#uncoffeed...

Patrice used to take a personal interest in my looks. "You need concilla ," she told me in her South Cackalacky accent.  I made her repeat the word a few times and finally spell it: C-O-N-C-E-A-L-E-R.  She had a point - my dark eyecircles are legendary.  Patrice was a beautiful woman, masterful with fashion, trying to help me out with the obvious.  Over time, though, I found an awkward trend to her advice.  One day she was adamant - adamant - that I should try parting my hair on the side. "Just do it one time. You'll love it," she insisted.  She'd done her hair with a severe side-part . Obviously it would be good for me, too, because she liked me. Understanding her motivation is exactly the kind of thought that plagues me for years, but I think I've finally sorted it:  Patrice felt an elation when she found herself beautiful with side-parted hair.  I think she was trying to recapture that elated feeling by replicating the action on me. ...

There's some incredibly vocal bird - maybe a warbler or canary - nesting in the azalea outside my window.  He's going to help me succeed in my plan to wake up near sunrise every day. The Order of Emergent Magick recommends practicing intent:  choose one thing you don't currently do, and perform that action every day for 30 days.  It can be something as simple as changing the place where you put your shoes every night. You can choose something you feel is more impactive, like meditating for 20 minutes.  Be very specific about the repetition.  And then after 30 days, intentionally don't do the thing for 30 days. Learning how intent feels will lap over into other things  you do every day.  This morning I've sent a proposal for an editing gig, filled in some more squares on my project spreadsheet, and cleaned cobwebs.  You can buy cleaning equipment - a telescoping duster, for example - employ them and they actually work.  I am the master ...

Michelle posted a tale of 4 cats which tells of the time she was a bad cat-mom. I get this; I've been a bad cat-mom. I've been a bad mom. I'm currently a bad bike-mom to a Bianchi who deserves better. I just went through a round of re-forgiving myself for various ill-conceived decisions I made when I thought I was smart. I've reached a point in my life where all my miscalculations are auto-functioning and I no longer have to monitor them with my guilt; but the guilt doesn't go away, no. However, I can stop following that guilt around with actions meant to mollify it, and I can use the available space I didn't have when I needed to monitor my miscalculations. I can actually do things now that I wanted to do - should have been doing, if we want to use the s-word - back when I was trying to clean up my own messes. It's not as awesome as it sounds; it's awkward. I have space and no instructions on what to do with it, - I should have learned the st...

Were I capable of taking my own life, I probably found the place where it's done.  Now that the darkest dark seems to have passed, I'm telling you what I found. I'm practicing reaching out. If you didn't hear from me, it's because I'm wary of your intentions. I know you care, and I believe you want the best for me.  A hug can become an extra burden.  Questions and empathy bruise when my answers aren't received the way I gave them . I'm afraid of being smoothed over. The standard response to things we don't understand is to disregard or re-frame, fit into something more comfortable for us; it's natural. The knee-jerk reaction is to drop everything and address someone else's problem. We instinctively seek a fast resolution so we can go back to tending our own. Please note I never used the words "someone needs help."  Needing help is frowned upon in our culture, and nobody wants to be needy. We don't want to believe it ab...