Warm Fuzzies:
My Brother. I made a cannonball run trip back home last week to help him get through some tough life stuff and I might have to go again at any time. Arkansas holds some definite warm fuzzies for me when it comes to family and familiarity but my Brother, in particular, is the warm place in the nest. We are trauma-bonded and used to talk about it a lot more but we have both moved into this place of adult understanding that the shit that happened to us as children is not only long gone but has somehow become part of the fabric that we are made of…and that fabric is the nubby quilt of “Yes, that.”
Healing. Everything. Everywhere. Slow syrup of process mixed with warmth of sun and mind delicious with earthy goodness.
Body. She and I are becoming friends again. It’s a slow, imperfect process but the conversations are good and she’s feeling sexy and round and full and curvy and loved and ready to dance naked and open wide to the world.
Creatrix. Josephine lives again. Stories swirling all tornado-like in my head whispering things like, “what if you had to live there…” and “what would she do if she were the brave heroine you dream of…” and “maybe there are sick people lurking in the hallways…”. Stories and books needing to be written and things already written that need to be edited and people saying such uplifting things about my writing like “concise but packs a hard punch” and “tell me more” and “I cannot fucking wait to read this” and “talented and raw”. I’m a storyteller at heart but I doubt it’s talent…more like a finely-honed skill of survival and a need to remember it all. Feeding the movie, one frame at a time, with the help of a very toothy, very demanding bitch like the great Josephine, my red-haired, fanged, mad mermaid of a muse for 30 years now. I hope she stays awhile this time.
Skinned Knees:
Covid 19 and now, Delta. Like, what the fuck. What the fuck is wrong with people. Yes, that’s a period because it’s not even a question anymore. We are STILL in this fucking pandemic and people STILL won’t wear a fucking mask and the vaccines can’t keep up with these dumbasses. People have fatigue from being in their homes for the last 18 months and they are just out of fucks so there they are, at ballgames, at the Mall, and out in public. Someone I used to work with was on a vent in Florida for two solid months because she got Covid while taking her kids to Disneyworld. She may never be right again, but I guess that goes for all of us too.
That girl. I’m so sick of thinking about her. Wondering if she knows people know she’s full of shit. Wondering if she’s just mentally ill or something more nefarious. I’m sick of my internal reaction when I see her lying or pretending to be someone else and so I am choosing to relegate her to the place in my ether where people like her belong: the waste can of “you’re boring and unimportant and nothing you say or do matters”. Because really, fucking YAWN. Imagine being a full-grown adult and actually putting energy into lying about who you are. Still, not my shit and not my business to fix and not my business to balance the truth for others. If it isn’t obvious to them, that’s on them.
Quiet Repose in the Morning Light:
Sometimes I exhale and realize how content I am and I don’t quite know if it’s ok. I know that’s trauma talking. So here I am to tell you, self, that it IS ok to be content. So feel it. Every minute, every feeling, every morsel. Feel it and believe that you deserve it because you do.
Bella. Her face is so white. She’s turned into one of those Goldens with a white mask on her face and a sleepy, wet-eyed constant smile. She’s almost exactly the age Gracie was when I lost her and I have so many feelings but for now, I pet her and love her and hug her as much as I want and she allows me to gorge myself on her presence.
So there you go. My blurbs. Short and sweet.
Signed,
Wild soul who is sometimes calm. Girl with legs swinging wildly from tree swing up above. Sometimes unabashed maiden running through the forest. Machine for the muse.