Bloody teeth

I have recently taken up flossing again. It's an uncomfortable practice that I usually avoid, but as of late I have been really enjoying this new ritual of jamming some string between tooth and gum until it bleeds while examining the inner workings of my mouth  and then later, running tongue against smooth teeth, newly redefined and tasting faintly of iron.
The dull throbbing in the back of my jaw rises like sonic vibrations, which I guess set into motion the idea that indeed, everyone only gets one body to care for in this life and we do with it what we like. Also, sitting next to my recluse grandfather with two teeth was a somewhat glaring reminder of what I don't want to become... In more ways than one.

I remember flossing to be a task resigned to the week before going to the dentist as a way to say honestly that I indeed have been flossing, of course for no specific duration of time. After the visit, the floss box was pushed further and further back in the bathroom drawer as much more important stuff took president, you know, like makeup and stuff.

I find that the possibility or I guess moreso the realization that old injuries so not magically heal but rather, slowly amble alongside of you for the rest of your life to be a horrific and life altering realization. If I would have known that falling out of that tree would have made my knee pop or falling at the skating rink decrease the flexibility of my wrist, would I have still taken the chance? Would I or should I have taken the whiplash settlement before the realization of the magnitude of spinal injuries set in to the full effect of ergonomic pillows, taking it "easy" or the threat of scar tissue removing surgery?

Perhaps my teeth decaying diet of coffee and red wine has me feeling a bit guilty for my poor pearly (off) whites. But maybe it's just a looming dentist visit in the near future that I have been avoiding for, um, I think ten years that has me a bit nervous.
All I know is the I jammed a waxed, mint flavored string up between each and every tooth, smiled in the mirror and reaffirmed silently as the tv blares from the neighbor downstairs that I only have life this time around. I think I'd enjoy it more with my teeth.

Headlines

Recently events in my life have been like news headlines. This first would be : 27 yr old man found dead in apartment after drug raid.

I didn't like when the new neighbor moved in to apartment A. He had an ankle bracelet and always sat outside his door, which is at the bottom of the steps leading up to my door, inconveniently for me. People stopped by and banged on his door constantly or there would be cars in the parking lot with people waiting for him. There was a handwritten sign that would get posted after a scuffle about how you must call first(usually spelled "kall") or he ain't answering the door. I pondered how much leverage you could actually have in these types of business transactions.
Unlucky for me, my work schedule often overlapped with his "work" schedule and many nights I would come home at midnight to a group of people sitting on the stairs to my door in varying states of mind.
There was that inherent tense feeling that females have in the knowledge of being the weaker sex. My friend gave me a gun when I first moved in but I never felt the need to use it. But suddenly I started target practicing and keeping it loaded by my bed. I got another gun to keep in my car, which is tricky because technically you aren't supposed to keep a loaded gun in your car, but then I thought about the logistics of getting out of my car, gun in the front seat and walking to the back if my car to grab the magazine and load the guy or maybe I should just get a concealed carry permit. I did find that leaving shotgun shells on my seat did alter how they approached me. I honestly just wanted left alone.
He had a habit of making disagreements with his lady very public by yelling matches in the parking lot late every night. Or once he punched some drunk guy out while the neighborhood watched in disbelief. He got a pit bull puppy a couple weeks ago and named it karma. Weird to see a tattooed up guy in thug gear yelling "karma, come here" as a puppy runs away from him.
Anyway, on Friday morning the cops came and pounded on his door using a variety of threats and appeals to try to coax him out. They threatened him with parole violation and getting bit by the drug dogs they were about to send in and seemed mildly annoyed at me trying to load up my car to head out to work that night. I would hate to be a cop in this city. He wasn't home so there was a bunch of cop cars constantly circling the block. Later that night I heard a thumping and clattering, but with super thin walls, you kinda just brush off everything as something you shouldn't be hearing.
The next morning a girl was histerically screaming as her friends scattered when the cops and ambulance came. Half hour later, the drug dogs were out, 13 more cop cars and the coroner was there.

It is a complete surreal feeling when something terrible happens to someone you didn't like. All the snippets of conversations get hashed out over and over and I wonder if I didn't give the kid a fair shake or if I could have done anything. Jason loved the guy and helped give his druggie friends rides places and just brushed off the people who would pound on the door downstairs and when that guy wouldn't answer would turn to Jason an ask if he had any weed.
Usually I'm good at mustering up at least niceties but with this guy I couldn't. It was too close to home, too uneasy. And I felt bad. I just wanted him to move or get arrested. I didn't think he would die.

The other headline is : fatal bus crash leaves 8 dead in Tennessee.
My mom called with news that my grandfather was on a church bus that blew a tire, jumped the median and smashed into a semi. His name wasn't on the list of life flighted survivors and only two people walked away without being hospitalized. At 95 years old, that likely wasn't him. A couple hours later it was confirmed that he didn't make it.
No talk of pulling plugs or what to do, that sort of finality is actually really nice to have, in spite of it being sad to lose someone. It's over. No nursing homes or wondering if today is the day. What a way to go.

So now I'm sitting in my now calm apartment, contemplating if I want to head down for a group funeral at a baptist church is North Carolina or when I should head to work despite no motivation.
With the browns  already played Thursday night, I'm not sure what my weekend looks like. Probably a little meditation and a lot of sleep is in order. Rehydrating and recharging will be nice. I just need to get through these last two days of my work week an i will be set.

Bunk beads and beach hair

I'm slowly waking up, so sore from sleeping in a child's bunk bed at the beach house my family has rented for my cousins wedding in nc. I tried to stretch out after the 12 hour car ride and 2 hours playing in the waves, but that just ended with me hitting my head.

I figure its about time for a cup of tea and curling up on the front deck to listen to the ocean. The house is way too quiet for anyone else to be up or perhaps they were up two hours ago and have already ambled off to start their day.

Time for reflection, planning, cleaning and stretching my mind along with taking a bunch of naps. Vacation with a wedding break in the middle.

Peaches, drain cleaner, herb magazine, beer

It's Saturday night and I finally have stabilized the ship that is my work, my mistress of the sea that ebbs and flows with the pulling of many different unpredictable moons. I have set things in motion, pinned down specifics an even set steps in case of emergency so that I an now walk away and watch the gears turn without me. It's beautiful. Everything when working in perfect unison, hearing my phrases come from different voices is really set me back and made me happy.
I can walk away without being scared everything will fall apart.
I wake up not fearing what tragedy will happen today. Sooooo nice.

So on a busy-ish Saturday night, I sneak in and out just to make sure the musician is paid and the reservations are set for the following week and to give a refund for a tab not split right, and I refuge out to the vines to ponder their growth and fruit development. Then I take a dinner break, if you will to play some video games and decompress before stopping back at work to double check to make sure tragedy hasn't hit.
It didn't. So I say hello to some customers, sign off on time sheets, then make my way home.
This is all possible because -just so your fucking job- employee is no longer with us. It is beautiful. Waves of calm lap against this smooth sailing ship and it is soooooo much easier to keep decent employees in line without the invented crises I used to constantly cope with.
It's so easy, I almost feel numb. Like a bomb that went off and I'm just standing there with a ringing in my ears, not sure what to do next.
Um, I guess I don't have to fight anymore. I can just focus on selling wine. Weird.

I stop at the store on my way and while its early for me, not much is open after ten on a Saturday night. I wander around Walmart before cashing out with my peaches, drain cleaner, herb magazine, and beer and as I bag up my gems I ponder my not so crazy Saturday night. It seems to be a common thread in my life, the Saturday night Walmart trip where I look at the contents of my cart and the absolute necessity that has driven me to this store at this time and assess where I'm at in life. Once during one of these reveries when I trekked to the bowling green walmecca in mussed half sleeping hair and a giant sweater because my hungry cat wouldn't let me sleep, I found myself in line holding some veggie burgers and a giant bag of cat food prominently displaying a woman of my age in a sweater much similar to mine, smiling and nuzzling her cat. Bizarre mirror moments are often great times for frantic reassessments of ones life.
I didn't go home and nuzzle my cat, but it did make me think twice about the evil mind control those creatures can have on me.


Tonight it's drain cleaner so that I can actually take a shower without standing in water backing up the drains. The bottom of the shower really gets slick when soapy water takes forever to drain. And I'm still not entirely sure who my new apartment manager is. Two different, not entirely trustworthy people have come up to me saying its them. So I don't believe anyone and ill just do it myself.
After shopping for other shitty apartments, I have concluded I take the good with the bad and enjoy the cheapest place to live I can find and hopefully I will save up enough money to buy a house of my own soon. Another 6 months of diligent saving and I should have the $3,000 for a down payment  diligent saving is the key phrase....

The guilt of using the super caustic chemical concoction is balanced out minorly by the guilty conscious purchase of a nice herbal magazine about foraging for wild healing herbs and the different ways lemons can be used for cleaning products. To be fair, I tried the hippie way or baking soda and vinegar and a plunger for quite awhile before resorting to the draino, which still hasn't proved its effectiveness yet.
My oven doesn't work anymore so I grabbed some peaches for a late night dinner snack. An some Sierra Nevada beer.

Holy crap. Peaches and beer should be best friends. They compliment each other greatly. The juicy, fuzzy flesh of a peach offsets a nice hoppy pale ale with the right amount of bitterness and sweetness I can't help myself.

So after about 3 peaches, one beer, and a can of ineffective draino, I think I can call this a pretty successful Saturday night.i actually have workers doing their job. I can plan ahead before my cat gets super annoyed and hungry. And I am super st peace in spite of my surroundings.

Balance is being achieved. Somewhere in between the fructose and alcohol, the draino and lemon cleaners. The girl nuzzling her cat and me, three cats later. The fluorescent lights of the megastore have turned into the cfls and street lights of this shitty apartment I can't seem to shake. And I guess maybe that's my reverie for the night. My work can function without me. My apt is in constant disrepair. But I still feel like in the grand scheme of things, I'm on the right track.

Final round.

My new favorite thing in the morning is to lay sideways in bed and let my head hang off the side. You'd be surprised at how nice a little blood to the brain can be. Putting the head lower than the heart just feeds the gray matter and each breath I draw in tingles and invigorates me. 

I look at my stucco bedroom wall upside down and contemplate where I am going to move to and who I give affection, time, attention, and love to. Neurons pumped high on oxygen fire off signals and twitches as a dog dreams beside me, breathing hard in the heat. 

Final round of the auction block with the remainder of my sheep tomorrow and I'm trying not to think about anything. I am looking at a little apartment just north of here and wondering if I should go it alone or not. I wish the stucco walls would spell out the best answer, or maybe they are but it's not what I want or it's not easy. The robins sing a rather boring song, a dog in a crate whimpers from his full bladder. I contemplate hot coffee on a day that's already hot. And I think I might lose my job. 

I guess it wouldn't be lost. It just wouldn't be mine anymore. I'd know where it is. I just wouldn't be there too. 

The -just do your fucking job- guy is getting preferential treatment over me. When given three tasks and a raise, he has not come through with any of his tasks. But somehow that's turned into me being a bad manager. Not that he's lazy and evasive and doesn't listen to me. 

I am spent. Coming off a 50+ hour work week, I halfway welcome just getting fired. I could sling coffee at a place up the street or be a case worker for schizophrenics. Somewhere that I could go to work and go home at the end of the day without having screaming phone calls where I try to fire people but I am not permitted. 

I am wound super tight, working with a guy who freaked out on a customer so bad she complained via email to my boss and even though I wasn't there, it's my fault, not my disgruntles employee. 

So now I hang my head off the side of my bed and think. 

I need to move. My last apartment manager didn't fix anything. I don't have a key to one of my doors. My ceiling in my kitchen leaks when it rains but my drains don't actually drain. Minor annoyances in my mind. But now I have a new apt manager who has an affinity for parking lot parties and late night fireworks. I curl up on my couch as my dog crawls under neath me with that terrified of loud noises face. 

I feel like the grumpy old woman in apt D but when the stairs are filled with people and beer cans I need to step over when I'm getting off a 12 hour shift, yes, I get pissy.

So no sheep. Job going to hell. Indecision abounds still. Whining dogs. Little sleep. Hot as hell. And packing yet again. 

Yes. I will make coffee this morning. I will look at apartments in different neighborhoods and not think about it too much. I will dream of sheep and one day having a place of my own to keep them. I will walk the dogs, feed the cat and buy some strawberries to make jam with. I will put my head under my heart and feel the stress dissipate with every day off because fuck, it's my only day off this week. I need to go out and enjoy it. 

Such a good day

Today was beautiful.

I took a day off from work. A much needed day off. I laid in bed, 6am sun pouring through my window as I calculated out how few hours I had slept. So I doubled my number and got up a few minutes before my alarm, just in time for yoga teacher training.

A day to clear my mind, to sit on porches talking about nothing and so much with my family, wrapping up dreams into packages together with great resolve for the months ahead.
Then wading out to the gardens to pull weeds, organize thought, not answer emails, and soak up the June sun.

I got a lot done. I know that sounds odd to say about a day off, but that usually means a good day for me.

So now as my house fills with aromatics in the slow simmer of vegetables, onions, bay, and garlic as the egg noodles spin around in their pot. I'm adapting a recipe someone made for me. It's more homage than anything. It was delicious the first time. Now I am trying it with slow simmered cabbage with the onions, wider noodles, and hockey sausage.
 I slice off a tiny piece of pecorino Romano and let it melt in my mouth, swirling it with Shiraz. next on my list to do is sit on my couch with my new Aussie shepherd foster dog as he cuddles closer to me the way most shelter dogs do. I feel great. I feel recharged, happy to have a day to myself that actually was to myself.
Bruce Springsteen reminds me of relishing days off as sirens go off in the distance and the neighbors dog raspily barks in response. I hear the parking lot fill up with residents hunkering down for Monday morning work. I hunker down for yoga tomorrow morning and then a full day off making strawberry jam with my sister. I am not a jam eater, but I LOVE making it. And eating the piles of strawberries as we hull and slice them.

Dinner is wrapping up. The dogs are sleeping. I wish I had some way to watch a bunch of daily show episodes in a row. That would pretty much end the ideal day off. But I'll settle for a half a glass of wine, a nice hot shower to get the grassy dirt smell off me and then curling up in bed with a magazine, belly full and mind content and happy.

What a good day.

She let the tiger off its chain

I am laying in bed trying to find the right combination of positive thinking and musical soundtrack to drag myself up to meet the day. So far I have failed. I'm feeling my skin twitch as the poison ivy spreads up my wrist and pricks around for where to tickle next.
Stress wells up into a ball in my throat and a lump in my stomach, despite all better thought and reason. It seems like if I rationalize, there's really no reason for me to be worried and I know it doesn't help, but I think swallowing it just makes it simmer more.
I've been riding waves of emotions and hormones with weak knees, falling and weakly picking myself up jus to fall again.
I am puzzled as to how most people go trough life, married, same job, same home for years. I feel shifts constantly and discomfort and desires for change. I beat myself up that I'm being selfish.
I have to get rid of the sheep at work. They no longer want to have them there. They are getting rid of their grass fed cows so I won't have that anymore either. And while selling shares was kinda a pain in the ass, it aligned with my ideals and kept my feet moving. They are turning their pastures into more corn and soybeans, which do not align with my ideals. Taking cows off grass so you can grow animal feed with a bunch of petrol products because its easy just doesn't sit well with me. And now I'm sad that I will stare at a non diversified monoculture and my break from staring after grapevines 100x over is not to go look at births and animals out lush green grass but rather the burn of herbicide spray and the height of fertilized corn.
There goes another perk of the job.
And while I realize most jobs do not have barns and pastures and such odd perks, this one seemed fitting after all the stress, odd hours, back breaking labor, and farm based events. This was a big perk. And now I'm headed back to Craigslist for flakey people to purchase my Frankenstein flock of perfect traits from different breeds that were customized just for my needs, but now don't have the flash of purebred or the mass weight of market lambs. And so then I'm headed to the auction yard to doom them to a few final stressful days before they hit the stun gun and go into gyro meat.

As I work through the last of the beef in my freezer, I contemplate going back to vegetarianism or for a minute, think about moving back to my old house toget a desk job to pay the bills and then spending all my energy on my own project...... But then I remember the money pit and get sad. Perhaps my ideals do tie me to being broke.

And my tiger is in my throat, an irrational ball of energy, of unexplained emotions. Of wanderlust. Of seeking new things, new challenges, opening doors that I shouldn't or taking apart things just to see how they work. My tiger is in my feet that once out of bed, will move quickly on a meandering path that has a thread through it, however diverse the course actually turns out to be.


I like making art, but it always seemed so impractical to make something just to stare at. I think the more I work at it, the more I am making food into art, from the start where I craft a beautiful lamb, fill its belly with grass, say a prayer before the butcher, and then craft the finishing touches on its life.

I think I'm most unhappy when I discount my passions into something trivial or just a fleeting meal or a passing conversation that doesn't mean anything. Part of me wonders if this will calm as I age. But the other part of me really doesn't want to change.

Poor saps and just do your job

I'm staring at the giant industrial front loaders as zippers tink on the front glass, bright colors swirling around murky water. Underwear are cavorting with dirty socks and getting to know fish towels who wrap around sweaters before getting tossed into tshirts. In the next washer my sheets are getting all tangled up together and I contemplate my mindset when purchasing as it seems my sleepwear all have similar hues. Like I sleep on grass, dirt, or sky colors. Nothing sexy like silk and maroon. Nope. Dirt.
The high speed spin cycle kicks in and gray water sloshes over the door. Sharon jones cooes in my ear. I am trying to breath, to calm. I am trying to be alone. I am trying not to get distracted or think about the cavernous pit of my checking account where there's only a echoing bouncing noise over and over. Sharon jones is throwing out a lover emphatically. He comes back and says his car is stolen. She says she isn't falling for that one again. I start wondering if that ever actually works as an excuse, but then al green comes on with his testimony of love in a million different similes and metaphors about love and how awesome she is and I can't help but feel bad for the poor sap who lost his car. Then i feel bad foe men in general. Seems like they cant help themselves. Seems like all this anguish over women is entirely out of their control. First wash cycle is done.

Now it's time for dryer roulette. Chose the wrong one, and you're out 3 quarters and a quarter of an hour. But you really don't know which one works until you try. Good thing I have 5 laundry baskets full. In any case, this should take awhile.

I stare at the soda machines, ignore the dull growl in my abdomen, and ponder why no one does rocking flute solos anymore. Second shift stinks as there's this impending time limit on everything, knowing that there's only X amount of time before I have to head back to work. I like being a boss but I totally hate staffing. It's always one thing or another with everyone. They love me or hate me or I am being unfair or forcing them to work.  Fascinating how when asked to do your fucking job you would get so upset at the thought. Or they want more hours then complain about working too much. Trying to balance a budget when it involves such diverse variable such as rushes of customers or employees texting off an leaving me understaffed.
Temptations sticcato how they can't get next to you and I take that as my cue to listen to something else. Now Tom Waits is floating through notes of you can never hold back spring in his eerie -I just ate a bunch of glass- way, follwed by piano pummeling out a bass melody like a march of doom which reminds me of why my checkbook is cavernous. i purchased a beautiful keyboard.
I haven't had a real instrument since a dog snapped a cord off my last expensive, beautiful keyboard and I've been floundering since. For a couple years. But draining my entire account into this beautiful Privia was marginally insane, however very worth it for the release I get when my fingers hit the weighted keys.
Now all those pent up thoughts that I can't even articulate in the hundreds of words I hide here are oozing out note by note, scribbled into my notebook like a map legend that navigates the corners of my mind.
Now I speak in my second language, eyes on the black and white, then out the window, then closed as my fingers become possessed.

....and now round one is out if the dryer and I consolidate into the one that works and begin folding. I iron out my thoughts and make a plan of attack for the day. Mantra is -do your fucking job, it's not that hard. Kinda funny how evading work is often more difficult than actually doing the work. But then again, I am the queen on the path of least resistance which is often harder than the discomfort of just putting my foot down and saying what I mean. But I'm more paralyzed by second guessing myself than I am lazy. Fuck. 10 minutes before I have to leave for work. But at least all my clothes are clean. I wish I could just put on clean jeans and a clean sweater and melt into the grass on a field staring at the sky without a time limit. Day off soon is much needed.

Landmark spring

The spring is usually so full of landmarks like the first crocus, daffodils, spring lamb, or the grass greening that I usually write on the calendar like love notes or birthdays. This year, I left them all lilting by as I marveled from my car window. The dull winter shades keep slipping one by one into vibrant hues and tshirts.
I have pulled into my shell to think. People occasionally poke me and I'll uncomfortably let a leg stick out or peek out my head to see what's going on, but crawl back inside all the same.

I am wondering how and why we chose our mates. I know ram selection traits to look for or what roosters to cull when they get mean, but translation to humans is harder as there's so many unseen traits that are hard to select for. And which ones are suitable and desired? And roosters or rams aren't around for long on my farm... So I don't think the soup pot is an option if things dont work out well in the human world.

I guess if we go by the modern psychology standards, women are looking for older men with a square jawline, strong nose, defined eyebrows, and of course lots of money. Men are going for youn women with large eyes, small mouths, and fine reproductive hips and mammaries.
 I am now imagining my ewes when a ram is presented to me going, "damn, yeah he's fine but will he stick around and take care of the lambs and still be romantic after breeding season, I don't think so."

I think the things that were important to me 7 years ago are different than they are now. Fuck. I never thought a bad credit score would piss me off so much. But the fact that it does, kinds makes me feel like a pile of nerve impulses that I can't just push to the back of my brain.

Every time my neighbors get into a lovers screaming match, I house shop. When trash gets thrown at my door, when someone comes home drunk and loud, when mothers cuss out their baby daddy's in the streets in front of said babies,  I house shop.
I house shop until I realize that I can't even afford a shitty cheap house in Akron and then I get sad. But I still house shop anyway. I figure if I give up this hobby, maybe a gem will get away from me and I'll be stuck with the cockroaches, human and insect.

So when house shopping and thinking that far into permanence and futures and all that crazy nonsense, I'm wondering if I chose my mate because he was fun and nice and sweet and a good cook and adventurous, will that keep and grow with where I want to be? And can that overcome a terrible credit score.
I guess moral of the story is do not get sick when you have no health insurance. And if you avoid bills for a decade, someone out there will find them and get super pissed off. So hopefully I have a couple of really nice dinners, fuck, I'll need a damn chef living with me if I'm going to strap that yoke on my neck.

Articulating the need for stability financially makes me feel like a selfish princess. I wish it didn't matter so much, but it does. Treading water paying bills, hoping my car doesn't break down this week is a sure way to ulcers. But I'm better off now than I ever have been so I feel in the right direction. Loans are getting paid down. Credit cards are not going up. I'm not sinking every cent of money and energy into a losing endeavor at my parents place.

So now I'm thinking, what next.

Tiger

Dream - I thought I was petting a kitten, I had it so long and never paid attention. One day the kitten woke up feisty and I realized I had a tiger full grown staring back at me and I so nonchalant sitting next to it with my arm draped over unaware of the danger because for so long it had been my kitten.
So I stood up and took notice, but then a strange delighted thought came over me that I could indeed tame tigers so I poked and played with my kitten tiger and it shyly played back for a bit. It was only calm for a moment. Because when I realized it was so much stronger than me, so did he. So I ran.

Maybe it's dreams like these that make me realize I'm a dog person. Or maybe it's the delightful predictability of dogs that make me dream of cats. Or maybe my damn house cat should stop sleeping on my pillow and purring all night. Maybe I stole her dreams of once becoming a tiger

Physical self abuse

I lay in bed for a few extra minutes to catalog the sensations and twitches as my body starts to wake up with my groggy mind. The window is still open but I am not cold. The damp air lingers around the maple that's budded out and the dull roar of tires pushing rainwater into pavement rises like waves just in the distance.
My shoulders are tight and tense even after a night of good sleep from pulling on the massive grapevines. My feet still sing the thousand steps from serving food and running food and opening bottles and running bottles. Inside of my thighs have some fresh bruises from the horn of a saddle as a barn sour horse tried his best to buck me off. And my wrists and shins are just starting to forget the yoga I put them through yesterday as I prepare to go to my toughest class of the week this morning.

I wonder when I'm out of energy if I beat my poor body up too much. My doctor says I should take it easy but women from my clan have been known to work their spines into twisted frames from years and years a of laboring the soil. I am pretty well set down that path. I should select a more cerebral passtime, but an object in motion, remains in motion.

So I put on my yoga pant, pour some coffee in a to go cup, shut the window before it hits 30 degrees today, and I'm off to start my day.

Headaches and headaches.

Today is the first day in a long time I've gotten out of bed without a dull numb headache and that's how I know its going to be a good day. I also have addressed an annoying employee problem where instead of talking to me, she just tattles to my bosses. I love it when someone won't say things to my face about problems but will tell my bosses everything I'm doing wrong. Sigh. I wanted to fire her when she started but my bosses like her. She is, in fact, pointing out everything that's wrong with our company... Namely me.

I guess some people are just like that. Some people walk by you without a word then when they get to their desks, they send out an angry email.
I just need a reality reset. I am really in bizzaro world right now

Are you fucking serious?

New neighbors moved in just below me. The floor is super thin, accentuated by their affinity for yelling at each other at full volume. The guy is usually low key and sounds drunk the girl has a shrill voice and her favorite phrase being "are you fucking serious!?"  that pierces straight through the floor every time.
They got in a lovers quarrel last night at 4am. She was ripping things off walls and throwing things because he cheated on her. Oh yes, she was fucking serious. An she wanted the fucking rug she bought and that Rebecca is such a whore.
These tiffs are then peppered with really loud make up sex and then unintelligent idle chatter between sex bouts. I guess killing time is difficult, especially when you have absolutely nothing else to talk about other than sex or fighting.

So my coffee is percolating and I'm house shopping. Quickly.

Nothing is quite as frustrating as shopping with no money. I opened up a credit union account to consolidate my high interest credit card and some other random debt.  But my price range is about 30,000 which in Akron can get you a decent house on a nice lot, as long as I don't get all esoteric about what I really want like in the big picture for life and stuff.

Now I'm looking at what I can sell for the down payment. Beef shares are selling well, despite early slumps and it looks like I'll be sold out soon. Hmm, second job?  Cull all the rest of the flick and hope for generous buyers? Or start a hot dog cart and sell at 2am by the bars. But I'd need money for the hot dog cart. Damn.

Also I just  recently came to the realization that I had been wearing the wrong bra size for years. I HATE getting fitted. Actually, I hate most everything about the bra purchasing experience. I think the last time I got fitted, I was 16 and I've just been going by those numbers ever since. But I finally got sick of it  and caved, going back in those little rooms with a very pleasant smelling woman who looked so much more put together than I do, measuring tape in hand and trial bras until we got it right. And now I feel odd in the realization that I'm a DD. when the hell did that happen? And if I think I'm smaller framed than most women so what the hell do they wear? Size H?
And shelling out $50 for an article of clothing was difficult, but damn it feels nice to fit right.  

So now it's my day off. No sleep. Broke as hell. And not sure what the day has in store. A shower and a dog walk sounds like a good start. 

Late January warm rain and not killing kin

The windows are open and the rain soaked air is lilting through my apartment in waves, each chasing the one before it through the bedroom window and out the kitchen door. The dull taps of water on soaked and frozen ground persists only out done by the collection of pots, pans and bowls on my kitchen floor catching the leaking roof water as the great pile of ice on top a flat roof in Ohio melts slowly.
The sixty degree wet breeze feels like spring. The slushy mud with random small tufts of grass seems like march.
I fleshed my fresh sheep skins yesterday. I feel like I'm completing a puzzle or those sprints in gym class where you continually go back to the beginning and each time you get a bit farther. Round one, I collected the skins but didn't flesh them in time so they got tossed. Round two I got the skins and fleshed them but then I wasn't sure the next step and so I spent more time shopping for battery acid than I did completing them.
This time they are fleshed and I have my tanning solution of kerosene and baking soda. They need washed a couple of times and I'm debating on taking them to the laundromat. I probably wouldn't be welcome back if I did that. So hmm.... Maybe grandma would let me use her washing machine, despite all better judgement.

I have a busy day and a half cup of coffee to start. One pear and a grapefruit but the rest of my fridge looks like a bachelor. Well, a bachelor with an affinity for roll butter and good cheese.

Then tonight, I party with my youngest kin, returning home from a month or so abroad, hopefully a bit wiser. I will try to be nice. Maybe I'll bake something. As long as I'm moving, I'm fine. It's just sitting there watching livers get pickled and philosophies spun that gets me angry sometimes.

It's blue, of course!

I'm curled up on the couch with a new cup of blonde roast coffee, enjoying it thoroughly as the soft pounding of a homeless man deconstructing a reclining chair for the metal inside reminds me of a fucked up version of the pitter patter of little feet. And im wondering where the hell he got a hammer.  Or maybe it's just a sign of the times, where recycling isn't just socially conscious thing for the rich, but a thrifty necessity for the unemployed.  I'm just glad he's breakin it up as some times my parking space gets taken over by thrown out furniture, who once one is abandoned in a spot, usually it calls all of its friends. Then I get sicck of staring a the pile and one by one on trash day I hoist them into the dumpster they sit beside. But by then, they always oddly smell like urine.

Anyway....

I start yoga teacher training tomorrow. Just to see if I'll like it. I just know that I'm quite at peace and I really like the instructor. He teaches a very engaging and I formative class that pushes me just far enough.
And I don't know if this is the "back to school" people always ask me about but I figure it's just as good as anything else. Maybe better as its quite better than drugs. I just hope someone snaps me out of it if I start chanting on a daily basis or posting positive thoughts daily on my facebook. Yeah yeah yeah, we're all connected and life is beautiful, but maybe I don't want to bless the soul that just cut me off or didn't tip me because of Obama. Dicks. I'd bet Obama still can afford to tip.

I went to a wine pouring benefit for autism. I hung out with nicks girlfriend and tried to instill some wine knowledge to a non drinker. She's cute and blonde a
nd bubbly so that goes a long way. I eventually just shrugged and told her to send the hard questions to me.
We were pouring a couple tables away from this other local farm winery. I've been to it a couple of times and watched the goats get out and mow down a row of grape vines, had some really delicious mustard with my meat an cheese and once accidentally bought a wine that I didn't hate that turned out to be $35! That's like 4 hours of work. Sigh.
You know how you have different ideas about how people might be. So from two tables away we were kindly talking to the other local winery people, the grumpy dry red distributor, the guys with more money than sense who have grapes planted that I've dealt with but they don't know what to do with yet. And the farm boy.
He came over and introduced himself. At first he was funny and engaging. He likes india pale ales and stamping his own leather belts and it looks like he's the farmers son who I could probably lift more than he can. We wine chatted about grapes an fining agents for a bit and he said he was going to steal me, which at that point I started weighing my options. But then it all went downhill from there.
It was about then I started getting poked at for going to strip clubs or my possible stripping past (not  true) or lesbianism. Then it turned into guessing my underwater type and color. Sigh. Then i uncontrollably blushed and  clenched my jaw into a snarled smile just like standing out in a rainstorm hoping it will stop soon.

I guess some people don't have filters or don't know how to talk to people. And then I got really sad that possibly he was the most honest person there.

I loaded up my car with whatever wine I didn't pour an went straight for a beer or two or three.

But after the shock was over and I texted my friend about the weird encounter she responded with "blue" which I thought was hilarious. She was right my underwear were blue.

Radio in my head

I wake up with an old radio head song stuck in my head. Stretch. Find the song while praising modern technology and I play it through the fender bass amp I borrowed indefinitely from my brother. It sounds eerier than expected as it echoes through the cabinet. The song stops. It's still in my head so I play it twice more while I clean the percolator and reset it for another lightly caffeinated day. Run water for dishes. Make leftovers for breakfast. The birds nesting in the raves are singing and I get a text from work. It's 9:30. I'll be there second shift to open.

I switch over to listen to the xx, my latest auditory obsession. Turn on the tea pot to warm the apartment as I go through a couple rounds of sun salutations. Lana del ray comes on. I get laundry together. The bird are fighting now. They sound like my impassioned neighbors who often fight over $5. The cat curls around my legs, and I put cat food on my shopping list.


I convince myself today will be a good day. I will go out tonight. I will have a good day at work. I will probably drink too much coffee and probably impulse buy some lotion or glovesand only mildly gripe about being broke. I will find someone to go to the brewery with me after work tonight.


I am only mildly cursing lending rent money to my vineyard helper. I was saving up for a new keyboard that works, but since that's on the back burner, I'm only mildly contemplating breaking into the church next door to play their piano.
At least this buys me time so I make sure I get the right one. And I'd feel like a spoiled little shit if I withheld money for a frivolous purchase while someone goes homeless, even if in the back of my mind I think 7-11 is probably hiring night shifts or something.  But I like him as a worker and as a person so I can wait.

Today, I will look on the bright side.