Saturday, February 29, 2020

hard to know

It's hard to know how much to worry at the moment.
When I say everything is shit, I don't think it's hyperbole.
Sleep is a rare commodity. I spend hours awake each night with the 3 a.m. worries, wondering what will get us first? The climate? The pandemic? The evil-mongering baddies?

*
(I'm guessing the insomnia hits at 3 a.m. because I made a pact with myself never to look at the clock in the middle of the night).
But you know what I mean.
*
Trying to take proper precautions and do more yoga and make more positive changes and spread a little humanity where I can. I thanked a guy out picking up litter today. Made conversation with the super talkative co-op clerk (he compared corgi butts to wool pants). Didn't rage at the guy bringing an obviously neurodivergent and yelling kid into the workspace.
*
The small things may be all we have right now, but they are something.

Saturday, February 22, 2020

scribbles of my life

I've been organizing old journals and diaries, back to when I was a teenager.
Re-reading moments of tumult. Laughing at my own sass.
I don't know this person. In my mind, she is someone else.
Time to get reacquainted.

Sunday, February 16, 2020

Saturday, February 1, 2020

soul sister

Of the dozens of books I read last year, "Educated," by Tara Westover has had the most profound impact on me. She writes of growing up homeschooled and uber-religious in rural America, with a paranoid, reckless father and mystical, enabling mother, amid violence and mindfuckery and enduring feelings of guilt and shame.
It could have been my life, minus the abusive sibling.
I had to read slowly, overcome at times with sadness or panic.
I bought it secondhand a few weeks ago and finally dug up my teen-aged journals.
Seeded in among the chirpy prayer requests and musings about My Future are kernels of truth I'd forgotten about.
Westover's work makes me see a way to write my own story.
More to come. 

bsp videos don't sleep on 'em