Night before last I dreamed that I was with a group of people at the Harry Potter world at Universal Studios in Orlando. It was hot and I was clearly, burdensomly pregnant, my shoulders slung low with bags that I realized belonged to the other people. I kept trying to stop and examine the incredibly detailed set pieces of the village, all of which seemed to be handmade and placed meticulously throughout the sets to…
Mere minutes from noon. I’ve finished my breakfast — scrambled eggs (with gouda!) and biscuits and coffee. I only get a few cups a week so I’ve decided to have them at home, where we use a grinder and a French press. I don’t care if it’s pretentious; it tastes infinitely better than the reheated Maxwell House sludge I end up with at work. Been feeling pretty crummy lately in the head region. Of course…
I lovehate the internet. On the one hand, in ye golden olden days, my midwife would have uttered the words “echogenic bowel” to me and I would have had to carve out some time between milking the cows and hanging the pig guts to walk uphill both ways toward a library, inside which I’d pore over medical books carefully in dusty, neglected library aisles, wondering what the densely packed terms actually meant. And worrying. On…
Please accept this photo as a substitute for actual interesting content, which I have absolutely no motivation or energy to produce lately. My muse got hit by a truck. Send her a get well soon card, would ya?
I look at my life in slow motion sometimes, all the choices I’ve made and weird things that people have said or done to me that have fucked me up in some small way or large, a cascade of random sentences and moments and interactions and looks, an abstract timeline soaring through victory and then skidding through muddy humiliation, going nowhere in particular, nowhere predictable, nowhere comfortable, nowhere guaranteed. I just see an unwieldy, overloaded…
Open shower curtain, spray Clorox Cleanup blindly, yell “CLEAN THYSELF!”, leave.
I spend a lot of time fighting my gut feelings and trying to convince myself that they are off base, not real, exaggerated, etc. And every fucking time, my gut feelings have been on point. Every time. Every time. Every fucking time. And yet I keep plugging along, each new experience giving me a chance to say, No, gut, you’re wrong this time. You know, gut, you sure are paranoid for no reason. Gut, you…
Things the BFKM suggested we do today: 1. Murder [name redacted] and [name redacted] and then run away to Mexico. 2. Burn a bunch of Bibles to taunt that preacher in Florida. 3. Fill up a kiddie pool with baby oil and wrestle naked.
If you keep your mouth shut and try to roll with the punches when something bothers you, you run the risk of being completely run over. Or of being called passive-aggressive later, when you draw attention to the fact that you knew shit wasn’t right but that you were picking your battles and trying to be understanding, even against your better instincts. But if you open your mouth straightaway, you’re going to get called a…
Tonight my dad commented on the size of my ankles.
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