Sunday, December 14, 2014

Rattling Bits

Twisting turning in my brain.
Stomach guts churning

Sleepless on repeat as I yawn

I just want to drift away
So childish, so simple

I am so black and white focused because I live in the land of grey.
I am again stuck in between.

Health and illness
Prosperity and poverty
Sleep and insomnia
Desire and despair

I miss the men of my past.
I have no hope for the future.

"Tell me a story" I asked. I never ask the question I want.  "Do you want to hear a story?"

Or be even braver.  "Let me tell you a story."

There once was a woman who lived in her head.  She decided one day to come out and play.  Put on a pretty skirt and lovely shoes.  She danced her way into my life and I've never been the same.

Too much beer

What does one do when their most dangerous temptation is dead?

So late at night when you are drunk and your boundaries are lax, who do you call?

Who do you crave?

Crave the man made of ash in the box on your shelf?

It has been years now, YEARS I can say and yet, I still wait for a person to tempt me beyond my bedroom walls.  Someone to push my boundaries, someone to scare me just enough, but not too much.

Such a tight balance to walk, such a hard limit to live up too.

I have no hope, but still I dream of a past that once was, and future never to be.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014


I got the will to drive myself sleepless.

So much time is cashed.
So much smoke is wasted.
Sudden disappearance
In the air is thick and cool.
I can't approach myself
Skidding over this perdition
And now I'm out on the verandah
When I should have gone to school.

Well I call for sleep,
But sleep it won't come to me.
Shuffling in the hallway,
I can hear him on the stairs.
I hear his lighter flicking.
I hear the soft sigh of his inhale.
And the whole width of my intentions
He exhales into the air.

I got the will to drive myself sleepless.

Skeedunt, stunt the runt,
Smoking buddha blunt.

I got the will to drive myself sleepless.

- Soul Coughing

Monday, October 20, 2014


I am wearing death and memories. On my wrists, my fingers and inked into my feet.
I will reclaim the joy tomorrow.

Tuesday, October 7, 2014


My life is lived within
the grid of a calendar
the lines of a ToDo list

I get reminders about reminders about deadlines
I chant to myself "This is not a trap, this is a welcome constraint"
Practicing how to say "No" in the mirror

Resorting to text because my mouth is not trustworthy.
Never "One day.", so painfully vague
Always "Hmm, how about this week instead?"

I will meet you, I will visit, I will play and I will explore
Just not today, or tomorrow or this week.
Lets plan for next week, in two weeks or next April

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Momentary Blip

“Absence is a house so vast that inside you will pass through its walls and hang pictures on the air.” 
― Pablo Neruda

I go to collect Papa's ashes tomorrow.  I will be blending them in with T's.

Funny, I just realized these are the last two men I've loved and one was a cat.  Their memories now live in a house of absence I built and have maintained since childhood. Each room holding one set.

It is a beautiful house though.

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Sleepy Daydreamer

So you get poetry:

The History Of One Tough Motherfucker

he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and
a white cross-eyed tailless cat
I took him in and fed him and he stayed
grew to trust me until a friend drove up the driveway
and ran him over
I took what was left to a vet who said,"not much
chance…give him these pills…his backbone
is crushed, but is was crushed before and somehow
mended, if he lives he'll never walk, look at
these x-rays, he's been shot, look here, the pellets
are still there…also, he once had a tail, somebody
cut it off…"
I took the cat back, it was a hot summer, one of the
hottest in decades, I put him on the bathroom
floor, gave him water and pills, he wouldn't eat, he
wouldn't touch the water, I dipped my finger into it
and wet his mouth and I talked to him, I didn't go any-
where, I put in a lot of bathroom time and talked to
him and gently touched him and he looked back at
me with those pale blue crossed eyes and as the days went
by he made his first move
dragging himself forward by his front legs
(the rear ones wouldn't work)
he made it to the litter box
crawled over and in,
it was like the trumpet of possible victory
blowing in that bathroom and into the city, I
related to that cat-I'd had it bad, not that
bad but bad enough
one morning he got up, stood up, fell back down and
just looked at me.
"you can make it," I said to him.
he kept trying, getting up falling down, finally
he walked a few steps, he was like a drunk, the
rear legs just didn't want to do it and he fell again, rested,
then got up.
you know the rest: now he's better than ever, cross-eyed
almost toothless, but the grace is back, and that look in
his eyes never left…
and now sometimes I'm interviewed, they want to hear about
life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed,
shot, runover de-tailed cat and I say,"look, look
at this!"
but they don't understand, they say something like,"you
say you've been influenced by Celine?"
"no," I hold the cat up,"by what happens, by
things like this, by this, by this!"
I shake the cat, hold him up in
the smoky and drunken light, he's relaxed he knows…
it's then that the interviews end
although I am proud sometimes when I see the pictures
later and there I am and there is the cat and we are photo-
graphed together.
he too knows it's bullshit but that somehow it all helps.

- Bukowski

Wednesday, September 24, 2014


I need to find Jillian Weise's new poetry book.  Search it out of a dusty cavernous store with 3 cats and an owner who manages to disappear before you can ask a question.  I want to trip over it shiny new in the dark gloom of forgotten tombs.

I want to rescue it.

I am tipsy gal.  One beer in and shaved ice as dinner. I will sleep tonight, but the dreams have lost their prophecy. Good, I need time to me.  I overbooked my world again.

Failure to say no.

I am still sleeping. No danger zone yet. How I love to skirt that edge though.

Cannot fall over
Cannot fall over
Cannot fall over

Poetry to prop me up and the reminder that somewhere, somehow there will always be a tomorrow even if it isn't for me or mine.

Always a tomorrow.

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Yellow, I call yellow

It's midnight and my throat is still fucked.  I should be sleeping, snoring along with Zenhead crashed out on my floor.  Obviously, I am not.  I am still coming down from the day.

These last few weeks have been a whirlwind of emotion, drama and re-acclimating. I don't recall ever having such a delay in my full return before.  Part of me is enjoying it.  I am being more daring then typical.  Part of me wonders if this is a chemical imbalance issue and I need to watch it closely.

Most of me thinks with the ups come the downs, and I need to remember to pace myself.

Thursday, September 4, 2014


Must remember how to be circumspect.

Mouth soft, teeth locked, eyes open.

Finding Mental Footing

I just returned from Black Rock City yesterday.  Part of me is still in BRC mode.  I am trying to fit back into my normal patterns, but I don't conform as well yet.  Need more time or maybe the patterns just need to change.  This will be something to evaluate, when I can formulate more coherent thoughts.

The hardest part of coming back from a week plus in the desert is reining in that spread of freedom.  I need to meet goals and deadlines again.  I need to get back into the mindset of keeping my reactions and desires under my skin instead of letting them come forth and be.

I need to settle back into my skin.  Put the TAC mindset back in her box and re-make the boundaries that allow me to express myself as needed, but not to the point of overwhelming myself or others.

Should have left the phone in the box till today...TAC mind was too prevalent previously and I bounced right into a danger zone.  Hopefully, it is okay now.  No harm no foul, right?  Keeping fingers crossed and trying to avoid checking my email too much.

I got to work on my patterns.  Things have changed.  I blame the bass.  It thrums right through me, rattling open boxes I thought locked, I thought dead, I thought lost.  So much is coming to the surface for me to sift through.  What can I review, what can I rebox and what do I need to reincorporate?

Overwhelming at this point.  I have a quick sketch on what I need to ponder, so I will slowly begin the internal inventory & evaluation within the next week.

It is nice though, to have tender places to push again.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Loose Bondage

Grief is a continuous process, till it isn't.

I likened grief previously to a corset.  It bound my ribs and despite the difficultly in breathing it kept me upright.  Time has done it's job and the corset has shrunk.  I am able to be upright without it's help.  It now is a wide black ribbon that lives under my breasts.  At times it tightens, reminds me that it is still there.  He is still gone.  

I have been alternately looking forward to this week and fearing it.  I am off to a place that holds so many emotional memories for me of him.  Him living and his death.

So I will carry small memories with me to remind me of the joy he brought me and I will have his bracelet with me as always.  I picked up a small bottle of Crown and will share it during the Temple Burn.

These small rituals and goodbyes help the ribbon shrink.  I don't think the ribbon will ever disappear.  I wonder if I should find that as comforting as I do.

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Poetry Interlude


Yet life is not a vision nor a prayer,

But stubborn work; she may not shun her task.
After the first compassion, none will spare
Her portion and her work achieved, to ask.
She pleads for respite,—she will come ere long
When, resting by the roadside, she is strong.

Nay, for the hurrying throng of passers-by

Will crush her with their onward-rolling stream.
Much must be done before the brief light die;
She may not loiter, rapt in the vain dream.
With unused trembling hands, and faltering feet,
She staggers forth, her lot assigned to meet.

But when she fills her days with duties done,

Strange vigor comes, she is restored to health.
New aims, new interests rise with each new sun,
And life still holds for her unbounded wealth.
All that seemed hard and toilsome now proves small,
And naught may daunt her,—she hath strength for all.

Emma Lazarus

Tuesday, August 5, 2014


Red pill or blue pill
No, thank you, I will take that gross little pink one
Keeps my stomach from tilting with the world

Unless you have a small blue one with Buddha stamped on it in the back there...

I will take him instead and float.

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Keeping A Piece For Me

Am living in a house at the top of a mountain.  This house isn't mine, but I am welcome here.

I treasure that.

I am living in a house at the top of a mountain, listening to a dog snore next to me.

It calms me.

Living in this house is temporary, but the peace it brings will resonate beyond my end date.


This past week has been interesting.  Apparently, I am not one for smooth slow transitions.  Perhaps, I have become too attached to my manual transmission and throw myself into gear and out with the same fierceness.

Met a new friend recently.  I have a lovely crush, which I will keep in my back pocket.  Something to pull out and enjoy alone every so often.  It is so nice to have a new friend.  Especially one with a similar banter line.  ESPECIALLY one who likes to read and I get to introduce lots of lovely new titles too.  Heh, knowing me that last bit is the biggest attraction.

No, this person is lovely.  Smart, yummy and very very clever.  I look forward to our next conversation.  Which won't be for a few days.  Like I said, I need to keep my crush in my back pocket.  Gotta whittle it down some then fold it up nice and neat.  So it slips in easy and I won't make anyone uncomfortable.

Wednesday, July 9, 2014


I haven't had a cycle like this in a while.  I am feeling the anxiety & nausea rise and fall over hours instead of days now.

I keep going from wanting to contact everyone I know and apologize profusely for my existence to holding my breath and waiting for the wave of anxiety to crest so I can breathe and bring my phone back into reach. One of these waves, I am going to end up flipping it into the next cubical just to save me from making the type of call that is actually worse then the pathetic drunk phone call that can be so common.

Should just put it in my bag and sign out of my email, but I won't.  I am in need mode.  I need my phone, I need constant contact with various people.  I rarely need such, but today is apparently one of those days. So I try to focus on work.  I allow myself to check my inbox & phone after I complete a set amount of work. At least I am still being productive. We will ignore the time I am taking to write this out.

Of course I don't get what I need.  I don't ask for it.  I don't think I could ask for it.  I am too afraid to ask for it and it would be unfair to those I want that level of contact from.  They don't need to change their patterns, their day because my stomach won't stay put.  This too shall pass, right?  Except I think I got things confused and I turned my anxiety into the Balrog and I am not sure I can fake being Gandalf enough to beat it.

Part of me finds this highly amusing.  I HATE being needy.  I hate that bubble of hope each time I check bursting.  Makes the tummy worse.  Makes me even more tired.

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Finishing off grief

The year T died, I lost another person.  Not to death, but distance. It was particular terrible timing.  They left 3 months after T died during what would have been T's birthday week. Until that point, they were perfectly lovely with support and consideration.

I am sure I acknowledged their leaving to them, but it didn't sink into my working brain till August.  I had a mini break down via phone.  I felt terrible, that swamp of emotions being dropped on them without warning. Then I was prickly in Sept and distant for a few months after.  Then I thought I was ok, all was well.  They came to visit last year and it was lovely.  I've missed them so and to breathe in again that scent that used to make me feel so safe was divine.

This year was my turn to go visit.  To be the scent bringer.  I didn't realize that apparently I had put the us that was not an us in a holding pattern in my head.  They have a great set up, whole new chapter in their life being written and while I am grateful to be a cast as a recurring character, I felt a bit like a NPC while I was there.  I wasn't sure what my role was supposed to be.  So I did my best to tighten my fingers around my friend role.  Held on with dear life.  I think I did ok,  I think I did not cause any harm to my friend. I hope.

I think I may have caused a bit of harm to myself.  Am a little depressed today, sad and grieving.  The previous weekend was (I hope) the final reminder for me to continue to unpack and let go of a past that once was. Idle dreams, idle thoughts of perhaps one day in the future *shrug* Doesn't matter now.  They have found the one they think they will spend a long time with.  I don't know what that exactly entails, but the space that was mine is no longer available.  I only get a part of it now.  I will come to terms with that soon, but today and this week I get to be sad.

Next year, the visit will be better. I will have unwrapped my arms around from all of this.  I just need to remember that this is no longer a burden I need to carry and breath deeply of the freedom from one more weight being dropped off.

Scent of freedom is always at war with the scent of home.  Guess I am lucky they smell like someone else now.

Anxiety & Unease

At least I am losing weight.

I tell myself this over and over again when I am unable to finish a meal again or start one.  Nibble here or a nibble there.  I am interested in this distaste for an action I have over indulged in for years.

Why now?  What changed?  And most importantly can I harness this?

I don't think so.  I want to ride it out.  See what happens, this is a new aspect to me, of me.

Nauseated at the moment.  Pushed myself through an early lunch and tried to eat a healthy sized serving of pita & hummus.  Now I want to vomit.  Garlic once is great, twice is not.

Friday, June 27, 2014


Once upon a time I sexed. *snort*

Actually, it was just a few hours ago.  I met a woman at her house.  A hard to find house nestled in the common anonymity that is suburbia.  I am glad she hosted, I wanted to meet her dogs.

The dogs were everything I hoped for.

We talked and wined, talked some more and I wondered how could I make a move if she is all the way the fuck on the other side of the couch.  Then I noticed each time she got up, bathroom, more wine, let dogs in or out, she slooooowly moved closer.  So I played the mirror game.

Eventually, within arm's reach (finally!) she lolls her head on the back of the couch and asks "So, uh...want to watch a movie?"

My brain goes "The fuckshit is that?"  I am not even coherent enough to add a What to that thought.  I shake my head no and crook my finger at her.

It worked....well goddamn.  Put that move in my back pocket.

Later is later is dental dam.  Useful little buggers when they don't try to suffocate you.  Wildly snapping hips and dental dam up your nose is definitely a great way to get your heart rate going.  My points on my fuelband didn't really reflect it though.  I should write Nike a note.  I have found a wide open issue, and they need to fix it.

I get dressed and option not to go with the bra.  It gets shoved into my purse.  Away I go to home, to shower and snuggle into bed.

Hunger hits me halfway home.  I stop at a Denny's.  I want a salad and coffee.  I have a new book of essays to indulge in so I pull that puppy out and bury my nose.  Two essays, one cup of coffee later, I realize I am not wearing a bra in public and yes, it is obvious.  Mostly because I neglected to notice that when I pulled out the book, I pulled out half the bra.  Black lace and beige hanging out next to me.


Monday, June 9, 2014

Kudos to Me

Just finished reading Samantha Irby's Meaty. (Yes, I stopped to underline that before continuing) Monday night is weight class night.  I typically go with a friend and we go sweat and lift and swear and make faces at each other while giggling.

This Monday night, I laid on my bed and devoured Meaty. (Yep, again) I should have gone to class.  Sleep will be tough tonight and my little anxiety twitches are already increasing intensity.  Or if not go to class, clean my room.  Fold and hang the clothes from the pile in the corner of my floor.  Sweep up the cat hair and cat litter mine love to shed & spread.  Scrub up the various markers of cat bile vomit and put my shoes in the rack, but no.  I laid across my bed and delved into Irby's essays.

And I felt welcomed.  For I think Irby would understand and probably take it as the compliment I intend it to be.

I did manage to start a load of laundry after.  I need sheets, I can only stand the cat fur addition for so long before I am grossed out and contemplating sleeping sans sheets.

So tonight my accomplishments rate at laundry (1 maybe 2 loads), decent dinner (ie not fast food or frozen) and reading Meaty.

Yea,I get a pat on the back.

**UPDATE: Cat vomit cleaned along with extra special hairball splat.  Go Me!

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

I am tired.

I am tired of being talked to like a child and then told to relax when I ask to be treated as an adult.

I am tired of being called a bitch for daring to object to being treated as an object.  Then being derided for being too fat or too tattooed or too something.

I am tired of not being able to speak freely in a public space without fear of retribution, verbal or physical.

I am tired of my body not being my own.  Tired of laws claiming others have greater rights over my person.  Tired of hands claiming space on me.  My right to give permission, unheeded, ignored, laughed at. Then when I am abused, told it is my fault, I asked for it.  I must have wanted it.

I am tired of other people who identify as women being abused, being fetishized, being mocked, being everything on this list and more. I am really fucking tired of them being overlooked and ignored.

Mostly, I am tired of writing shit like this.  Other women have written this over and over in multiple timelines, in multiple languages and far more eloquently then I.

I am tired and I want to stop. Give up my teaspoon and go to bed.  Then I remember who I am angry at. I am angry at the person who perpetuates rape culture, privilege.  Those who fight to keep the status quo.  Those who believe women are things.  Who believe their wants override our rights.  Other women who support those above. White feminists who deny women of color their voices or steal them.  Gay people who ignore the rest of the rainbow.

So that is how I ended up a cranky bitch feminist.

Monday, May 5, 2014

Need to do something

Finals this week and I am having so much trouble caring.  Math is tomorrow and I haven't even bothered to study really. We are allowed to have 3x5 card of notes, and I just haven't.  I should, I should at least write down the formulas.  Yes, I will do that before I go to bed.

I should go to bed.  Sleep.  I've been sick.  Weak immune system.  Once upon a time, I was so healthy and then I learned what worn out meant.  These past few years have taught me the meaning of worn down.  I've leveled up.

After this weekend,  I hope I will be more refreshed.  My head is currently in the dichotomy of exhausted and restless.  I rarely make good decisions at that point.  Guess, I should be grateful my most dangerous temptation is dead.

I am not.  I miss the battle.