I am staring at this page, hoping that somehow, the words will just start writing themselves and I’ll be able to just press publish post without a bit of effort.  It’s always worthwhile once I get moving and motivated and going, but I have struggled all day.  I am hoping that Queen Mab will take me quick tonight since a typically atypical series of events has lead me to participate in an early morning meeting that my boss usually covers because of several things too TMI to mention here.   And I volunteered to cover! All this talk and learning about taking time for myself, but at any rate, none of that matters or at least doesn’t matter to me in this instance.

Right now, I want to talk to you, oh skeleton, oh bag of bones and decay, oh, best beloved memory.  Right now, I wish to demand you to corporeate! I wish to compel you.  Not to rattle you along the floorboards in a dance, not to ask you secrets of the afterlife, but for you to wear the hat and make the voice of the man I once knew.  Because the gap is gaping that you’ve left and while, I am learning to fill it up, it’s happening cup by bloody cup.  I think some of the water’s evaporating as I go.  But at least it’s not a thimble.  At least it’s not the grand canyon, though you might joke it would be that large when you were done with it.  Gross, terrible, without meaning it, but always being available to mean it.  In a weird way, it’s just like this day has gone.

I gave you up for dust, sent you to every corner of the world, and you watch me call you back over and over again.  A torment if I was yanking you from heaven, a fate I doubt you were ever destined for. But I would leave you there if I had one particle of your care back.  Even your feigned curtain of care that had offered me brief moments of access to the man behind.  Back when you had flesh and I had a very willing spirit.   Because naught else has compared to that.  Naught else has drawn me in and asked for me to play along.

The dog on the long white beach, at the moment, won’t hunt.  Affable enough, and then given to sourness.  Has he given up on whatever delight he imagined in me?  Has he a hope that you never entertained?  You would smile nearly every time, save the end, that I walked in.   You merely wanted someone else on your chess board, another crow on your wire, but it wasn’t merely to me.  It was life.  It was so, ever so much more, than even I ever knew.  God, to this day, I wish I’d known you’d be snatched up and cast into perdition.  I would have tied some thread to you, some lasso, some breadcrumb trail I could follow.  I daydream that I’ll take a trip and find myself seated next to you on the plane.  It feels nice to imagine us fated that way.

Though I know we aren’t.  And the dog barks because it’s hungry.   And all I have are your old bones.


Bravery and joy, chasing one another like a 6 Men Morris.

Thank you, Mr. Gaiman, for the evening’s inspiration.  

I remember the first time I arrived at the end of the year having done my daily post and it seemed like a certain miracle, one spun out of frost and liable to break if you looked at it funny.  That was 2010.  2012 has passed by now, too, and I know that I can’t and don’t take this for granted.  Because it is a challenge and one that has made me stronger and braver and more joyful.

The house is mildly freaking me out right now because it’s in a certain kind of order.   And I am in a certain kind of order to start a health regime tomorrow.  And my hair is ridiculous and I am ridiculous, but I’m in earnest and that feels nice.  

I really don’t care about the date because I have goals that aren’t quite set and I have feelings that aren’t requited and there’s a lot of work to do that has been waiting for decades to be done that I’m building up the calluses and and starting to do.  So the fact that it happens to be December 31st doesn’t really compare with the fact that I am starting to gather myself up along with my petticoats and my posies and I’m starting to say instead of, this thing has no place so I can throw it anywhere, that I need to find a real home for this thing and return it every time so that I am not caught without it when I least expect it.   I’m glad the year turning over gives me this excuse, but it doesn’t really alter the conversation I’m having with myself.  

The body issues, the trust issues, the intimacy issues, the food issues, the work issues, the family issues, the organizational issues, the obsessions, the computer and introvert issues, the creative juices issues, the free radicals flying around and running through my brain.  All of that is still present and yipping at my ankles.  All of that really wants me to sit very still and not move.  All of that has convinced me for the longest time to sit with it and believe in it and tie myself to it, and sing it songs, and stare across hallways longingly with issues-colored glasses.  Big lies accepted as truth.  

We worked together today and just for today, we didn’t have to break our backs to make a difference.   And I had the sugar I absolutely had to have.  And the universe is asking me if I am good to go and all those little voices are saying yeah, but, yeah, but, yeah…but…and I am saying, I don’t have to be ready, I just have to start. 

So tomorrow, measurements, SparkPeople, tracking, exercise, a good walk, lots of water to detox, accepting the screams and shouts of a mind that prefers inertia, joy and bravery in heaping spoonfuls.  All of which I’ll record for an indifferent audience.

whom i love.



Language! We all have to start in language.  Fixing all the signifiers on the signified.

I want to begin with an inventory.

2x4s on my exercise seat.  A crumpled pajama shirt.  Q-tips.   Purple slippers.  Chinese mustard.  Glass cup that needs more water in it.  Sweet Treat red nail polish.  Four prayer candles, two white, one yellow, one red.  One fake electric candle.  Box of Whippets.   Eyeshadow kit.  Burgundy velvet pillow.   Passive Aggressive Notes book.  Golden Tarot.   Babel CD.  Jack of Hearts card.  Dusty bird clock.  Encyclopedia of dreams.   Vision board that reads Catalyst.  Pillows.   Guitar that blinks.  Lumpy blanket.  Me in my mismatched socks and headache that hasn’t been settled it no matter how much aspirin has been thrown at it.

I am tired.  I am unable to give you the words I wish to give.  I can just chuck these concrete things at you because they are and they are without my input.  They exist until they don’t.


This was a day.  I can’t wait until I get to start this and get the clear head.  I can’t wait to move towards the future instead of clawing into the past.  I can’t wait until I get to start.  I feel gnarly and nasty and have bra straps slipping off my shoulders and I want to throw up everything that happened this past year.  Well, not going to DisneyWorld.  And not going to see Mumford in Bristol.  And not those brief moments of kindness and clarity.  But so much of the rest of it was bound for the bin.

I want to cut and dye my hair brown and get my eyebrows waxed.  I want to pull out the WiiActive.  I want to do the Walk it Out and fill up my island.  I want to talk to my therapist.  I want to go see Les Miserables tomorrow.   I want a neck massage.  I want to drink more water.   I want to close my eyes and let it all wash over me.   I’m looking forward to fucking sit-ups.  For god’s sake.

I want to just turn some of it off.

I am talking and skyping with my friends and we’re talking about Doctor Who.  And Robert Pattinson.  And breaking down Twilight in the most hilarious fashion possible and laughing stupidly and giddily about violence like a pile of raging maenads. As you do.  So I’m not getting up right now to clear the dishes away that are starting to smell and make my headache even worse, but I will very quickly.  Whenever we’re done.

Better idea to write it up in the morning, I am finding.  Because, look at this.  I have no words.   Not even fifty more.  So I can’t tell you about the trip around the metro area today.  I can’t tell you about the Canadian geese traipsing across the road and taking their sweet time about it at two intersections.  I can’t say anything more about anything, full-stop.  Or the dreams I had last night which were rolling and memorable and creepy and gross.  And now, enough.



The Blue Veils

I told myself midday that I would know how the day went eventually.  It was a really soothing thought to think about how there is a big ol’ future we are constantly pushing into, we’re constantly rising out of the crap we create into a new state of mind.  And it’s true.  It’s now almost midnight and I am scrubbed and scraped and buffeted and swaddled and I am here, at the white blank page, despite all my failings and fears.  Sometimes I get so I almost can’t breathe with stress and panic and worry and woe (I summarized it for the boss today and said, for the first time, that I needed him to know I was tense.)  And I did – and do – because I worry sometimes that he thinks I’m not worrying or caring or paying attention.   And I am doing it to such a degree that it is paralyzing to me.

And he said some things that were helpful, some things that weren’t which was all good and fine and expected.  And I didn’t work my whole vacation day but instead made a little bit of an exit into the frigid air, where I got McDonald’s because it was 2:00pm and I hadn’t eaten and I stupidly thought that would somehow be beneficial (wrong) and came back and watched most of a movie with Kathy Bates and Edward Furlong which I should have some sharp, tart comment about because both of them are sort of tagged with snark in my mind, but it was sweet and endearing and I strummed for two seconds on the ukulele without worrying about it not being perfect or amazing.  Then, we went out into the even more frigid and bone-shattering winter air (it is winter, even if the seasons are kind and give a present to us at the birth of this blistering season by giving us back our stolen daylight one rice grain at a time) and we conveyed ourselves hither and thither until it was time to come home.

I did do my laundry.  I did put it away.  I had a compulsion after eating way too much guacamole (like way too much – guacamole is not an entree) to just flop into bed and try again in the morning, but I said no, this is how a habit works.  It works by effort, not by waiting for a better time to do it.

It’s coming, you know.  I know the feeling of it.   The buildup as the old year crumbles into dust and gives way to this new paradigm.  This new opportunity.

I feel ready to just stop with the most egregious parts of it.  Maybe I’m not ready to sweat it out 6 days a week, 2 hours a day and eat pine needles.  Maybe I never will be.  But I definitely feel ready to drink some water, stop eating garbage and move my legs everyday.   Only a couple days left to find that resolve and put some pectin in it, let it wobble, but make it stand.


Metal and Steel

I had a good night’s sleep.  I had a good day.    No boss, no coworker, so. Tomorrow, I have some more crushing impossible, time slipping bullshit situations that are inducing freak-outs that I am pushing away from for the very simple reason.

I did actually do another load of laundry and put it away.  I didn’t get myself overly het up about doing more since I know it’ll happen if I just keep doing one a day and building the habit.

I did actually only spend .95 cents today.  I used my gift card and got an eh sandwich and an eh gluten-free muffin I tossed most of and that was 10.95.  Kind of amazing when you think about it how much you spend willy-nilly when you’re not watching your money.  How excessive that is.  I, however, should have bought something else to drink, because we ended up not having any bottled water at work and I tried to drink out of the water fountain but it tasted nasty as fuck.  Whatever that is.  It just tastes like…no.  So I sipped my coffee and considered drinking some Diet Doctor Pepper and it was really only a matter of being thirsty that it even occurred to me as a possible choice.  I gave up soda over a year ago (soda pop? pop?) after what I felt then was going to be some impossible losing battle with the beast that is Diet Dr. Pepper.  I’d written solemn paeans about the overwhelming power that brown fluid holds.  I was pretty sure I was going to die surrounded by cans and bottles.   But all of a sudden, one day, I read some tweets by Alton Brown about how bad it was and it stopped being something I could justify in my head.  And now I’ve definitely cut down on my lemonade drinking which had become my alternative of choice just because I can’t take the sweetness.   So.  That’s good.

I did print out my materials and will be putting together my organizational notebook.  I’m not going to let it overwhelm me so it’s just a few things at a time.

Right now, I’m just doing my best to put away what I’m taking out and not leaving it set behind me.   I’m doing my best to sort of shift my desire for distraction into cleaning and organizing or writing and daydreaming and away from food and self-destructive activities.  Like…binge-ing on whole bags of caramel microwave popcorn because that activity sort of takes up your whole psyche.  I was over at my mom’s.  Everyone had gone to bed and it was so quiet that all my anxieties and fears and frustrations had space to surface and I had to stop them.  When she woke up the next day, she just seemed so sad I’d done that.  She just said, Oh…you really shouldn’t do that.   Cue a really unfortunate guilty feeling and a cycle continued.

So I’m trying to deal with it.   Will try and remember that for the therapist next week.

Bless you all for reading any of this.  I hope you understand it helps.

Hasty Cakes

So, I kind of think I’m gearing up for a good start to 2013.

How do I know this? I did a load of laundry tonight and I put it all away.
I have a new business purse.  Tote bag.  It’s not a briefcase.  It is, however, more professional than my Mumford and Sons bag that I don’t want to hold by the cloth handles for fear they’ll rip.

I didn’t die today.  I should have, at multiple junctures, but I didn’t.  I was, instead, treated much more kindly than I deserve both by friends, co-workers, and strangers.  I attempted to be kind in return, though I don’t know if I’ve quite covered it.  I am still, you know, panicky and stressed, and it may well grow back up exponentially, but the sick little mass that seems to grow (metaphorically, hyperbolically) every single day, seems to be back to a manageable size at the moment.

I am drinking water right now.  There was Atkins talk (unspecific and I agreed to nothing because I need, nay, demand this to be on my terms) and my mother is making me omelets-cupcakes for breakfasts.    I had some impulse to get on the bike which was cut-off at the knees by doing the laundry.

I also ordered with the etsy gift card my sister got me some printable planning stuff I’m going to put together tomorrow once I can print it and which I’ll share with her since…who knows, maybe it’ll be helpful for us both.  It has all sorts of different areas to track and it cost about as much as my planner did last year so we’ll see if I can bring it to work or maybe just keep it at home and make better use of my time.  Since so often I get home at 5:30 and turn around like I’m doing right now and observe the clock and it’s 11:16pm and I wonder how I can ever be expected to do anything.  Well, a lot of that time was falling to a create channel haze of cooking show delirium.   Seriously, I was watching America’s Test Kitchen bloopers last night.  And listening to their podcast and I want to cook the chicken cordon bleu recipe they were making tonight.  It makes me feel sort of grounded and domestic and proto-wifely.  A feeling which will pass, but what the hell.

I have some clothes picked out for tomorrow.  I’ve got a gift card to pay for my lunch at the coffee shop so I can save a little money there.   I will, in future, be doing my level best to save a little bit to help with these expenses.  I know my sister’s doing absolutely all she can with handling her two differently obnoxious jobs, but I hope that somehow she can find something that pays a little better and doesn’t involve so much rigamarole. Hell, I hope that for myself.

I feel rather determined.   Sometimes it’s awesome to know that you have things to do and you get to do them.


A Jazzy Riff

Weird, eerie feeling.  I want to just run into 2013 and shut the door on 2012, but I can’t.  It has me by the ankles and it’s pulling me towards its pit of quicksand.  And I am doing my best to grip a broom which they say is the only thing that can save you.  Or at least put you into a position to save yourself.

I am sitting here in bed at my parents house.  I have had a very nice Christmas.  I didn’t want or need anything in particular save the time off and a chance to clear my head and while I had both, only the former actually took place.  I’m nervous and petrified about all the things I have to do at work, some of which I know I will forget, plus all the things I physically am unable to do.   On top of that is this feeling of sliding down hills, of brakes not working, of icy roads throwing me into ditches.  Stress in a box.  In most ways, being off here didn’t achieve this sense of clarity and purpose and galvanized effort to resolve my problems, but it made me realize how I am tying everything together needlessly so that I’m not allowed to think of trying to lose weight in the new year.  I’m not allowed because if I do anything positive, my grip will slip on something else.

If I fall in love with anyone, something will change and it may not be something I can bear.  It’s all very Dirty Filthy Love (if you’ve ever seen that excellent film with the excellent Michael Sheen about OCD) and it’s

Here’s what I want.

2013, midnight, for the switch to flip on me putting off all the things I know I need to do for myself.  Doing low-carb until my birthday, having a planned deviation for my dinner, doing another week of low-carb and the re-assessing.

I want to not avoid chatting or talking to one of the deflating pack of suitors even if I find oddities in our conversation.  Spelling errors.   Things that have no right to annoy me and annoy me less than they would have done.  Even if we’ve both expressly said this is about penpalship such as it is and not otherwise.  I want to just sally forth until the road runs out on it instead of veering off as soon as I can.

I want to smile and laugh and bring joy to others even when I question my ability to bring it to myself.  I want to do the tapping when I feel like I need it.  And I’ve been avoiding it because I feel like it takes so long to do to calm myself down, so I just stay at this hyper-paranoid state and add sugar into the mix and I can’t handle this persistent sour.  The worst, the worst, the worst is always going to happen and it’s all my fault.  Maybe all of that is true, all of it, so what harm could it cause to listen to Mumford, feel swoony and made up and be brave in my body if nowhere else.