Your balsamical lips


If there is a loop, there is only to be inside or outside of it.  Unless, of course, you just find yourself on it, orbiting.

And if there is a loop, perhaps there is more than one.  And some I am inside and some I am outside, and some are carrying me around and around again.

The first week of chemo has left my mother with a headache I find concerning, but otherwise, she’s soldiering on.  It’s like, oh, this is happening.  You have to remind yourself and remind yourself that things are precarious, delicate, on a knife’s edge.  And who wants to make it a priority to recognize the constant danger?  So we did a puzzle for a while and my mother had ice cream and I made bbq chicken sliders from a recipe we’ve all seen on Buzzfeed.

For me, I need to get this house in order and my main opponent is the heat.  It is just impossible to function at 98 degrees.  My sense of distraction, listless boredom is constant.  I know that I need to do 10 kinds of clean-up in here, we’ve got carpet guys coming and I’ve got piles of clothes everywhere mainly because this is the moment I’ve chosen to inventory every single item of clothing I have, and the heat is making this process…molasses at the fastest.

And now, for my little sister’s comfort, I am going over to my parents from Wednesday after writer’s group and staying on there for another week.  To just sit there,  after I work and, I suppose, and ride the loop.  I don’t mind at all, though she just kept saying it was a favor to her. A  favor to her peace of mind as though I wouldn’t be visiting and sitting with my mother, as if I am not good enough to pick up on this on my own.  Not how she meant it, but it is how it arrives at my ears.  Trying to keep those two lines of fact separate in my mind.

Other news, other truths.   Delighted at the news of MST3K getting picked up by Netflix which seems to be the ideal situation for this new iteration to come to life.  I am looking forward to it with the sensation that it can’t be as it was.  It can’t be what it was in my life to me much less what it was to so many others who watched it at such differing stages.  It can only be this brave new thing lifted up by those who know some of the ways for it to fly.

I also just watched a video on the viola which made me nostalgic for odd days gone by.  I’d written a symphony only this morning in Fallen London, so the idea was amusing.  Once, I played the imperfect instrument ever so imperfectly but with a depth of feeling that only such time away could reveal to me.  I wish I could have it in my arms again.

Ditto for you, ditto and ditto and then again, ditto.