Spring

dense clouds, no rain

Train bells are a lonely sound, but a familiar one. My whole life I have lived close enough to the tracks to hear the horn, the low rumbles, the soft clinking that carries so well on warmer nights when the windows are open. I have always made my home in train towns--Manassas first and most prominently. One place I lived, the tracks were so close that the whole place would violently shake when the train pounded by.

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After a migraine, I feel utterly naked, like all my skin has been stripped off. Tonight, I lie up in my bed alone, feeling the sheets and the cool air on my bare back, and cry, not because anything particularly hurts, but because I feel so vulnerable and raw. Crying is by far the worst thing about being a woman. To me it's worse than blood, or pain, or weakness. The way it rises in your chest like a viscous bubble of all the little disappointments, commonplace failures, small rejections and unimportant things that shouldn't bother you until it pops, and you're left with this sticky, shameful mess. Especially when it feels like it's not a controllable factor, just this rush of chemicals. I imagine it's exactly the negative, polar opposite of what ejaculating is to men.

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I found the tiniest little tick on my ribs this morning in the shower. Sucking down my good AB+.

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Something I thought I'd learned or meditated on or remembered during lent was this idea I got from my mother long ago, of treating my life like it was something I was holding in the very center of my palm. (I like hands.) The more I try to curl my fingers inward to clutch at it, the less I'd enjoy it, the less I would have. One can't compel blessings, or force the things one wants. She said it was better to hold my hand out flat and unprotected and open. This winter, my mantra was "I don't want anything" which might've took the idea too far in the wrong direction, but I don't know. Such little lessons.

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I think Earth Day is a little stupid. Every day we're here, right?

I had my first real nightmare in forever last night. I dream a lot of stressful dreams, disconcerting dreams, ominous dreams. but rarely actual too-scared-to-move nightmares. And now, um. Tonight? I don't know. Sleep.


So tonight I think maybe just looking at pictures of Ser Duncan the Tall.

 

 

I know what I know

indulgence in "anarchy" pink

So, I like to camp. I like to fish. I don't mind gutting fish. I like to fight, and wear armor, and play in the dirt, and scrap, and wrestle, and grill. But every now and then, a girl just wants to post a selfie wherein her lipstick and cleavage look really good. So here you have it.

I want the wood.

you went in and put a record on to make it sound like someone was home

I feel light and ghosty. When left to my own devices, I'm very productive. The house has never been cleaner. But I'm also a bit hopeless at some things--for instance: I forgot to feed myself, and have now gotten not one but two different types of chemical cleaner in my eyes.

So here's some picspam.

Before

After

Goldfinch at the feeder this afternoon, and the washing hung to dry.

"A falling star brings luck to him who sees it, Dunk thought. But the rest of them are all in their pavilions by now, staring up at silk instead of sky. So the luck is mine alone."

Little things

Tonight smelled so good. I ranged around the neighborhood and arranged my firewood and got very dirty in the garden.