Thursday, October 31, 2013

Way Tight

I feel like I should have something to say now. Here we are back at the end and I’m kind of speechless. (There is a double meaning, no?)

Here comes the rain and cold and gray. The year is ending. Another day another year another life. Almost nothing has changed this year. My daughter is more beautiful and older, smarter, way funnier—more perfect. I am older and less of the rest of those things.  We are the same, she and I. We are resilient.

Come on then, winter, you aren’t dragging us into the dark with you, we got this. 

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Olly Olly Oxen Free (ok, so there are 2 metaphors going on here)

There isn’t much left over after waves of regret and joy pummel through our lives.  The same way the ocean takes rocks, shells, landmasses, trees and beats them smooth, wave after wave, this is what life does to us. It’s slow most of the time—a steady wash, over and over.  And, then there are storms, big and heavy, blusterous and massive, exhausting. But does the ocean ever pause? When do we get to call every one in? I’m about as smooth as I’m going to get, you dig?

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Light Up

I always talk about smoking like it's a bad habit that I picked up. Like a habit that I picked up when? 

Maybe when I was 5 from my erroneous step cousin in the trees of the Catholic Church in Canton? Or from the disenfranchised sk8tr boys that I ran all over town with, skating, kissing, breaking things? Or maybe from my mother and every one else who smoked in the 70s? Or from one of the "cool" church groups I joined, where it was okay to smoke a little of anything as long as you only dated within the church?

This isn't really about smoking, is it?

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

More fiction? I'm not sure what these notes are for but here they are

I don't want to slash open the wound, dig the knife in, and cut to the bone. I can't offer anything more than what I offered before. That's why I stay away, why you haven't heard from me.

You always stood waiting for me in the lamplight in the middle of the street. I'd crawl out of the nearest alleyway or round a corner and try not to run to you. I wanted to run to you, but I had to play it cool. 

You would grab me up and hold me so tight and kiss me deeply, passionately. I always slipped away too fast for you--you wanted to savor the embrace (it was all that you ever had.) I wanted to move away, out of sight, out of the lamplight, under cover(s) away from eyes that would know me. 

Friday, October 4, 2013

Let Me Love the One I Want

I keep needing to remind myself that this is my one, glorious life.

Every since I had a kid, I haven't made enough time to do some of the things that I used to love, things that have nothing to do with being a mom per se, things that are about my enrichment, joy, brain, work, lust, etc. (and please, I am not asking for permission or encouragement to do this stuff. I am also not having a pity party. Nor am I saying that growing my brain is not in the best interest of being a mom, because I know that it is for a factyfact.)

Do you remember when you would go to a record store and listen to whatever new shit came in that week and then buy soemthing and take it home and smoke a j and sit with headphones on and listen to both sides while reading the liner notes and lyrics (if you were lucky) and absorb the music? Well, I need to do that. And I kinda did and stumbled upon this little gem:

More please.