Another giant, smothered by depression

I can't say anything poetic about him, just that it feels like losing a favorite uncle. Who knows what he was like off screen. If the moments captured on film were a peek into his real self... Guy was intense. Hope he found his peace.

M wanted to see me..."sometime soon." And in typical fashion I offered my first free night in 2 weeks to him. Then promptly freaked out at having to reclean my kitchen and wash sheets for a 1 hour visit. I couldn't do it. Not for him. I panicked. Dizzy, heart racing. Told him I couldn't do it.

So. He was like, "maybe you don't want to have a relationship with me at all, you just want to please me because I'm nice to you....maybe you just hate Jews."

That was supposed to be a joke. After a few hours I responded "yuck, I hate that you said that," to which he said he was sorry. He had already sent an email apologizing. When he switches from text to email...that's his way of distancing himself.

So fuck all this.

Working from home

"Willow's Gold" sure adds some life to this boring little home.

More photos to come...

Coincidence?

A minute after I saved my last post-privately-he said he missed me. I barely recognize him in this photo but I know I felt him in my heart.

Mysterious Day 7

I read somewhere that day 7-10 or so of a woman's cycle, she is more likely to be calm, confident, poised, at ease with herself, able to communicate clearly. And with respect to evolution, it makes perfect sense since this is also when we are fertile. I'm like a lab-grown pot plant (The Botany of Desire is my bible), I'm effortlessly oozing the chemicals (not THC exactly) which make me desirable to a mate. No mating will occur this time around; nonetheless I'm feeling oddly hopeful. (Perhaps moreso?) Why not. It's summer, a clear and effortless day that falls at the opposing end of the calendar's cruelest, darkest days. And my loyal ovaries, 40 years strong (cough) are doing their damnedest to squeeze out a few more viable seeds in the hopes of reproducing the genes that, if only today, seem worthy of renewing.

The farmer's market is full today. Depending on the wind direction, it smells like soap, or fresh flowers, or grilled cheese, or aerated water gushing in the fountain. Sitting between Picasso and Mirò under a cloudless cobalt ceiling, sunlight dancing on the water. A breeze softly tickling me through my shirt, playing with the wisps of hair on my neck. The war that rages in my head-is paused. I'm on a sandy ancient beach blissfully unaware of a conflict as old as time.

Are you dreaming about me?

More sibling strife

9:30. She shuffles off to the kitchen in her ill fitting thrift store Keen's. Grabs a handful of raw almonds. Shuffles back. Glaring all around for something to react to. Hmm, she says to a curled piece of artwork. Eyes fixed now in my direction. Like a feral cat on the prowl. Back to her corner. Back to her ill fitting reading glasses she gave to and then took from a friend after he died (I'm not kidding). Back to talking a lot about nothing. About how poor she is. About how much of an asshole her dog is. But he's adorable.

It's fun to indulge these thoughts. Especially with Darryl in my ears. Strumming away his cares. Painting me beautiful pictures of his personal vision of Colorado.

It's just sibling rivalry. Deep down I still care about her. I still remember all the strained conversations and expressions of agony she shared when our friendship was strong. She's terrified of everything. This place is the only peace she has. The home, the boyfriend, the pets, the ghost hunting, all pieces of a frightened and desperate journey. Her demons are just right there for all to see.

So today I can forgive the inexplicably loud crunching of almonds (sounds like bones breaking) coming from over in that corner.

Detach

Zoe was still worked up about a difficult ballet lesson last week. It makes her uncomfortable that she isn't picking it up as fast as the others, and she gets upset. So my best advice as I sent her off to Grandma's today-if you start to feel upset, detach. Don't worry. Unplug. (I told her that sometimes Ann is "unplugged" and it helps her get through a tough day.) I'm still learning how to do this. Maybe this little bit of advice will follow Zoe through her most difficult years. She never forgets, that's for sure.

Mornings are the hardest-between 9-12. That's when K shows up and takes the stage. Her low monotone Oh My Gods and unsolicited stories that always come back to either her alcoholic ex husband or that time she was at an Asian restaurant and was served a rancid scallop. The way she asks you how you're doing, barely listens to a word and then launches into a detailed rundown of her previous night's activities, always so disappointing, "But it's fine! It was still fine." The dog pooped in her bed but it's fine. The inspector said the wiring isn't up to code but it's fine. She resembles her chihuahua in her twitchy insecure demeanor. Begging for validation.

Detach.

New 'do to do to you, Ann