It creaks where the bends happen. Better to bend than break. Better to creak than splinter. This is to be expected of all things mechanical as they degrade over time. We are mechanical electrical water filled sacks of varying intelligence. Varying by the time of day, of years, of life times.
Hormones. Pretty sure it’s hormones. Stupid hormones. Elaine shot me a link to a blog post about crying like Holly Hunter in Broadcast News. Some times, Some days Some moments are just sad. A cry would be great. Some great cathartic wave like some passing storm. Leave me clean. But it isn’t there to that point. Not built to a level to pour out my eyes. Until then, I am …
“You’re the best mom in the world.” He pulls my hand so I sit next to him on the bed. “You got fifteen minutes.” I get up and and gingerly go down the stairs using the walls as support. Mornings are not my friend. The body creaks as I reach for the cast iron pan. Heat it up. Start the coffee. “Aidan?…Connor?…Ga-” Gabriel is plopping himself in a seat by …
There is a glimpse of frustration, anger, and could it be meanness? That. Some behavior. Takes me right back to another not so happy time. There is no one ex. I have a small basket of them. Each of them with various behaviors marked in red with the words “never ever again.” Disengage. Get out. Fighting this flight. Alone is easier. Let this just be a wave. Let it pass …
A group of us went to the cemetery to soak in the Fall foliage and shoot some pictures. We landed there and went our separate ways. It was nice. I found myself making stories. There are patterns. Identity. Who are you when you are gone? Defined by relationships. I think about that Beatles line, “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love …
“Want to go outside?” he says to the dog in his sweet still little boy voice. Not so little, but it’s how he talks to the dog. And I hold onto the illusion that I could just scoop him up in my arms. When we stand toe to toe he starts with his flat palm measuring his height and then compares it to mine. I think he cheats with that …
She has three fingers and one thumb on each hand — just like a cartoon. Her Maker took shortcuts with her, it seems. There are other ways she is not of us, her hair is too white; her skin, too dark. The gray eyes are some compromise of extremes. When I need a view well outside of myself, I go to her. Nothing like an alien perspective to put …
I was a manic pixie dream girl… -Laurie Penny “Men grow up expecting to be the hero of their own story. Women grow up expecting to be the supporting actress in somebody else’s….”
“You’re gorgeous.” The gut response is to argue the point. The list of what-is-not-gorgeous and possibly-downright-ugly springs to mind. That is, her mind. What she says instead is, “Thank you.” and walks away.
A charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld. The lady dare not lift her veil For fear it be dispelled. But peers beyond her mesh, And wishes, and denies, ‘Lest interview annul a want That image satisfies. -Emily Dickinson You do know that what you see is carefully edited. So much is behind the veil. So much is left out. Context. Wars, scandals, legislation. So many words. No need to report …
