For Best Results: Day 27

So yesterday was a longer post, I don’t know what tonight will bring when I really want to work on at least two other things and the thing I most want to work on is delayed until Tuesday at the earliest.

I have tasks I have to complete.  I’ve been arguing in some ways with J all day as our motivations and interests collide and diverge.  I need the time to think about and address my own stuff.  This morning we did not do breakfast.  No fancy final eggs benedict to swallow me up, however, the absence of breakfast lead to me holding firm on the idea of needing lunch.  So my birthday lunch ended up being my younger sister and I eating tacos quickly and splitting the bill so we could hurry and get my mother the pho she wanted.  This was important because she’s changing the chemo formula next week and things are continuing into a positive, but nebulous place.  A nebulous, but positive place?  One spot going away to reveal another spot.  The cancer in the bone holding steady.  Things not progressing, but the medicine not attacking like it should.  Somehow the new medicine will be less harsh.  Maybe her hair will grow back.  If she wants pho, or she wants the moon, we do what is required for her to have it.

You stop thinking about needing some grand party in moments like these.  You stop thinking that the day needs to hit some watermark of ego-stroking to matter.  They gave me a big gift card for Amazon.  They let me watch Critical Role for over an hour with nobody making too many comments.   That’s lovely.  If I can’t have them sitting there, engaged with something I care about, I’ll take being able to just enjoy it around them.  It’s nice to feel as though I could give myself 5 seconds of not being beholden to an idea I have and how much air is in the room when I do that.

I don’t have to be made to be a princess.  I have to make myself happy.

I’m doing that by writing, and slowly, painstakingly, taking care of one thing I need to take care of at a time.  I’m doing that by letting myself think about the plans I made and set out in the future, how day by day they’re moving toward me…but also, I can move towards them.  I can find the mechanized walkway they have in the airport and walk fast as I can on it and zoom by rather than lean on the side.  A labored metaphor, but yes.   I can think about what I want.  And another day of Starbucks and pizza and refusing to track and pay attention to your choices is not going to make for better posts.  Must lay your head down in new places to have better dreams.

Tonight before bed: find your bus pass, please.  Pick out some clothes that you can wear to survive the snow.  Buy the book. Charge your fitbit.  Check your email.  Take your hand off the stove.

Phone calls.  Other things to note.  I apparently leveled up in our game.  I’m excited about that, given that it’s never happened before.  I’m excited to be able to do more, to use the information I have.

That’s enough for you for today.

Under a Super Blood Wolf Moon: Day 20

The most metal of moons.

I need to change this website.  I know I do.  I’m not entirely sure how to go about this.  But the endless icy sheets of black and white, even the blurry little weed breaking through the crack on the screen no longer makes me smile when I look at it.  I need to just hire someone?  I don’t know.  Just change the picture, that would be a start.

I am needing to do something different tomorrow.  All of it.  I made real shit choices today, this weekend, this month, really.  So.  How do you stop the engine when you’re rolling right along into a hotter and hotter fire?  You are here, for one.  You turn off the other noises and you give yourself over to a bit of self-reflection.

I have written a lot today, none of it really suitable to share.  That’s been the sum total of it.  Did leave the house for a brunch I absolute did not need to have.  I’ve spent the day bleary.  In some conversation with J, consoling him for his bleariness and ignoring my own.  Honestly, this is the hardest bit of it. The up and the down.  I don’t blame him for it or even judge him for it, but finding yourself attenuating your moods to someone who is equally fluid when it comes to being able to tolerate themselves is a rough gig.   Yesterday, I’m queen of the universe for him, today, exhaustion and sad posting and a bevy of other people suggesting how to break out of the mental funk while my suggestions get little more than a shrug.

I’m reacting much more poorly than I’d like to all this.

So now, end of the Sunday shame spiral: I am here, spattered with gravy from the undying pot roast, and everything is a mess.  Petrified to check my work email.  Checked it as best I could and nothing was radioactive so I feel instantly much relieved.  My plan to combat this and come back to some form of recognizable :

Become Willing
Find my Fitbit
Drink an entire glass of water (a whole and entire eight ounces)
Charge my phone and fitbit and put them somewhere I can find them in a few short hours.
Defenestrate the undead pot roast.
Not get so distracted by nonsense that I can’t finish this post
Finish this post.
Remember I have my drink in the fridge in the morning.
Brush my teeth and try and wash my face in a format that my face will find tolerable and not set to itching over.
Fix my sheets so I don’t find falling asleep completely impossible.
Set my alarm.
Figure out what the heck I want to wear tomorrow out of the bundle of laundry I did and tossed aside out of some sense of boring laziness that sure as fuck fucks me over now.
Possibly order groceries for tomorrow.  Possibly just plan to go to the grocery store?
Trust in the process.
Remember to reschedule therapy.

The Sciences Sung a Lullaby

The things you don’t say are the things you regret.

They say.

But somehow I spout off truths and regret it all the same.

How is it possible to explain that when you want to share a story it is not because you want to hide yourself but because you feel yourself as a teller of tales? To know yourself through the offering?  To pleasure yourself by aligning yourself with the Nile and not fighting against it? That you are the water bearer, that being the vessel of the water which gives life is your thing…is you?

I tried to have that conversation tonight and did not…get far.  It was not a fight.  Still, I did not get what I wanted, so I regret the lapse in judgment, even if to do so requires I ignore the flurry of compliments, of zeroed-in desires, of fixation upon the vessel, the bearer, the teller and not the salvation it carries.  Perhaps it is time for the Riveter to draw herself a new map.

  1. Amazon shopping list
  2. drink glass of water (did remind me I wanted a filter)
  3. send my three images
  4. Pajamas / face washed / teeth brushed / lotion applied.
  5. this post
  6. find the bullet journal try-out journal somewhere about (I did not find this, but it must exist, so I have not bought a new one.)
  7. let the idea percolate

Selenic and Old Lace


A reply to yesterday’s to-do list.

  1.  Accomplished.  Glasses were excavated from behind the bed in some shadow where they were hidden yesterday. I went to work (despite accidentally writing worry rather than work) with full vision.
  2. Woke up.  Lingered in bed, but did get up early enough to find the glasses, wear the makeup, find the sandals, get some shitty, obnoxious news from big job that made me stay in bed longer, and get out early enough to grab coffee before a massive inventory shift at work.
  3. Got the secondary check at the end of the day after staying late to help a guy hurry in to get a particular necklace for his wife that I sold earlier in the day, he got another one, though, and I did THE WORST bow-wrapping job on it ever.  So sorry about that random dude, I promise it wasn’t because I was secretly irritable about the concept of romantic gifts and the idea of anniversaries in general.
  4. I did not make a list.  I do have a big impetus and a strong idea.  I also, finally, after three months of lusting wildly for it, bought the raccoon vintage glass, captured soul necklace – at least, I put it on layaway.  Because everyday I ogle it and a woman was looking at it with some jerky kids and joking about giving it to her daughter and as soon as she put it back I realized, people can’t be fucking around with my stuff.  If they’d bought it, I’d have been gutted, in earnest.  So, it’s a total indulgence, but I think that given I get it at 50% off, and am laying it away and I already know what necklace I can get rid of and it has already brought me real joy and it turns five colors and looks like it’s made of magic…that happened.  Giving sisters, banks, and insurance companies money (along with grocery stores) is IT.
  5. 2 water bottles actually got froze and only one got extracted.   This…is not really blogworthy news, but I am posting about it anyway! What a mood I am in!
  6. Lunch was a piece of quiche that is at the really consistently disappointing coffeeshop next door that everyone loves.  Their food just tastes blah to me, but I go because everything else feels a fuss.  I did go to the store at night for dinner and I did buy carrots.  If you had any idea how this was a big deal, you’d be excited for me.  Maybe.  Brown paper bag lunches are on the horizon again.
  7. I also bought some hair dye to fix my horrendous and offensive dark roots.  I think it will be splotchy, but I am, personally, splotchy and it was 6 bucks.
  8. I had zero time today to moon over the phone or the absence of messages after the presence of messages.  I chase nothing.  I accept whatever the final outcome may be.   That reflects greater sangfroid than I feel at every hour of the day, but right now, I can do no more than this.
  9. All of the above reflects an effort to deal with the imperfect, however imperfectly I have to do it.

A Thing Done

I feel much better on a Saturday when I gather my thoughts, my rosebuds, if you will and remember that I do have some purpose for the day rather than sitting here in the lotus position and ogling British musicians.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

  • Retrieve my car.
  • Walk 10,000 steps per the possibly dodgy Fitbit.
  • Drink 8 cups of water to relieve all this excessive water regain.
  • Cook a good lunch and dinner.
  • Clean room.
  • Clean car.
  • Finish the load of laundry I got started and do two more, fully.
  • Get my phone exchanged/upgraded.
  • Possibly go to the grocery store to get a few things I didn’t get last night.
  • Clean out fridge (this may have to happen tomorrow)
  • Buy Road to Red Rocks (at least drive myself in the direction of Best Buy – possibly the one by work or the one by the mall instead – could even go to Sephora and use my actual gift card from Christmas)
  • Wash some pots and pans and get the counter surfaces more useable for cooking.
  • Write 500 words on my story / begin work on my outline
  • Answer an email if I happen to receive one.  Not be angsty if I don’t.
  • Go outside and stand in the sunshine.
  • Ogle British musicians.
  • Be willing to get ready and go to trivia if everyone else is willing.
  • Try and keep a good attitude, aided by eating regularly.
  • Refuse to play Civilization, Bejeweled, or turn on the cooking show unless there’s some laundry going on along with it and a timer on.
  • Watch how long I spend on the internet and get up and move when it starts to become excessive.
  • 10 situps at the very very least.
  • Tap before this whole list feels too much and too impossible / do this meditation on the connectedness of humanity (something I believe in deeply at my core but find it hard to sit for three minutes and contemplate)
  • I am fully open to give and receive love.
  • Right? Right? Not really, but I may just get there.

That’s enough for the moment.  Now, I just have to rev up this engine enough to get moving on all of it and not just let the having written it down be sufficient.

For me, fear is ever present.  I’m not dieting right.  I’m not emailing this boy right.  I’m not in the world right.  I’m not sitting here “right.”  The entropic impulse is real and self-sustaining and it wants to draw me back into its static maw.   It wants me to think I have no other options because I’m afraid people will give up on me if I choose not to be available or dumb or amenable or generally act according to my own preferences and experiences.  The people who love me won’t do that.  Even if I slip into anxieties and demand from them things I know I shouldn’t, that I should be strong enough to handle myself, I’m starting not to shy away.  To find the intrinsic aesthetic value in laying it out flat and accepting the less thans by actively moving forward and making them better rather than despairing they exist at all.


A list.

-Phone, charger
-Add some Answer Me This podcasts for the flight.
-Clothes for Saturday/Sunday
-Print my itinerary
-Email my people
-Release my shoulder blades
-Drink some more water.
-Find the suitcase I want to use and start throwing some shit into it.
-Fake eyelashes
-Tarot set
-Sandals, the ones from the car.
-Sandblast my toenails off.
-Refrain from puking Pringles everywhich place.
-Get on the bike, particularly if the damned internet stays out.
-Get on the floor.
-Return that bra.  Possibly buy something cute.
-Find a good walking about bag.
-Get the No Worries towel.
-Computer and charger
-Get the cowboy hat.
-My sense of curiosity, my buoyancy, my delight in satisfying my wanderlust.
-A big lung-filling breath.
-My best behavior.
-Sudoku book.
-All the toiletries.
-Shear my limbs.
-Bobby pins and flowers for my hair.
-Toothbrush, toothpaste.  Double check the toiletries.
-Cards, cash, purse-stuff.
-Upload some music to the phone.


So, that list is not getting me remotely close enough to the wordcount tonight.  Imagine me rambling on for another three hundred words.  I’d start naming individual articles of clothing and that doesn’t quite speak to the intent of this blog.  Inasmuch as I want to use that as a functional list, I do want to provide something with content for you today.   It benefits us both, really.

So, the area I was dreading today was entirely inert.  Completely harmless.  I sent off to the massive credit card company for my free money today and in six to eight weeks, I should have it in hand.  I should have done it a month ago, along with ordering up some sunglasses.  But I didn’t.   I was bound up in other things at the time, I’m sure.  Very important other things.  But the point is that they got done in time and if we are to believe that the credit card bureaucracy will just send me hundreds of free dollars (which they absolutely did last time), I can make myself available for ten minutes and a notary’s Jane Hancock to get at it.

Also, obviously, perhaps, Mumford’s new single came out.  I may have waited for lunch until two or so and drove to the grocery store and sat in the parking lot waiting for it to come on.  They kept saying it would, until finally, I was too ravenous to think straight and turned the car off and by the time I got back, it appeared to have been over.  Not that I didn’t know it was a revised Nothing is Written, but I did want to hear that first time on the radio.  Still.  Came home and listened to it properly and swooned.  I was prepared not to be overly swayed by it, having heard it countless times before, but there I was.  Swayed as hell.

Cannot wait to go join their caravan of music and madness for a day.

Um, yes.  I’ve spent long enough in bed.  My sister ought to feel better.

A prayer: let me never be a dispassionate creature for long.


Some Words

How do you make a transformational montage?  You gotta make the footage yourself.  And that takes time. And your body in the frame.

I am oddly hungry after our big party.  I didn’t eat half as much as I thought I would considering.

I will save that money for some expensive food at Bristol.  Some wine or something.


Laundry – 1 load, washed and dried and put away.
10 minutes on the bike, maybe longer.  Let’s not push it.
11 situps.  Because 10 is too easy.
Clothes picked out for tomorrow.
Something else to eat.  Something.  Along with some water, but something.
Get up from this bed and the grasp of this little kitty cat.

No one knew it, but Delia Green had begun to chew tobacco.  Her husband would have been horrified, but more than that would have considered it already forbidden.  An unspoken embargo on wasteful, unnecessary pastimes.   The three or four ladies who had begun to regularly attend the Immaculate Church of Eternal Light would have turned on their heels and trod back to Saint  Joseph and the comfortable flock that filled the church each and every Saturday and Sunday mass.

But, if Delia could have smoked, the sturdy if petite woman would have made the Marlboro Man himself revoke her lighter.  Anything to settle her nerves, reverse the rattling she now heard in the quietude of the house.  At first she had convinced herself it was just the pipes, but now day after day, when Abram went to work on his sermons, Delia sat outside on a bench at the side of the house, the far side, away from that massive metal….brothel her son called a home and escaped the rattle by running her teeth over a  pulpy knot of Copenhagen.

It was worse than any cigarette.  What William had done.  But the thing that drove her furthest towards this white-hot rage was that she knew there wasn’t any single damn thing wrong with it at all.  There was no legal authority, no parental control she had at her disposal.  God had let it happen.  She had let this woman sweep in like a hailstorm and batten away whatever sense he’d had left in his idiot brain, and the Justice of the Peace, not his own father had made the bond official.

He had known her not two weeks.

Her son’s wife had only come to the front door once.   Stood in her foyer for less than ten minutes while William gathered a box of his clothes.  Delia’d never met a woman so cold, so absent the light of God.     She thought she’d always remember every detail of that day, just after lunch, when Delia’d pulled down the laundry from the line outside and was about to set to ironing, but now this Mallory was a Picasso painting in her mind, all jutting elbows and a thin, watered down smile.

She’d offered her a leftover sandwich, egg salad.    She had shrugged it off  the same as her request to come in and sit with a casual “No, thanks.”   No explanation, no story, no greeting.   She’d just stood there in her brown jacket, running her fingers over the embroidery, glancing at the photographs on the wall of William’s grandparents, great-grandparents, but espousing no interest.  Delia had never felt so embarrassed in her life.

At least not until this morning.

She had asked herself during the wedding she did not attend what did William know about girls, much less a woman?  She asked it of herself again, spitting in the yard another wad of chaw that was burning a holy ring in the grass around her bench.

Enough, it seemed.  Where her face was non-descript, William’s face when he brought her a cup of tea this morning was bright, shining, almost garish in its earnestness.

He’d sat her down at the table, the table where not two months before she’d stared him down and told him he was going to have to start doing something with his life before the Devil took him.

“Ma, she’s gonna have a baby.”

Delia’s gums tingled.  She believed in the Devil.  With a preacher for a husband, she knew the Devil was all around.  But she never thought he’d wander right through her life, set up a trailer in her yard and take her boy away.