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Not Yet!

July 28, 2017

I fell asleep refreshing twitter last night and woke up wondering if my insurance would be ripped away. I turned on my computer.

Not yet, mutherfuckers! Not. Fucking. Yet.

I’d say you can have my insurance when you rip it from my cold dead hands, but that’s kind of the GOP’s point, isn’t it?


Regarding John McCain- what was that “wait for the show” thing? Was he just so bummed about everyone hating him that he needed to build suspense before his “no” vote? I guess he really needed to be princess for the day.



Apparently I post once a year now

July 27, 2017


I’d like to say I’m back, but I don’t trust myself. I have a bad habit of bursting back with a flurry then radio silence for months and months, so I won’t say that.

I’ve been talking with a friend about a website that I want to do. Basically a site that encompasses all the things I love and could talk all day about, even though they don’t seem to go together. I started designing it and putting it together and I realized… it’s a blog. A better organized and better looking (than this one) blog.

So… cool. I guess maybe I should just start writing and sharing what I want, right?

October 11, 2016

I gave Eli a bath tonight. Cyrus was walking and talking with Welles. I hadn’t noticed that our new had indeed become normal nor that my awareness of how difficult this all can be was sort of hiding out in the background until that bath. It was so simple and easy. Eli played and we talked. I was very conscious of how much I miss him and our relationship. I miss the routines. I worry that it will never get better/easier now that we have two. I worry that we will never find a midline or a stasis to balance in or at least near. 

Logical me knows we will, but logical me doesn’t seem to be interacting with the rest of my mind. Maybe it’s mad at the rest of me for lack of sleep. Or maybe I just need to chill out and quit worrying so much. That’s easy to do, right?

Did I mention we’re all sick except Welles? 

We’re all sick except Welles. 

Long Beautiful Hay-Er

October 5, 2016

A note: I’m not proofreading this because then I’ll chicken out, deal with it.

I did something I have always wanted to do.

It was a Saturday afternoon and hot- asphalt melting hot. My scalp hurt from a perpetual ponytail. My sternum was tight with anxiety and all the other swirling happenings. We came home from the farmer’s market and cyrus and eli were settled on the couch together reading.

I don’t know what I said, but I know there was something, before I grabbed the lavender handled fabric shears from the box on the counter. I carried them the way I always carry scissors- sharp part in my palm, the plastic handles poking out by my thumb and toward the ceiling.

In the bathroom I leaned over the sink to make the first cut. I separated sections of hair haphazardly. I imitated what I’ve watched stylists do for 30 years. It wasn’t all that bad at first, I was careful. Then I started sweating. And I discovered that leaning over the sink did not stop me from getting hair all over my dress. So I started cutting chunks, as much hair at once as I could. I wanted to go until there was nothing left to grab, then I thought about my hair and all the times in my life when I believed it was the only attractive thing about me. I thought about the insistance of people close to me that I “must never cut [my] hair” and “must always be blond”. I’d been coming to this place for years.

The first act of rebellion was a drastic cut at the hands of an “unapproved” stylist. Then it was color. The darker the better, but not so dark as to be ugly. Bangs. I didn’t go so far as the pixie I wanted, but I kept changing, trying to find my(hair)self. (Once I did, my stylist stopped doing private clients, but that’s not particularly relevant, this would have happened anyway.)

Somewhere along the way I just quit. I lagged on my eyebrows and mustache. I wore the same rope sandals every day and never ever got a pedicure. My hair reverted to it’s natural color. The hippy dippy parts of me were stoked. The more central part of me, not so much. Really, this haircut was the final piece of an I’m-shit-and-deserve-nothing-nice-and-should-look-accordingly puzzle.

I stopped cutting.

I felt lighter and it was easier to breathe. I took a shower and reveled in the glory of washing manageable hair. Then I looked in the mirror and saw:


I thought, maybe it’s not so bad.

Then it dried.


Because it was a Saturday afternoon there was no getting an appointment to have it fixed over the following 2 days.

A blessed, wonderful, talented friend offered to come over and fix it when she got back in town Tuesday morning. Perfect!

Except that I was pushing a baby out of my vagina on Tuesday. So.

I’m stuck with my bad decision hair. And I need to put the pieces of myself back together. But something tells me the overhaul is going to involve a lot more than a hair appointment…to be continued.*


*Once I’ve got my shit together.*



October 1, 2016

I’m back in my pregnancy* jeans, y’all! 

*Not a typo. I gained so much weight in the last month of my pregnancy that my jeans* started cutting into my uterus even when I left them unbuttoned. 

*I went to Crossroads late in my first trimester and bought a huge pair of jeans because I hate the feel of maternity pants. I wore them with a belt, then alone, then held together by a hair tie, then unbuttoned. Then, well, see above. 

I haven’t posted in days. 

September 27, 2016

I got stumped. 

Sunday was (would have been?) my step mom’s birthday. She died in July. I wanted to write something but nothing felt right. Something about death and birth and the greater meaning. Instead I ditched the blog, didn’t call or text my dad, sisters, or aunts, and focused on my own little bubble*, which, though it sounds nice with a new baby, isn’t very good for me. 

I need to get out and move and reach out to people. My downfall is isolation. I disappear from myself and that makes me no good to anyone. 

I may need to start pumping, just so I can go to the gym. But I’m terrified of nipple confusion. She’s two weeks old today and I’ve heard that bottles should wait until at least three weeks. Is it worth it? Is it cheating? Will she suffer? Am I crazy?

Guilt Vacation

September 24, 2016

Cyrus and Eli have gone to run an errand. This is the first time he’s been willing to leave without me since Welles arrived. It was even his idea to go.

I’ve spent the last little while reveling in my tiny daughter, kissing her, smelling her, drinking her in. I wondered why I was feeling so free with the kisses, then it hit me- I didn’t feel guilty!

Eli told me last night that it makes him sad when I kiss Welles. I got caught kissing her twice. No one wants their baby to hurt, especially not because of their actions. But it’s not like I could stop being affectionate with her. So I’ve been trying to give him even more extra love and attention than I had been. It’s so hard though because I know that no matter what, it won’t be enough because there is no enough. It’s a transition without limits.

I’d like to have more time that I don’t feel suffocated by guilt. How do I let go so that I can fully appreciate the sweet moments?



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