all by myself

I’m alone.
I’m in New York.
I’m here to write papers and stories and watch movies and make a short film with a group of students.

I’m sort of at a loss right now as all of this is stuff that I like, but it is weird for me because I’m doing something I really enjoy instead of doing something I am required to do to take care of family or pay my bills.

I mean, I will still be working, I do a lot of work from home right now anyway, but instead of being five minutes away, I am now several hours away from my office. But in essence, everything I am doing is just for me.

Which is scary. Scary, and exciting, and scary again.

Last week I was having a conversation with a co-worker about my trip and the fact that I realized when my flight was confirmed that this is going to be the longest I’ve ever been alone in my entire life. I’m not totally alone obviously, I am house-sitting/cat-sitting for friends, so I have a cat with me, but I’m person alone.

I’m in my mid 40s and I’ve never been person alone for more than 2 days in a row before now. I mean it is only day 1 right now, so I feel pretty solid, I will have to evaluate and check back in with myself after day 5 of being person alone to see if this is something that will work.

It is just funny (odd) to think that I’m doing activities just for me in a place where I’m staying all alone. It is strange to me to think that I get to decide everything all by myself every step of the way.

I’m pretty sure I can do it, but in the end, the only person that I’m responsible to, that I could possibly disappoint, or that I can really make happy for the next two weeks, is me.

Hopefully I will not judge me too harshly.

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Just a Thought

War must always be done out of sight, or it shocks people and they stop immediately.
—Catherynne M. Valente/The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland In A Ship Of Her Own Making

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those are blue

I’m starting to feel like I’m turning into a Vogon.
Not even a cool Vogon that writes poetry.
Nope, one of the boring Vogons that only knows the color of each of the forms.

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Just a Thought

However, one of the students who suffered eight months of insomnia wrote an opera shortly after being released from a sleep disorder clinic. Titled I Have Spent Eight Years Learning from the Lives of People Who Truly Broke Free from the Strictures of Higher Education and Actually Made Their Lives What They Wanted While I Have Failed to Follow Their Example, Will Continue to Fail, and Will Die Unmourned, Confused, and Fat, it was never performed.
—Patton Oswalt/Zombie Spaceship Wasteland

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county carnival

Him: I don’t get this song.

Me: He is singing about how sexy she is and how he loves licking and kissing her.

Him: Never say licking again. I get what it means mom, I just don’t get why it had to be a song and not just a bunch of things you whisper to someone at night in bed.

Me: Because women want to feel beautiful. Well everyone wants to feel sexy at least. So write it down and make money on a song.

Him: Even you? Even you want to feel beautiful?

Me: Even me. But I would not believe anyone that said my body is a wonderland. I would just laugh.

Him: Too sappy?

Me: Too unrealistic. My body is more like a country carnival than any kind of wonderland body.

Him: Carnival?

Me: Yeah my body seems like a great idea at night when you’re drunk, but you would never go near any of these rides in the cold light of dawn.

Him: Okay. Ew.

Me: Just saying.

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Just a Thought

It was time, I knew, to drive to my sister’s bustling, cheerful house, all tidied and stiff for the day. I would talk to people whose existence I had forgotten years before and they would ask me about my marriage (failed a decade ago, a relationship that had slowly frayed until eventually, as they always seem to, it broke) and whether I was seeing anyone (I wasn’t; I was not even sure that I could, not yet) and they would ask about my children (all grown up, they have their own lives, they wish they could be here today), work (doing fine, thank you, I would say, never knowing how to talk about what I do. If I could talk about it, I would not have to do it. I make art, sometimes I make true art, and sometimes it fills the empty places in my life. Some of them. Not all) We would talk about the departed; we would remember the dead.
—Neil Gaiman/The Ocean At The End Of The Lane

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saving lives everywhere I go

Me: I got to the gym like fifteen minutes later than usual which is apparently like missing the golden window in traffic.

Her: Too many people?

Me: Too many stupid people.

Her: How stupid could someone be at the gym?

Me: One dude asked me how to use the pool.

Her: If they want to know something like that you are obligated to drown them.

Me: I think that would’ve made me even later.

Her: Another life saved because you have a schedule.

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Just a Thought

…if you drink much from a bottle marked ‘poison,’ it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.
—Lewis Carroll/Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

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Every Day


I feel like I should make some resolutions or do something really monumental.

But it is a new day, a new week, and a new year and I still feel like the same old me. I am not ashamed of the old me, but I have struggled for the last several months with my weight and my personal worth, and the old me is the new me is the still the old me.

I can’t take the beginning of the year as anything more than just one more day where I have to make good decisions. Or at least less-harmful decisions.

This whole self care and self love process is literally every day. If 2018 is great, I’m excited. If 2018 is a dumpster fire, I’m less excited, but I am aware that I’m going to have to make my decisions every single day to continue self care and self love.

But it is nice to have this new year with all the new year smells that I can enjoy as I make my choices.

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Just a Thought

I’m a boxing glove with a horseshoe inside of it, conversationally. I speak at you. I speak through you. You’ve got the queasy feeling you might not even need to be here right now, and I’d still spit Facts About Billy Wilder into the afternoon air.
—Patton Oswalt/Silver Screen Fiend

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