breaking news

Okay. So. So. So. I just recently bought a new scent of Tide laundry detergent. I think too much about things like detergent brands and smells because I might be simple. But anyway, it is called like "Mountain Spring" or some shit. I was very childishly excited to try it out, so I just washed my nice green sheets in it and pulled them out of the dryer to re-make the bed upstairs.

It smells like....a...a masculine dark hemlock forest fairyland. Oh my god.

*lies facedown on bed inhaling*

That is all.

Back to regularly scheduled programming.

the power of the gods to aid their favorites



I found this silly picture of me and my deer from over Christmas. I know I haven't been posting very entertaining stuff recently, (much better than continual dark muttering as featured in this autumn, right?) but I'm still here. This is hard, but I'm okay, and I'm getting better. Right now I have the ragged cough of a Charles Dickens orphan. This week has had difficult spots, but I feel more alive, raw, argumentative, and turned on than I have in some time, and that feels amazing.

God, I wish I could tell you something actually funny or interesting. The snow I walk through on the way to and from work makes a pasty noise when I move through it. Does that make sense? A noise like stirring thick paste. And the mountains were incredible tonight--a line of dark indigo under the electric blue of the sky, with just one or two first bright stars out. I feel like I've written about that exact thing in this blog before. A girl likes blue. If it snowed more, it would be okay, but it would also be okay if it got to be spring and the snow melted and turned that stream up on the Augusta highland trail to milkwater.

Work is going well. Next week I get to spend implementing a plan I wrote up. I'm proud of it. I'm ready for some winning.

A secret is: death has been creeping around in my life this week. A secret is: I just took off my bra. They just discovered bits of two new old Sappho poems; 99% of her work is lost, but some collector came forward with these scraps, and now, today, they're not lost: I can read them on the internet. The poem is referred to by scholars as "Brothers"--it's about Sappho's brother, Charaxus, a wayfarer who traveled to Egypt and spent a fortune to buy the freedom of a beautiful slave he had fallen in love with. Sappho was very exasperated, but I think fondly.

Just send me along, and command me
To offer many prayers to Queen Hera
That Charaxus should arrive here, with
His ship intact,

And find us safe. For the rest,
Let us turn it all over to higher powers;
For periods of calm quickly follow after
Great squalls.

I Think I Know Her House Within the Winter Snow Too Well, Stevie Edwards

No need for another pitchy voice droning:

poor old me, burry me, marry me
to worms, let the pallbearers carry me.
 
O good gods of stasis and sugar,
I am asking you to make me a quiet thing.

following the advice of Tina Fey

“Some people say, “Never let them see you cry.” I say, if you’re so mad you could just cry, then cry. It terrifies everyone.”

Close your eyes. I'm turning on the lights.

the pills they will not will not will not let me go

Gratuitous, tired, unflattering no-makeup selfie of battle wounds for posterity. But you should see the other guy.
It's 3.7 degrees out. 59 in my house. I have a wool sweater under my hoodie.

Additionally, the White Witch has many spies hidden in the woods, and even some of the trees are on her side. We like to stride about this narrow world like colossi, but sometimes it’s better to remain silent in the shadows. The Universe loves to prove you wrong. At all times possible, keep it to yourself. Thought is more powerful than words.
-Stephen Hershey

what do we say to the god of crazy?

answering the phone at work and leaning way back in my office chair and saying lines like "Mm, let's see."
beagles
knowing how to gracefully disappear in a room
the Chrome remote desktop app
Obi-Wan Kenobi
curry chicken salad
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CN-FvRX277M
snow days
snow nights
the way my skin feels after shaving my legs
coffee with cream
my lotus sprouting
it being okay
tasty carrot lunches
oranges
writing dumb blog posts
wearing my high school shoes
wearing my high school jeans
quiet times
finishing projects
mockingbirds
sleeping curled up
getting up in the middle of the night and walking  downstairs
having groceries
getting groceries
clean baseboards (probably already used that one)
being small
bottled water
pineapple juice
chicken hawks on wires
feeling simple
chest aches
childproof lids
old pennies
hard things
confusion
revolvers
vanilla

*edit: bandannas

lying on the floor of the shower
lying on the bottom of a pool
a clean house
a song on repeat
the smell of rain hitting a campfire
fishing with chicken liver
old names
this grey sweatshirt
my old room
my old bed
scraps
dry cider
lighted rooms
briar scratches
bruised knees
beaters
hollows
peacock feathers
speeding
socks
haunts
Betsy Bell Mountain
roof pigeons
dogs I grew up with
perfumes I don't like the smell of anymore
potlucks
bobbypins
times I've cried out loud as an adult
times I shouldn't have been such a sentimental dip
buzzard feathers
dark red wines
soups
Q-tips
amulets
mason jars
honey
my old palm lines
my rebellious cards, among them Strength
eclipses
helicopter maple seeds
root beer
planks
an ample cutting board
middle names
melancholy nights
bandaids
scars
ribbons
baseball shirts
organization
hurt toes from running
giant hickory

This is nothing like it was in my room

Full moon in Cancer tomorrow: vulnerability, dominance, sensitivity. Today, though, I'm so tired and used-up. I'm weak. That's hard for the predator in me.

Today's horoscope: We're tempted to withdraw emotionally today, but that won't necessarily prevent us from being hurt. Self-protective tactics are more likely to reinforce artificial walls and increase our isolation.

I translate this to: be a helpless, sick, useless baby all day until you fall asleep on the floor, then wake up. Remember that jerking off is a thing. Drink a mountain dew. How did a mountain dew get in your house? You don't even drink soda.

Tomorrow will be the first day back at work after being out all week with the flu. My coworker imed me today to say, "We miss you--all us boys are fighting over who sucks the most. We need your feminine energy."

I don't know. What do you think?

birdfeeders
pickup trucks
yard sales
lipstick
TIE fighters
looking at the contents of other people's shopping carts
sleeping topless
sleeping bottomless
raspberries
lemonade
hot tubs
fakers
tiny cucumbers
old friends
imaginary friends
imaginary people
football
arrowheads
morning in my kitchen
old news
antique fans
people I've danced with
long dresses
short skirts
weeding
t-shirts with star wars characters on them
Virginia red clay
the eyecolor of various boys who broke my heart in high school
sleeping on the ground
greek food
fireflies
mead
beads
leather
deer I have known and loved
deer I have eaten
kindred spirits
beer
when it smells like it's going to snow
honeysuckle
the way my mom says my name and makes the vowel so long and fun, like "jeeeees"
that movie about Jamestown where Colin Farrel plays John Smith and is so hot
holly trees
Christmas lights
Route 11
Route 11 Potato Chips
Jon Snow
brook trout
the color blue
doppio macchiatos
bad pop music
geology
forgetting about it
swamps
turning over logs in swamps
being kissed against a car
salamanders
woodshop smell
running
those heirloom cherry tomatoes they sell at the farmers market
quinoa
cutie panties
camping
old foundations where the stone chimney is all that's left
daffodils
swallowing pride
really any bulb
burts bees honey lip balm
tall men
boots
wool blankets

and the murderer in me

Don't let my rages and bitter squalls fool you--I'm actually the littlest dragon in the dragon nest on this, a 2 degree night.

.

11:11 pm

I'm less playful now than I was earlier, but it seems fair to round out my live-update day. Charlottesville was wet and sweet and cold. As ever. I mean that I made mead. I feel dull and tired again, and am starting to think all that codeine didn't actually save me from the migraine fallout, but a babyish thing to think. I might as well whine: I don't want to go to work tomorrow, I feel cold.

Deep fog on Afton mountain

Winter cheeks and dumb hair.

2:54 update

Was just going out to drop off some donations from my crazy re-organization cleaning sweep extravaganza but ended up coming back with a pint of honey, some ciders, a little mini skirt, a floor-length green skirt, and yet another dumb plaid button-up shirt. The law of my reasonable closet is that if I'm adding this many things in, I need to take some things out, so I'll go upstairs tonight and look through what I need to get rid off to make space for these indulgences.

When I was in the shop buying the cider, they were actually closed doing inventory, but I blundered in like a goon. When they said they were closed, I tried to embarrass-backward-walk out of the store, but the lady insisted that I stay and get what I had come for. But I'd only come in to look! Then I felt like I needed to buy something, so her good favor was not wasted on my indecision.

When I'd finished purchasing my shame cider, she said, "Wait a minute--I know you! You used to work at that coffee shop." I froze up. For a shy moron such as myself, this was becoming an increasingly stressful encounter. "You live downtown, and you have this skirt that is embroidered and has sewn-on little mirrors and it's bright pink!" (All this is true.) I said, you know, yep. It was the second time in a week that someone I didn't know at all recognized me. (Last time it was "Ohhh, you're that Jess." Not super inspiring.) The old man who was the assistant manager or something nodded. He said, "If they're talking about you, you're probably doing something right."

I don't know, old man, I don't know.

Be right back, going to C-ville.

12: 37 update

Not to, uh, blow my own horn or something--as if that were possible--I just felt the need to add: nobody in the world cleans a bathroom like I clean a bathroom. I make the Mona Lisa of a clean bathroom.

A balmy 59 in my study this morning: white outside, white inside. I'm wearing my new skinny-skinny jeans and a blue plaid flannel like a piece of hipster garbage. I'm drinking coffee and orange juice and trying to make a plan. I have that weird post-glacier feeling that comes after a migraine, and now I'm fighting the urge to scrub my baseboards over more important tasks today. I stayed up too late working on my end of year post, but it's a bit of a hot mess, and I think I need a bit more on it. I have good pictures. For the most part.*

More breaking Sunday news as updates occur.

*Bare middrift was a thing this summer season why

this is pouring rain, this is paralyzed

It's gotten so cold that I feel hyper-aware of my body. The weight of my hair, the elk bone pendent that takes on the heat of my throat, the nuisance of my breasts. I feel heavy and weak and not worth very much, but I'm persisting. I can't seem to shake this inertia. It would be good to write, but I'm dreading my year end review. It would be a good goal for the weekend.