost always above.
  • Light source is best if it’s from above and off at an angle.
  • Diffuse light (bounced or through clouds) is more forgiving than direct light

The original thought was to have myself in front of a white background consistently. Rather, it is more interesting to see the various contexts and people around me. In fact, more interesting than the self. Otherwise, all I’ve got to contemplate are “more wrinkles? bloated? bad hair day?”


2014-05-07 09.25.22Photo on 5-8-14 at 11.16 AM


Forgot my phone. Used the laptop. When did one’s phone become one’s camera?

So, when one wears glasses long enough, the bit where the glasses are supported on the bridge, if it isn’t fitted well, ends up having divots. Still have the divots. Also – reading glasses because blind. Rocking the sexy librarian look. Or maybe it’s old lady look.

Words: angry (fucking hormones), breathing, ambulatory

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