so, i’m making a conscious effort to make my social media ‘feed me’. right.
so there are plants. and lots of ’em.
and lately, a friend pointed to a woman who wrote a book about her life (on being human) and her hearing loss. and i’m literally like. what?. a person has hearing loss and is a mom and functions socially? and writes about it? everything is punctuated by my own incredulity.
(i’ve ordered it, but haven’t read it, or anything about it.)
as if i can’t google things myself. as if i don’t know that there are hearing loss forums and such. as if i haven’t learned and forgotten a million times.
so.plants. and hearing loss. next up? women who are unsatisfied with their lack of productivity, but somehow manage to keep on going in humor and life and stuff. and then, writers who aren’t sure they want to sell anything or fit into a format that is sellable. those people. i want to find my people. in real life, too.
I stopped myself from posting this morning at 2 am. i didn’t even get out of bed to type. it was good though, and thoroughly rambly, hitting on what its like to be married to an alcoholic, what it is like to remember that was almost 5 years ago, how fun it was to remember i have a kickass libido… what its like to be sweating in bed with a 7-year-old, what its like to be ‘happy’ that the kid who is sick now cleans up his own throwup. He even put a towel down on his own bed before he got into it. because you know, laundry. He is 14. Oh, it was a post for the ages.
But I just lay there instead.
Every single kid in the house has been down with throw up in the past week. There are only three kids here, my hysterics aside, it is not a monkeyhouse or a bunnyhutch.
Who am i kidding? its totally a monkeyhouse here. These kids live with me, the winging-est mom of the neighborhood. I think i have hard-and-fast rules and you know? one smudge of intelligent resistance and the gates are down. i’m talking about negotiables really, like, screens before school and things of that nature.
Although I’d be hard-pressed to think of something besides cruelty that is truly outlawed.
and, astonishingly, i still have to deal with that one anyways. We have …children. They have the same cruelty adults do, its just less well-honed.
sigh. aren’t you glad i took my time this morning, to give you something well-crafted and thought-provoking? hmm?
I’m what is called a ‘pantser’. I just learned about this, its a term, for real, for writers who flow ‘by the seat of their pants’. not a lot of planning here.
i’m doing fine though, fine. i’m taking my vitamins. and i’m planning on a bath, later.
call me. someone.
**-oh, also discovered when the 14-year-old woke me up at 1 to tell me he was sick? my hearing aide is broken. so i’m doing this all deaf. which you might not think is a big deal. but it is.
I’m chugging through the books. Because, really, I love to read… Just finished ‘The Hazel Wood’which is YA Fantasy by Melissa Albert. I dug it. Well-written, creepy, and darkly fairytale-d. And it stands alone, which I appreciate in a curmudgeonly way. I love series, but man, sometimes I just want a completed story, in one package.
Of course, when I go to link it for you, it is listed as ‘book one’. so there is that sigh-inducing moment of my day.
The other cringe of today: my realization that the book that i keep finding, that hovers in each of the rooms I tidy daily, moving (by my hand) from desk, to bedside, to floor, to fireside… is one that I have already read.
Little Bee, by Chris Cleave. Let’s dodge the appropriate questions of a white guy writing about an African woman, ok? It’s a for-real dodge.
The beginning, the first sequence is just brilliant. How much a life can be like a British pound coin.
Most days I wish I was a British pound coin instead of an African girl. Everyone would be pleased to see me coming.
It is brilliant.
Beyond that, I can tell you that I have forgotten much of the detail. I had evidently blocked the title from my memory, but the story has been with me for many years. And I have been permanently scarred by the story line… the violence, the shock, escape, return, the unrelenting feeling of inevitability that I felt when reading. If you are better at handling life than I am, this is a story to read. Think of the power in words that have carried me this many years… its time I let it move out of my house, to stop tidying it from place to place.
And it brings me back to what I liked about The Hazel Wood. Its all about story. Making our own, being trapped in, breaking out of… story. The power of it. How much it can follow you.
As I grapple with my own recurring story, and the need to release/escape from the poison of repetition, I’m feeling my own dark fairytale winding down, and out. and So there, my friends.
A post on books. More will eventually arrive, because I’m done with avoiding things today.
Hmm. My cousin named her dog #hashtag. She’s in marketing, and lovely, so she is allowed, and encouraged to do so.
I’m doing some different things this week, in anticipation of yet another long break from the kids as they go skiing with their dad. i’m, yes, glad for them. and then. but, whatever. #sparsebutcomplex
#economicchoices #financialstability #skiadventures #iammoreofalodgebunny anyhow. I’m too low-class for skiing anyways. I get all whacked out by the money involved in going straight down a slippery hill. but #realdeal? Its the jealousy that I can’t do the big trips. But seriously, I AM getting over it.
We will go to the Cape this year, like we’ve done the past few years. And two or three nights will feel like a million dollars. it really will. #sistersaredoingitforthemselves #nocreditcards!
#andtodayiwrote #forme #notwork . #wewillseewhatcomesofthis … I’ve got a lovely children’s story in the works. I’d love to see it with illustrations some day. sigh. I’m such an old-school person, so much beauty and peace in a slower style.
I make lists daily, to achieve any thing at all. everyday i have to put ‘chickens’ on the list or i leave those ladies right where they are which is not at all kind.
and lately, i’ve had to put READ . because really, this work for yourself #hustle, plus the #stupidityofthephone has KILLED MY READING HABIT. i mean, SHOCKINGLY. so now, i’m getting back into my own body and it is good.
and i’ve gone to the gym. (godawful boring, but still. 80s music. so, okay.)
Today i did a writing prompt about the things I tend, what i turn towards, how I tend. I’m sharing it here, because I like the change of pace, and the soup is really smelling up the place now, as well as the bacon that I had to add… ah, bacon. you make my heart sing.
I have added to and edited here, though this news will break the hearts of those who forgive me my ways. (capitalization is just not a thing, for instance.)
Today was the day of the oil change. The making-sure the car makes it through the winter, though i suppose there is no guarantee against calamity, or trees.
I’m in love with the word TEND. I took a class called that, just for its name… only to run out of money in the end… but i lose a bit of my bonechill every time i see her writings. Women are pretty fucking great. of course it is a woman. Tend? c’mon.
I’m making a soup today as well, which is not a completely normal happening, but it will be potato when it is done with its time in the crock. I’ve been working at a farm stand and am thrilled to say that my reason, ‘to be closer to food, to cook more real food’, has come to pass. (also, people. and payment) These potatoes are almost fully personified in my mind. They are giving me their pleasure, and sustenance and i am chopping them to chunks and bits. (look away.) I also peeled their skin off.
The things i turn toward are colored amorphous blobs. Memories, smells… sounds or tactilities, these are the scenes i go towards. I’m so fully centered in my body, but there is all this space around the molten core of me, and i seem to want to fill it with yarn and sweaters knit by people who can, food smells, tacos… you see. It is escaping my typing fingers, what it is i tend towards, how it is i move into and out of the world outside my quiet body. I don’t even know how i have sex, out there, but i do… every once in a while i get a glimpse of a spark shooting off into the darkness, my fling towards connection.
i feel so insular, my molten core bringing all the self-sufficiency. (hello, they say no man is an island. but what of woman? )
I tend to warmth, there are hats, there are blankets and there are never NOT those things. We have wood for the stove, we have pasta for the storms. It is always tended to. Always.
I’m not able to, or rather, it taxes me too dearly to slow down my writing brain. It must flow as it does. I tend to fly.
More colors to tend to in this dying light of Fall. the book i haven’t read, that i probably need to read, maybe. It is green-ly bound, and yellow at the heart. I think my chakras are interested by this.
I tend to personify.
I tend to leave space, for all the meaning and the worth that come from another. The shared experience that really isn’t. And is, too.
A season of tending outdoors has ended, and the wrapping up of it into storage, decay, decomposition, is a slow decay in an of itself. I start off strong. Always curious to see what is left to survive the elements, or not. That one hulahoop left by the shed. You see.