trying to color my hair and failing again, then finding a fixer-product at target and ending up with slightly reddish hair. not the plan, but in the end, who gives a shit?
my lovely dog needing surgery, costing so much money that we don't have, knowing that we'll pay whatever it is we need to--or more specifically, put it on credit--because that is what you do when a family member needs to be mended.
working from home and realizing that silence is a balm.
(as i wrote that my other dog is in the back yard, yapping away at a squirrel.)
thinking about charlie hebdo and france. about islaam and peaceful practitioners, about religion taking such fierce hold, about how my children cannot understand what would lead someone to do that. no faith to be found in this household, other than faith in the earth and trees and dogs and ice cream and people.
still people.
feeling the winter melancholy pull me down, surround me in my grandmother's old bedspread, demand that i give over to the inevitability of this time of year.
the crookedness of my little life, the beauty in it.
trying to love every single fucking inch of my skin, because i deserve it. resolving to put lotion all over my body every day -- not just my legs -- because my floppy belly and tiny breasts and ever-widening posterior deserve moisturizing, too.
anticipating the next two months of madness and scheduling and work, work, work. traveling to virginia with 37 ten, eleven and twelve year-olds for five nights and days. taking a red-eye with said children.
wallowing in some kind of selfishness, worry; festering money problems, uncertainity about stable income, knowing somewhere we'll be okay. at least that's what the card on the goddess wisdom app told me today.
feeling jealous. it's such a nasty thing to feel jealous. i am ashamed.
wanting new music to listen to; music that wails (horn sections are a must) and cries out (soul singers) and demands that my heart bursts from my chest.
wondering when the peace kicks in.
bartering with myself about exercising. about being okay with my 43-year old body and soul.
listing to do's along with groceries. feeling accomplishment but knowing it's the teenage version of it.
feeding a squirrel in the tree near our house.
wearing socks, glorious, cozy, fuzzy socks.
eating an entire plate of mashed potatoes for lunch yesterday; knowing that potatoes are my heritage, my history--or at least tellling myself that so i can eat more of them. also that they are a winter staple, but in summer i'll eat lighter things. believing this to be mostly true.
feeling unbelievable gratitude words that fuel me.
crying again. grateful that i no longer have medicine inside of me that makes that response difficult.
wanting to move my body, to not be sedentary. i will not be sedentary.
being able to hear the clocks ticking in my house. my heart beat. my dogs' breathing. letting all the quietness and loudness of my brain mix together into some kind of funky ease. i am okay, somehow.
absurd, yes. okay, yes.
