Darkness Closing In

It’s pitch dark when I wake up and dark by the time I pull into the driveway. It’s like the day is a blanket I wrap around me without ever peeking out. Or I’m the filling in a darkness sandwich. It’s wet and cold and dark today and one of my headlights is out. And I’m nearly out of gas. My car officially has 200,005 miles on it. Yes, I was watching the road and forgot to watch the 9s flip to 0s and I’m bummed. Maybe if I drive backwards? Like in Ferris Bueller? Wait, it didn’t work for them, did it? That fancy sports car just went right through the plate glass, didn’t it? Sigh. Life is full of disappointment.

November’s almost here. DST will be gone for a few months (if only it was gone forever!) and I’ll be waking up to daylight again. So, there’s that at least. A vanilla Oreo instead of a chocolate one. Kind of. A half-and-half Oreo.

A few people I know are signing up for NaNoWriMo but….not me. Why do they choose November? There’s no way. Maybe in January, I could muster the energy and time, but not November.

Instead, I’ve decided to try a slightly easier task. Maybe. I’m going to attempt a 30-day writing challenge I found on FB (actually it was courtesy of Hoagie’s Gifted Education FB page). I’ll write on the assigned prompt each day, no matter how stupid or unapplicable though I’ll be out of town during Thanksgiving. Perhaps if I write those ahead of time and publish as soon as I can? Will that count? You know how I feel about rules.

The first prompt is five problems with social media. Hmmm. See you on Sunday!

Eyes of Scarcity

I have found my favorite horoscope service: Chani Nicholas. The horoscopes are detailed and thoughtful. Often, they read like poetry. Sometimes I print them out and carry them around with me. This week’s makes me giggle because I, maybe stupidly, joined a (free) online dating service. Again. I know. You’re shaking your head, aren’t you? You’re probably right. Here’s how my horoscope opens:

Pause to remember the conversations you have had lately. Look at your call history. Notice the sentiments in your inbox. Check the mailbox.

There’s some big news coming your way.

The word might come by way of strangers, siblings, neighbors, letter-carrying owls or lovers. Anyone who comes bearing messages that make you stop and reconsider, reconstruct or reconfigure your inner worldview will be a part of this process.

Perhaps some has already come. Perhaps they’ve been piling up. Time to open up. Time to see the love that’s written you a letter.

Yeeeaah. Well, I don’t know if LOVE has written me a letter (though, of course, the week’s not over yet.), but a bunch of weird men have. Most of them read as follows:

“hey how r u”

I am blocking you, dud(e), that’s how i m.

Insecurity makes poor intellectuals of us all. It’s near impossible to think critically when we are desperate. It’s tremendously difficult to dream our way to a new world when all we can think about is how hungry we are. It’s easy to mistake kindness for criticism when we see through the eyes of scarcity.

There seems to be a lot of scarcity out there, me included. There also seem to be a lot of men unable to write, think or get decent photographs taken of themselves. One guy in particular posted a photo of him and a woman whose FACE WAS CUT OUT. And not cut out particularly carefully. Cut out in anger. The fact that he didn’t bother to crop this photo speaks volumes. Desperate and hungry. And not for me. No thank you.

So, I’m just poking around for now, scrolling past the many Behind the Wheel of My Ride photos, the Caught a Fish and/or Kissing the Fish I Caught photos, the Bathroom Mirror and Half Clothed photos, and the Chopped Off at the Neck photos.

The site really wants to set me up with guys in NY despite my filters and settings. They are bearing messages but they aren’t ones I want. I don’t want a pen pal. I just want to go out and do something fun with someone male.

The Mercury-in-retrograde thing finally goes away on Saturday so we’ll see if some better, more literate letter-bearing owls show up on my window sill.

Broken But Covered in Stars

It’s autumn for reals which means things begin to die and break. Like summer, my box fan, the brand new blender I used almost once before smoke billowed out of the motor, the bumper of my car, and the starter on my mower (the replacement part came yesterday and I’m gonna figure out how to fix that asap). These things are not as colorful as the leaves on the trees. It’s much harder to see the beauty in crap that doesn’t work or has just given up the ghost.

Other things broken include communication with people who still hold me responsible for all their misery. Sorry, I’m just over here doing the best I can. I refuse to be someone’s punching bag. Get a therapist, like I do! Do something constructive with your time! I’m not your problem. I will not be your scapegoat.

There are always lots of things in various states of doing around the house and the broken things that need fixing or replacing just add to that list. I’m contemplating whether I have time to take a second (part-time) job. Probably not. I’m supposed to be writing. I did write this week. My blogs are suffering as I revisit my novel.

My morning pages were interrupted this morning by a tick that hopped off Franklin and onto me and then….disappeared so now I’m completely paranoid and just want to burn the house down and start over because it could be anywhere by now. Lurking, waiting. To kill me. My clean robe – the last place I saw it – will have to be rewashed and dried on the hottest temps before I’ll consider putting it on tomorrow morning. Ticks are the WORST. Blech.

My garden is teetering on the edge. I took down the final basil bush and turned it into pre-pesto but I haven’t pulled everything else up, laid the cover crop seed, brought in all the supports yet.

I’m working on fixing it so Dusty can go to Boston in the spring with the band. Plan A hasn’t come through yet so I’m working on Plan B and C at the moment. It’s been at the cost of recrimination and sanctimonious blather but I’m finding that I’m better able to fend it off, that my teflon is thicker than it once was. And luckily Dusty’s stained glass pieces are selling (there are still some left – go back a post to see them). So we might be able to swing the deposit after all.

I’m making appointments that will fix my hair, my spine, my busted arm (which is better but needs a tune up), my psyche, my eyes. I’m meditating. I’ve found a good book to read. I’m doing. Prioritizing. Trying not to feel guilty when I’m not doing, when I’m just sitting and reading and basking in the quiet as the evening descends and the house hums with homework being done, with bodies I love breathing and thinking in their rooms. With all of us tucked in and safe as the night sky opens up and envelops us in stars.