an unnecessary option

compulsively feeding the

short-term parking meter interrupting life

instead of pulling away

living, long-term, no charge

ghosted self, self-affectioned

in this moment

offering an ending thought,

lightning illumination on

an unnecessary option

treading

one foot only

one foot in front of the other

of going nowhere.

comfort chosen sluggish soles,

shuffled rough roads wearing

that path, owning only

serenely scored expensive ruts

worn deep enough for imagination

to safely ignore the danger in

rim-limited views

just a bit longer, til

paid in full with absolutely no allowance

for aiming for horizons

this sort of thing comes faster

short and short of faith.

Quote for the Week:

Copy Cat: Love & Good News

Yes, this has been a stressful day.

It’s been bizarre, as well, but I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.

How do we stay sane? Let’s try love. And good news.

So, this happened Sunday.

Not for the first time, but for the first extended time.

Harley Blu was lap-side first, a little bit lazy, because that’s where the sun was. Nala-lilly anti-spoke up with that octave-crack she acquired when ambushed last summer.

Sleeping so sweetly, on the porch, she screamed so loud she lost a section of voice that night. I shouldn’t laugh, but, dang. It’s just cartoon-funny when she looks at me so earnestly about to ask a question and only oil-deprived, rusted hinge noises come out of her petite little mouth. Trust me, she has plenty of other inflections and she uses them just fine.

Anyway, I invited her up. Patted the chair; showed her it was solid.

She was tentatively talkative using her audible “I’m here” announcement way she does when she’s behind Blu. Such a considerate sweetie. She also rolls when she’s in front. I’d say he’s getting more tolerant, but I really think it’d be more accurate to say he’s somewhat less irked.

She’ll roll, he’ll bite her tummy (ineffective due to his lack of chompers), then, immediately lick the same spot right away. Copy-cat routine with the ear: bite, lick. Weird but also wonderful when compared to the previous hissing and moaning, warning caterwauling.

HBlu huffed and snorted a little when she slid in beside him, but didn’t budge. Sweet Nala-Lilly (who btw is now more often referred to as Nala-Mia) parked herself shoulder-to-shoulder, eventually, laying her sweet chin on his front paw-arm.

Sir Harley of Perpetual Surprise’s first pleading looks are pretty priceless. I have to admit I was really just hoping I wouldn’t get shredded in a melee.

20 solid minutes and a painfully sleepy foot for me later, the end result was pretty priceless, too.

Additional Thoughts @ Knabble-Podcast: Knabble-Pod

Thought for the Week:

Last vs This; Starting Here

So, it’s been a week since I declared I wanted to be happy.

And I’ve had some interesting thoughts since then.

I’ve joined an art challenge group. I’ve been communicating with someone whose art I admire. I’m paying more attention to posts everywhere and more than one-click interacting. I’m using words. LOL.

Thank you for all of the notes, messages, IM’s and emoji support. In the past 7 days, I’ve gone from one-way communication to two-way comm. Before you start in with vibes of technical fouls, I’ll agree with you. No, it’s not ‘in-person’ or on the phone, but I’m saying it counts, because it’s more than I’ve had in a few years.

So, what was I gaining from all that walling off?

Not adding people to my life means I won’t be losing more than I know I already will.

The easy obliteration of as much drama as possible. I don’t need any extra help being dramatic. Odd stuff happens with cosmic commonness, and I certainly don’t need anyone’s ramp to help push me along. I can do that just fine by myself.

What else? Oh! Not dusting every week. Sure, a few times pre-planned times a month, someone stops by for a nice chat or an adventure. Everyone knows advance notice is more than appreciated. Since COVID March-ed in, there has been only one threshold crossing in 8 months.

And that’s only because I begged for an out of control coif shearing.  A few electric trimmer (with guard swipes) left the multi-color multi-length mullet behind and revealed my new ‘true’ hair color.  Which, interestingly, isn’t anything like the hair color I had gotten used to thinking was under all those years of hair dye.

Happily, I’ve got sparklies! Not Jamie Lee Curtis level, but a girl can dream, right?

I tried the ‘going-silver’ in salon route repeatedly without success. I’ve also tried boxing it with unusual results. Light pink -peach, brownish-watermelon, and one an entirely hideous seafoam green which hilariously garnered some not in the least subtle why’d-you-do-that comments.

It’s safe to say, I’ve figured out a few truths since last Tuesday:

My hair has stopped reacting normally to processing.

My body and emotions seem to be sharing the rebellious path.

Actually….

All of me is no longer responding in a biologically correct way.

Additional Thoughts @ Knabble-Podcast: Knabble-Pod

Thought for the Week:

What I Said Not What I Didn’t Say.

So, I’ll tell you, again. I have no idea who I was writing to.

I’m at a loss really. I’m not sure who I was addressing, but I have thought a lot about who I wasn’t addressing. The ministers covered so much about family and friends, without some of the more questionable parts, but still with enough give to allow for a watery smile or a grimaced chuckle.

I didn’t really decide to add humor to my thoughts. I wasn’t going for a lighten-up-the-atmosphere effect. I just did what I always do. Wrote in my speaking voice. I just wanted to say aloud to as many people as possible, to explain – the importance of him. And the importance of him + me.

I started out steady enough. Halfway through the second sentence, I strangled – I ran out air. I choked emotionally. I blinked the blurriness (that I refused to let fall) into evaporation, gulped and pushed out the rest in a very short-of-breath fashion.

I’m a little hard to understand on regular days. My natural tendency tends to cause confusion. Speaking softly was never a stylistic choice. I will make an effort to overcompensate when alerted to the need.

Much, like the sex-talk Nannee thought she and I had had, but hadn’t – soft speaker vs hard of hearing.

What I said next was similarly interpreted widely off the mark. Terribly misunderstood.

Yes, I had microphone. But, no. Apparently, that didn’t help.

I never fessed up.  

Some very important people in my life sought me out that afternoon to say that the words they thought I’d said had made an indelible impact on their hearts. Not in those words and not collectively, but there were 4 of them, plus 1. The first four were one right after another. The fifth was present for all of the others, but reserved comment for a bit.

Following the logic of lyric interpretation – in the old days, at least – when “so fine” was the precursor to “a bangin’ #ut#” – I respect creativity and adore the creators who, very sincerely, decline to explain their work.

What it means to you might be a world away from the aim. The important part is that it gave you something, whether intended or not. The gift is that it moved you, made you more determined, opened your eyes, changed your mind – for the better, for you, whatever.

Sometimes, there’s just no need to correct the notion.

Interpretation is a beautiful thing.

Quote for the Week:

The Year You Did Not Crack.

 

This is for You. For everyone.

For those in my real social life, and those who are just as real in my social media life.

For those who may have entered my orbit yet remain unknown.

For those I do know who occasionally irk me, this one’s for you, too.

 

Turn the camera on yourself, right now. Take a selfie no one else will ever see.

 

Then, consider this:

2020 is going to go down as The Year You Did Not Crack.

 

There’ve been a lot of attitude adjustments. Mostly for the better.

But some of you have faced multiple moments of: I’m too old for this. I don’t have to put up with that. I’m done for good – and for my own good.

Even as you solidly define your new limits, I’m still hearing apologetic self-belittlement for taking a stand, narrated as shame: “I cracked.”

No. No, you did not. You did not crack.

You un-cracked.

You filled fissures that have been worn deep for years with self-saving cement; not to harden yourself, but to protect yourself.

You’ve broken down who you are and decided not to be broken, anymore. You stunted the cracks.

Bravo.

Think about that. How kind you’ve been to yourself. How you’ve decided you love yourself instead of focusing on those who don’t.

Filling your voids has made you stronger. On behalf of every soul in your universe, I thank you.

This gift of self-favor has freed you. The most precious part? Affording others your priceless presence when your strength is needed to shore them.

Smoothing over the surface doesn’t mean you are hiding anything.

It means you have layered purposeful protective boundaries. Swathed the hurt in pristine swatches of emotionally sterile gauze. Taped down so hard, the underneath can’t help but heal from the inside out.

The process never needed to be pretty, you just thought it did. Blisters heal ugly, and you probably call them so. But, knowing you the way I do, I think they’re absolutely gorgeous.

 

Choose your poison – doesn’t matter to me which way you say it. Just say it aloud.

Alone, if you are. Or, alone, if it makes you feel better.

“2020 is going down as The Year I Did Not Crack.”

“2020 is going down as The (explicatives can be empowering) Year I Did Not Crack.”

 

Turn the camera back on. Take another selfie.

Do you see the difference? Believe what you see.

No apologies needed; none accepted.

Now, show the world what you got.

 

Quote for the Week: 2020 05 12 Stop thinking soon ill be free jakorte

Song for the Week: Fall Out Boy, Save Rock And Roll.

You are what you love

Not who loves you