Just for You

If you found this, leave an X in the comment box...
:)

Vice Cards; or "Careful Adventures in the Land of Persuasion"

 
-->

“You are a deeply rooted student of the earth and a creative mind.  You are a caregiver of children and the planet. You are an expressive spirit of life.”

--D. B., 2014

I’m living a mayfly life these days. Short bursts of frenetic, kinetic energy guide my searches lately, and then the resounding crash or crunch or flapping from being trapped in the spider’s web.  I’m the single mama all the time, but some days I don’t have my children; I replace them with a phantom-limb sadness that aches and makes me turn my head down, looking for two more people at my elbows.  On the some days that I don’t have my children, I’m a woman catching up. I’m cleaning, I’m cooking, I’m filing, I’m reading, I’m writing, I’m typing, typing, typing, keeping correspondence with so many. Some of my correspondents I love more than life, knowing that they love me the same way. To others, I give too much of my time.

“…Your time is so, so precious.”

--N. M., 2014

I have never had to make so many decisions about so many different things at once; at a time where my self-esteem roller-coasters from a dizzying peak of confidence (a summit I don’t recall ever reaching until now) to a self-deprecating gorge of indecision, I worry that the choices I’m making may not be the best, but then, I don’t think they’re the worst, either. Most are matters of the heart.

For example (let’s make a list, because lists are easy):

1. I traveled alone and met someone I had never met in real life before.
2. Gave my heart out to a few new people.  As of this writing, some have treated it well, made a lovely nest for it, and continue to nurture it. I’m lucky to call them my friends. Others tried to hold it with sticky fingers, held it too tightly, dropped it, and used second-hand scotch-tape to repair the larger chunks. In those cases, I tried to pick up the smaller pieces and put them back in my heart dresser. Some of them won’t go back in the drawer.
3. I stayed up too late writing/talking/singing/playing/staring/folding laundry/doing dishes/unpacking/youtubing/listening to sad music/crying/neglecting folding laundry.   I should sleep more.
4. I’ve allowed others to invade my sleep; Freddy Kruegers that just want to hang out until they’re ready for bed.
5. I’ve eaten alone again, happily. Foodgasms abound at the Driftless Café in Viroqua, gentle reader, and I implore you to savor their wares.
6. Paddleboarded and kayaked for the first time. And I liked it.
7. Drank a bourbon mojito (Woodford Reserve, per Nagorski rules) at 1pm after smoking a very small cigar and eating fantastic macaroni and cheese, with a new friend, and I picked up the tab. Because it was Tuesday.

 There will be more, to be sure.

“Tonight you should be able to go to bed thinking, ‘I made the best choices today.’”

--K. M., 2014

Oh, the vice cards we get to play in this year post-divorce…My vices are few, and my boundaries and controls are almost painfully in place. Sometimes I wish I could be as carefree as the polyamorous lover who can easily share what she wants and what she has…I wish I could be the exhibitionist cabaret singer who can throw you a pie filled with emotional meringue, to be licked off the noses in the front row…I wish I could run into the bluffs with bare feet and ripped jeans and scream to hear my voice bounce off the suburban shingle that cloisters too much stuff.

And I don’t, because most of the time, more often than not, I really quite like who I am, right now…and because I’m tired. This gig is tough. But still…

I’m so glad to be here right now, like this. It’s rare and bright pink and just a little too sensitive to the touch. Not the wound after the scab has been ripped off, but the fresh scar that was hidden by bandages for so long.

You teach me so much. You, you, you. You who crochet, and you who listen, and you who buy me a drink, and you who lift something heavy with me, and you who put my shelf together, and you who led and you who let me lead.

You are so very many different people I am so very grateful for.  

*The above quotes are very real. I'm lucky I got to have them hand-delivered to me.

"Because I'm Lazy..."

I've re-invented myself within the confines and freedoms and passageways of divorce. I've sought and I've found. I've gotten lost many, many, many times. I've counted my steps, retraced my path, and discovered new routes.

Most would call this productivity. One does not. To that, I respond with this.

I also don't spend nearly enough time singing like a jilted, 1920's torch singer.

I've never been lazy in my life. I don't intend to start anytime soon. Busy might be my leisure.

Sing if You're Winning

A short post:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
Cover songs are silly,
and so are girls with ukes.

You've been warned: I'm happy.

Telling Relic

Found this whilst digging through old Word documents, in an effort to organize my growing number of saved applications, cover letters, and resumes.  The following document, titled "What I Want", is dated 11/11/05. Two years into marriage, I had already been through a severe depression (for which I was medically treated for one year), had done service in Chicago, became homeless and then gained residence, completed a year's worth of service for AmeriCorps, and was working for Barnes & Noble.  My children, my back injury, and my community theatre life had not come into existence.  I was hungry for something, but I didn't know what it tasted like.  I remember being content enough, but not particularly happy or joyful in my life. Not depressed, not exultant, just sort of abiding in a comfortable middle ground that was neither life-giving nor depleting.  It was only a few months later that I became pregnant with my son.

Interestingly, it wasn't until my children were born that I started to find and do the things that I wanted to do. I learned how to run, I got back into yoga, took some tap classes, learned to play the ukulele, made some paintings, got an ipod (it was '05, and I was still using a Discman, for goodness sake), returned to performance, and eventually saw all of the Harry Potter films.  During this time of constant change and upheaval in my personal life, it's nice to know that I got what I wanted, eventually, when I made the decision, for myself, to do the things I wanted to do. I'd be lying if I didn't say that I'm a bit excited about what the future might bring. (I'm also excited to find a bra that fits.)

 

What I Want: Long Term

1. Get some sort of grad/diploma degree for theatre/interdisciplinary arts.
2. Get a trade: yoga, carpentry, cooking, computer tech, esthestician, mechanics
3. Kid(s)?
4. Live in a bigger city
5. Travel—esp. eastern & western Europe
6. iPod
7. Get a promotion at B&N

What I Want: Short Term

1. Go to movie by myself.
2. Make a painting.
3. Finish a story.
4. Take a yoga class.
5. Take a dance class.
6. Take guitar lessons.
7. Get a bra that fits.
8. Get shoes that fit and are comfy.
9. Buy frames for pictures.
10. Go to work.
11. See the new Harry Potter.
12.  

Airing of the Grievances, or: In Honor of Festivus, Before the Feats of Strength

 
-->

For very long I’ve kept very quiet about very much. While I’m not prone to rampant acts of disclosure, and while I recognize that the internet seems to be the repository of every fleeting feeling every half-wit (and half that) may feel, I do believe it’s time to shake out a few rugs and clear a few cobwebs. And, because I’m fond of lists, I’ll bullet point this fine fancying of mine.

1. I’m working 30+ hours/week during this holiday season; a change from the last 6 years of my life, which were solely devoted to raising my babes and keeping a home and garden (amongst many other things). I enjoy my co-workers and I like my department and I’m grateful to have the chance to re-establish myself in the working world again, but retail is draining and demanding and has left me raw and withdrawn. Many have supported me during this return to work, and I am so incredibly grateful to them for their love and good cheer and offers of babysitting.

2. I’m exhausted. Mentally, physically, and spiritually I am spent. I have found that the rigors of maintaining the perception of normality while living with my former partner has left me feeling used and fraudulent, like the fifty dollar bills Data finds in the Fratelli’s basement. More on this to follow, once there is finality.

3. An exercise in careful contemplation, as a random glimpse of an evening’s emotions that I might maintain: Imagine that someone you would assume would work in the best interest of others has decided to transport ill children (pinkeye, upper respiratory infections, fever) to his mother’s house in the middle of a snowy state under the threat of a snowstorm, in that he may have a 48-hour date in a far-flung major city with his current girlfriend. Ponder your response. I imagine it would leave me distraught, unnerved, and enormously sad.

4. Dating is awkward and relevant and irrelevant and surprising and fun, at times. I imagine that if someone was actually interested in me, they would be interested in me. See the Momus video, referenced in my previous entry, “We’re Here One Minute, the Next One We’re Dead.” If I am what you think I am, or if you want to know what you think I am, then let your curiosity guide you. I will not do the work for you.

5. I love my friends. Again, you know who you are. Thank you for understanding me when I say I want to hang out with you and then I change my mind, because I can, because I can’t, because I can, because of my eye of the storm. None of you are getting Christmas gifts this year, and every one of you doesn’t care. I love you even more for this. For those of you that gave me something during this season—either your time or something in/tangible (a job, a cd, a crocheted coffee cozy, skype time, felt foxes for my babes, a card, a story of your failed/successful relationship, a call, a hug—so, so many hugs, an hour of babysitting/swapping, a drink, a lunch, a kiss/et al, a smile), you are the vitality that helps me breathe easier and cry comfortably; the balm that has helped my sore soul stay (mostly) in shape, the glue that keeps me from losing bits of myself along the path. I am so lucky to have you in my life, all of you.

6. It's been six months (the summer solstice, to be exact) that this union was officially dissolved. The divorce papers will be submitted in January. Celebration will come with the housewarming, at a later date, and I look forward to a better night’s sleep that only one’s own nest can bring.

Try a Little Tenderness

I'm working this Thanksgiving (Wed., Thurs, Fri., Sat., & Sun). Many in retail/food-service/healthcare are doing the same. If you happen to be in a position where you're interacting with any of us, please:

1. Be kind. We're here to help you, as we're in a position of service.
2. Because we're in a position of service, we'll treat you well. You do the same.
3. If we can't help you the moment you need us, don't take it personally. We'll do our best for you as soon as you can. Your patience is appreciated.
4. Don't tell me "it sucks to work on Thanksgiving." I don't share the thought, and I'm not interested in spending time thinking about something that doesn't apply to me.
5. Don't take retail/food-service so seriously--lots of folks are wanting the same thing of us as you are, so please understand that when it's your turn, we'll give you our full attention. Until then, see number 3. A sense of humor is most welcome, especially if it's a good joke about 4th-string quarterbacks, icy winds, or Hobbits. All of these are good conversation starters. Which brings me to the final bit:
6. I'm a human; I'm not a service-bot--some sort of android designed for just you. I can only do a few things at once, and I do have flaws, as I'm a thinking, feeling, emoting sack of bones.

Treat me and all my brothers and sisters in service with kindness and patience this holiday season, and I guarantee you will get the best service I can possibly give.

Talk Dirty to Me: Or, Mansplain Me to Save Me From Myself

"I've been everywhere, man..."
--Johnny Cash (song written by Geoff Mack, 1959)

New people have found their way into my life, and for all that it is or all that it may become, I choose to look at these new people as new friends. Some might become lovers, some might become acquaintances, and some may become...Well, weird.

As of late, after I disclosed a recent bout of mansplaining that came from one of the new people who found his way across my path, a very good friend pointed out to me that the activity of "mansplaining" is rampant lately, and in fact, she directed me to "Crap Email From a Dude", a regular blog column on Jezebel.com ("Celebrity, Sex, Fashion for Women. Without Airbrushing.").

Before we read the latest pertinent article, let's note that urbandictionary.com defines mansplaining as:
"To explain in a patronizing manner, assuming total ignorance on the part of those listening. The mansplainer is often shocked and hurt when their mansplanation is not taken as absolute fact, criticized or even rejected altogether."
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Mansplain

My mansplainer was a hit-and-run; the message was sent without so much as a moment's thought to his own actions; I don't doubt that he gave a giggle after he sent his missive, which informed me of so much that I didn't know about myself.

Now, I'm a lover and a fighter, but I know when to be safe and walk away; that's why I'm re-printing a very similar mansplained piece of writing that was published in jezebel.com, by Hortense Smith.  I wish my mansplainer well, and I honestly hope he finds true happiness with the submissive sweetheart he has always longed for (she just didn't know how lucky she was!), and I thank him from saving me another lifetime of telling me what is wrong with me (but I just didn't know it).

http://jezebel.com/5595558/crap-email-from-a-dude-i-hope-you-will-find-this-outsiders-perspective-to-be-useful

Thankyouthankyouthankyou

Gratitude: Or, 5 things that give more meaning to my life, as of 11/11/13, as appreciated by yours truly.
 
1. good hugs
2. toasted pumpkin seeds
3. a really good, strong work-out
4. people who notice when your work-out schedule has changed.
5. The staff at the Y. And again: The staff at the Y. They have been my community, solidly, for over 4 years, and time and again they've come through for me; everything I've put in to my time there, the staff have given back 10-fold, regarding everything from encouragement, financial assistance, temporary child care, classes, community, outreach, and friendly engagement. When I asked for clearer communication about Y-sponsored surround care at Hamilton, I not only had a great sit-down w/Nate Torres, the director for after-school care, but found that he was able to take action and really support me and represent my concerns; this resulted in direct assistance and enrollment into afternoon care for both kids. This goes beyond gratitude--this is a domino finally put in place that assures movement towards a job; by knowing that my little ones are being safely cared for after school, in their school, I can move forward with my job search, eliminating one more blockade that was stalling my progress. I actually had to hug the guy, and I nearly cried. It's good to know when someone's on your team; it's AMAZING to find out an entire organization feels the same way.

We're here one minute, the next one we're dead...

This little piece of work has been sitting around since August, mulling, stewing, lurking in the dark corners between the houses of Too Much Information and Full Disclosure.  For the love of Eve Ensler, Amanda Palmer, bell hooks, Anaìs Nin, and Virginia Woolf, however, I've come to the conclusion that these thoughts and ideas and things are not only considerably valid, but inherently human and sexual and not at all profane.  These glowing thoughts and ideas and things presumably come from a little glowing spot, somewhere in the region of the second chakra; it's a region that has lain dormant longer than I should have allowed, and I do believe it has been awakened.

Corpus Manifesto, 

With Love to Eve Ensler, Anaîs Nin, bell hooks, Amanda Palmer, and Virginia Woolf, 

as of 11.07.13

Please know this:

I will not shave my legs for you. Ever. If I feel like having smooth legs, I will make it so. I will apply a straight razor to my tender flesh—that which has suffered the open-sore wrath of antibiotic-resistant strain MRSA—and I will do so because I want to do so. My hair is my own and it will never be cut or styled or removed for you or your desires, unless I want it to be so. 

My underarms smell. A lot. I like my smell, but it is incredibly strong. Something like skunk mixed with grapefruit. I’ve had no complaints yet, but I don’t care. I wear deodorant when I want to, and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Either way, it is my smell and it will be with me longer than you will. 

My vagina is torn and wet. I’ve given birth to large-headed humans that forced their way to their first breath of life with the determination of a bull in a ring of matadors.  They both tore me, pulling me apart, dragging pieces of me with them, leaving me in tatters.  This is also mine, and I do not for a moment regret those gorgeous wounds of life that twinge on a rough bike ride or during jackhammer intercourse.  It’s a wet, torn, wild place of enormous strength and heat, ever flooding because of desire or your laugh or your blue.green.grey.black.brown eyes. I’m lucky to have such a reservoir. You’re lucky if you get to swim in it.

I’ve been marked, forever, in my breasts, belly, hips and arms by the growing and shedding of layers of genetics; stretch marks crawl across me like a thousand Arabic squiggles, each one with a story to tell. I don’t try to hide them.

I love sex. A lot. I have the freedom to use my body for sex in as many ways as I desire, with a willing and giving partner. We will treat each other like equals, neither seeking to dominate or belittle the other, unless it is part of agreed play.

I am not your exotic muse, nor will I be the one you chose to “slum it with”.  I am not to be placed on a pedestal, to be used as you see fit when you see fit. If I want to be used, you will know it. In the words of Momus/Amanda Palmer (see video below): I may want you, and I may want you to want me, but I don’t need you. And I don’t need you to need me to need you.

Note: The Amanda Fucking Palmer video is a cover of the Momus song. You can choose which one you like; I like them both for different reasons.

Listen To This

How many people think of how many ways to say that their music defines and/or shapes their lives? The obvious has been stated by us all--we love music, we breathe music, we allow it to transform our moods, our desires, our outlook on life...

This power was proven and set in stone 5 years ago by my son as he circled the kitchen, singing something nearly unintelligible, at full voice in the garbled tones only a two-year-old can screech; if I hadn't picked up "CBGB" I wouldn't have understood that he was singing "Life During Wartime" by The Talking Heads. My daughter was born to Elton John and Stevie Wonder. I always wanted someone to play "I Will" by the Beatles for me, but I got "Killing Me Softly" by The Fugees from my former husband. The end of my marriage was sealed by Aphex Twin's "Cliffs". It's been a long journey, and I quite like the path so far; "Cruel" by St. Vincent helped me in the early bits, and now the joy and sexiness of everything Nina Simone has ever sung is daily building buoyancy for me.

What's on your playlist? Any requests?

Ivor the Engine Driver Has a Remedy.

Lots of fresh, new ideas with the crumbling of familial archaic ones; with dissolution comes new, separate pieces, yet the same building materials remain.

For him, I wish him luck with his new One.

For me, I wish me all that I have and more, less the one that was not all in and the other that is damaged beyond repair.

And openness. I cannot wait for open air and clean spaces, even when inundated with stick-figure drawings and math sheets and take-home reminder slips; my home will feel different, I know.

Frankly, my dear:
*Some have told me to try online dating, especially as my social network is "exhausted". I don't plan on dating my mama friends or library activists/grandparents, so the advice might be worthwhile (but really, I'm too freaked out about the sizable creep ratio to make an online effort).

*And, to tell you the truth, I like this time I've created to get my sh*t sorted out without having to worry about someone else or about the dramas that come with new relationships...But if someone braves the path to shake my hand, as it were, I'd lustily reach out my hand to return the shake...

*It's fall, I love Halloween, I felt awesome as Pippi Longstocking (strongest girl in the world!!), and I can't wait to make pie for my friends and family. PIE!

*Coffee. If you ask me, I'd say yes.


If you stayed for the whole video/song, you'll find that the young woman is forgiven her betrayals. I do believe he's lying.

Personalize It

Today my daughter told me her doll had cancer.

This afternoon my mother lied, again, to me.

The air is just a bit too thick sometimes.


I miss my sister.

Giving Up or Giving In or Letting Go?

 

Leaf Lives

We hung on so long, didn’t we?

Sinew stems clinging to our supports,

bark-bound life-lines feeding us,

phloem and xylem harmoniously pulsing

through our fine, filial veins.

Thus we lived, left alone together

we just hung about, blowing about,

susurrus our only soft speech

as warm fronts forced our faces to touch.

Remember when we bent toward the sun?

Then came the dryness, the heat of the summer

wilting our reach.

Tips of arthritic fingers

only able to curl in on ourselves,

neither of us could grasp the season to come.

Rumors of rain from trunk to treetop

spread…

Petrichor promises turned our bellies to the sky,

we swallowed the first drops of rain,

grateful and greedy for what cloud fortunes fell.

Some of us survived, revived by what rain came.

Others coiled, shriveled to crunchy shells;

empty of purpose they were freed,

collapsing and collecting

at the foot of our creation.

Our end is nearly here;

we will begin our next lives as nutrients

after we release, gathering together below.

I look to you to compare, to see,

Who will fall first?

The Ties That Bind

 
-->

“This could be the making of you…Or your ruining.”

This could be the beginning of all sorts of good, new, scary, interesting things—things that give me pause and wonder and alight on my heart like the migrating monarch—or I could be laid to waste during this time of fearful re-imagining, left to writhe and drown in the shallow puddles of indecision, fear, and uncertainty.  It’s better to not spend too much time on this, to allow my brain and my heart the space to seek out those darker, whispering corners.  

There are little life-lines, attached to my waist, gently tugging at my hips, that remind me not to go into those mucked-out doom spaces; little love-tethers of different lengths, some that pull Morse code messages of support, reminders that I’m not on this journey alone, that no matter how closely I stumble near those dark spaces, there are strong bands that will guide me to safer stretches. 

Most of these little life-lines, these ribbons of rescue and goodwill, are strong, no matter their length, their material, their tangles and knots. There are, however, a few tethers I have meant to cut loose as of late, as they are not there to help or guide, but instead ground my movement, impede my rescue, or serve to strangle the parts of my heart that need the most latitude.  Most of these churlish cords are obvious, presenting themselves as false friends, as liars, or even worse—as limbless lovers that remain ungrounded, offering decaying branches and rotten fruit.  I’ve begun to sharpen my knives, my machete and my teeth, preparing to slash and chew at the ties that bind—the restraints that fetter and fault my safe passage.

It’s a time for clarity and conscience and honesty and light. Anything else shall be swiftly severed.

And now for an update:

1. Still looking for a job, I've been tidying up my resume and have met w/the fine folks at the Workforce Center; I've some hope that career counseling might prove helpful.

2. Marriage/Divorce is tricky and illuminating. Not for the meek. Best to be bold in these situations.

3. Cheers to romance and love and sex and all good things that make you smile with your entire being. Horizons are best viewed after having seen the darkest days and nights. My lasik'd eyes aren't really searching for such endeavors as of yet, but I'm happy for you, on your path. 

4.  Went to New Mexico and Texas. It was hot and expansive and a most interesting experience. I doubt I'll return for the same reasons.

5. For those of you that have come through, I love you more than you can imagine. If I hadn't told you lately, or if you're hiding because you don't know what to say, just ask. I'll tell you.

6. Watch this space. Also, watch Space. It gives a bit of perspective on your own reality, especially when you're re-appraising your very existence.

New soundtracks are forming every day for me. Each day seems to bring a new set of songs that bring a bit of relief or relevance or reality.

Here's a few, for me:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BrxZhWCAuQw
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lqmORiHNtN4
 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tRgYfQ48A0

I'm not good at being quiet. I talk too much, I think too much, and I want too much. For some, this is irritating. Cut your tether.

 

Creep Undercover

A cover undercover, with apologies to Radiohead and Amanda Fucking Palmer; we all should take a stab in dark, right? 

We're Going to Be Friends

Another school year begins tomorrow. Less time to be shy about my singing voice, more time for singing loudly. Here's to the sweet things of childhood, and may my wee ginger babes sing along to their favorite tune.

Spiralling

Like an ooze of slow snail trails,
this glowing warmth, circling in on itself, grows
along a path that nature had nurtured.

Green leaves and brown fungus sprawl,
smelling of promise and death and rebirth, aromas
of evolution and sex, shoving life through the strata of the Earth.

There's no tending needed in this fen,
no aspirations of tidy rows or hemmed-in vines, leaves
unfurl freely here, feeding from a sun-kissed beam, all systems in harmony.

Photo credit: E.R.G., 06/13

Oh, Sweet Mama, Just Who Do You Think You Are?

The changes keep coming.
Music is being written,
Songs are being sung,
And I'm flying solo for the first time in my life.

A little frightened, I suppose, of what may or may not come to pass, what may or may not happen, what may work and what I may fail spectacularly at...

We'll see.

I've been contemplating the very private nature of my journal entries (writings I've kept in notebooks and scraps of paper and on margins of college notes and napkins and receipts) and I've come to realize that while most of their contents will remain private (probably until all involved are long dead and gone, should the journals still exist in the 'Fahrenheit 451' future), I find myself re-reading certain entries, thinking, "hey--maybe someone else might like to read about this...Maybe it'll help someone in a similar situation." Perhaps that's just my ego popping up to say 'look at me'...

I've new stories everyday, some that have been turned into letters, some that are created for my children, some that I only keep for very sad days and others for very sexy days. Writing that seems to pour across the surface and fill in little nooks and crannies of curiosity, clinging on, hoping to be re-read and understood by someone other than myself.  I'm well aware that this desire to reprint my heart on an electronic tableau is well and truly fed by the unbelievable amount of change that fills my life. A sort of new life, I suppose, or maybe a renaissance.  Little puffs of smoke will soon turn into a wildfire when I've allowed the fuel to feed the fire, and oxygen and intrigue will do the rest.  Big secret or no surprise, really?

You say you saw this storm coming,
Unsurprised the boat overturned
You've given up on thinking for fighting
And like all life, choose to comply (it's easier that way).

I've chosen to fight the slow-wet death,
To push against the age of apathy
and doubt and anxiety that comes 
with security. 
With so much level-headed life, 
Overfull with the Right decisions,
I've decided to throw and catch my own
Life Preserver.

Buoyant on my best new bliss,
I'll feel fear and joy as deeply as this ten-year calm;
A sort of heart arrest, 
An attempt in the earnest to halt
the drowning Death of Soul and Mind.

I'll float along, 
you may drift with me (if you bring your own boat),
and we may share the fancy thoughts of early days;
Lives that were only separate but just so.
I'll be happy to throw you a towline if you need one,
should you send out the S.O.S.

Apologies...

Due to being overly introspective and more than a tad bit whiny, the previous post has been taken down for maintenance. I'm sure the author just needs a vacation.