Category: Musicness


snippets of springtime from random journal entries:

There is a tiny baby in polka dots here in the waiting room at the eye doctor. We are waiting for Buddha the Grouch’s pupils to dilate. The baby cris, is picked up by her mom. She (the baby) makes a motor boat sound with her tiny lips. I tell Buddga the Grouch “That baby is cute. I want to squish her.” Buddha the Grouch says “That baby wants me to be able to play M-rated video games.

***

End of day I’m off my feet

This cultivated silence, background noise & candle & a cuppa joe. Resounding non-sound a temporary respite from day’s dull roar & I sit in silence, let word overtake me silence bringing onrush of joy to temporary standstill silence & my crickets still sound like birds after all these years humidity brings it back to me that bedroom window the only place to press my face for cooler air to embrace. People drifting in and out of my picture view, bumbling like enormous mountains the size of ships. The traffic shifts my focus.

***

Dear You,

What have I learned this week? That you can’t force a banana into a peanut jar? That I don’t know why I keep ending up in the middle of crazy-ass relationships. It’s like the reverse instinct. Like when we were at the zoo & the people all ran TOWARDS the lion when he roared.

***

What I mean to say is this – I am forming sentences in a vacuum. A grave mistake. A simple misdirection and a hollow expression. This magic can interact transgressively. Regress into an open can. Trying to believe I can be liberated. B.B. King is free from the spell.

***

I ate popcorn for dinner tonight – and other tales of misguided adulthood.

The dog is outside, whining. Right now, I’m playing Sims. Enjoying peace and housematelessness and guestlessness. Soon there will be more guests and new guests and before that kids and back to work.

But at least the house is mostly clean, and the laundry is mostly done, and I have mostly exercised mostly every day. Mostly.

From here on out, I get to do what I want to do. Wander around in my pajamas all day.

Mostly.

***

 

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When did I allow my heart to get so fettered, not feathered,

Weathered. This is not love

by any approximation & yet

it is approximately the closest

I feel like I can get

 

One who gives me everything but

one who gives me nothing but

I divide myself into portions

Portions of me

Free

For the taking.

 

I should be satisfied

with

the dove in my hand, and

the hawk in my bush.

Instead,

I may go cold turkey.

***

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I wonder what I am half paying attention to now?

What am I?

I stopped caring

the minute I stopped

defining.

Steadfastly refuse to call myself

a poet

Though…pictures

paint words

in my mind.

**

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Walking in heat

Falling in love w/the you in everyone

& longing, which is the better part of love

The distance so tangible, it feels

like a touch

that keeps me from alone long not long alone. The

you in everyone I have never had had

never known no never. Will never know

& that’s ok b/c longing

is the better part

of love

***

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Listening to wind chime & bird chatter and cars going by. It sure feels good to be alive.

In a minutes, I’m going to wrap this up & take the kids out for ice cream. Maybe come back out on the porch later & write some more.

Oh, and – I got the job.

***

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Chirping, I hope like a cricket – w/out wings. I can only fall. Hop. Skip. You say it is not the way you planned things. I say Fuck Your Plans.

***

The Tao of Bird argued about not wanting to take a shower for about 30 minutes this morning. Including yelling and name calling and tantrum throwing and many many many “I HATE YOU”‘s. Now he is in the shower. Has been for about 15 minutes. Singing away. Apparently never planning to come out.

Meanwhile, Buddha the grouch is still sleeping, I am listening to an Animal Collective song called Bees. The birds are singing. The sun is shining.

“Please Take Your Time…”

The song entreaties me. Entices me. Pleads with me.

 

Today’s Mantra, while taking my second Eucalyptus-infused shower in less than 24 hours in hopes of clearing my allergy-ridden nose:

Ritual abandon, chaotically enacted with surgical precision.

I am engaging in a project-based mini, semi-vacation within a tiny bit more of a vacation. Otherwise Known As 24 entire hours (plus!) without having to be in the presence of another human being. But my time is drawing to a close. Soon, ruckus will once again descend upon the house, but it will dissipate and a quieter ruckus will ensue. And just that near silent-hum that exists as a background noise whenever there is another person in the house with you, capable of interrupting the quiet at any given moment. Most of a time that is a pleasent hum. Sometime – it’s just nice to muffle it for a day.

I spent my time well. Forced, as I was, to succumb to a mostly horizontal plane of existence due to aforementioned leaky nose and the irresistible allure of lethargy. I’ve been organizing my data. Pushing around bits and bytes from one storage format to another. Sifting through images, music, writing – things of my past that have been stored in various formats throughout my life. Organizing it. Analyzing it. Contemplating it. This life in pixels.

I create systems while I work. Systems of efficiency. Systems of reward. Systems to prevent me from becoming bored. And, while working, I watch – or listen – or create in between bouts of “productivity.” Appreciating the progress. Enjoying the process. Knowing there is a beginning, middle, and forseeable end to this project…makes for a very satisfying few days of laze and precious solitudinous haze.

What are you waiting for?

Dispatches from old journals – various years and locations in the January New Year/Birthdayish time frame…

“To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.” -e. e. cummings

***

Him: Are you still in love with the universe?

Me: Quite

Him: I think you are in love with ME.

Me: You ARE part of the universe

Last night, I dreamed about a zombie apocalypse. Lots of running & hiding. I found J in my dream, and we teamed up and found a way out.

I called J today to tell him. He thought it was funny. What I didn’t tell him is that we made out in the dream. Towards the end, I remember what his kisses felt like. They were hard and thin of lip.

Discuss, discuss, DIS-GUS. Discusting.

I’m living in an alternate reality. An alternating duality, fresh from free modality. Sensitive in its design, by nature. Designed. Maligned by creature comforted by none. Rewire. Rewire. Retire.

So chaos comes rolling in. Roiling. A haphazard retrofit toiling. Group gorilla going. Left hand albatross flowing. Supine supine never mind realign.

I am crossing over, crossing back. Redesigning, keeping slack. Semi-automatic, semiotic plague. Plaguing me. Reprobating me. <Sending Leave intimidating me.> I am rock, flowing, water. I am rock of disaster. I am missed opportunity. I am endless hegemony. Instituting harmony. Refill refine ignominy. Endless ever after.

This journey I have traveled. Will require. Will require. Will require…and equation. Forming mandibled collusion. Replace heaven with contusion. Inevitable confusion.

Pistachios in bed and Cherry Dr. Pepper. My hands are covered w/eggplant paint. I can’t figure out what’s wrong with my toilet. And it’s a new year. I hope it’s a good one.

“I’m in love with my walls” -Lester Bangs

He said one day all the walls will fall & it will be just us.

One day all the walls will fall & it will be justice.

~One day. Falling walls. Just us.~

One. Falling Us.

Just Us.

Justice.

Us.

The 1st hr of my

kid & housemate independence,

I made a plan to be productive

The 2nd hour was spent buying

“supplies”

Which began w/organizing

furniture and ended

in potato chips & soda pop

The 3rd hour was spent

laughing w/a friend

The 4th spent @ home

eating an extra cheesy

grilled chz sandwich

and watching yesterday’s

PBS News Hour,

and writing in my journal

in sharpie marker

w/out first having had to

tell anyone, “I’m writing in

my journal…please don’t

disturb me

for 30 minutes

and retreating to my

room

And locking the door

And flopping on the bed

And beginning to write

And…

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

*MOM!!!!*

(being interrupted.)

I scratch daily words on paper. How trite to describe my life the way I have. A million pages of reverie – just to see what sticks. Last year was the year of meta. The overarching. Sans details, nuances tell a story. This year will be the year of micro vs. macro. I will take small things. I will practice the art of magnification. I can’t be contained.

The thing is

that it is such a

long rope

and such a

velvet noose

You don’t even realize

you are choking

until you are

well, well, well, well

Hung.

****

I know what I want for my birthday and I will never get it and the worst thing is that it’s probably best that I not.

***

The way the world turns bokeh when I’m lying in bed staring at a sunlit tree until it breaks down to the smallest elements. Dots and lines and bark and vibrations.

***

My boyfriend knows the Dewey Decimal system. He tells me to stop watching television and go to the library. He says to go to the 811 section & find a random book of poetry. He recites to me with sweet voice and joy-brimmed eyes while his strong hands bring me to the edges of lucidity.

***

There’s something about the deconstruction and the reconstruction. The pulling things apart, re-mapping, and putting back together. My mind wants to hurry through process and get to product as quickly as possible. Counting minutes even still as the days linger into one another, leaning casually back into the day before as they tiptoe forward.

***

“Sociability is a big smile, and a big smile is nothing but teeth.” -Jack Kerouac

I spent much of the morning today thinking about artichokes. Working on my forthcoming zine, Oyster Lexicon.

In case I haven’t already described it (my understanding of this project has evolved over time, so I might have written about it before in a less specific way) Oyster Lexicon will be an alphabet of me (aka Lainie the Oyster) and A is for Artichoke. I have an artichoke drawing, a recipe, and artichoke mix…originally I thought I would just do 6 letters of the alphabet per issue, but it’s starting to seem like I might be doing 1-3 letters per issue, what with all of the artichoke media I’m going to gather. The zine will also be fully or partially full-color. I’m still debating about the size format. It will be hand-lettered (no computers will be used in the creation of the pages, but I will be scanning the hand-drawn/hand-lettered pages to do the layout and MIGHT do some computer editing after that.)

I’m super excited about doing a zine again. I had started to do one years ago after a trip to Chicago, but never really sustained an interest in it (though I do still have some great pieces that I was going to include in that zine that I might use for my “C is for Chicago” pages of Oyster Lexicon.) My plan is to put out the zine, as well as postcards and maybe notecards with the illustrations I’m making for each letter. I’d love to encourage people to send out actual mail, so I feel like making things that other people can use to brighten up the mailboxes of friends and relationships will accomplish another goal.

It’s been a long time since I last put out a zine, so I’m not entirely sure how I will do distribution. Ideally, I will be able to get some advanced orders to help fund the printing and mailing of the initial print run, which will hopefully continue to (mostly) fund any additional print runs. It’s not like I work at Kinko’s and can get free copies anymore. Speaking of which – do I still know people who work at Kinko’s and can get me a deal on copies? 😉

Etsy? WePay? Amazon books? iBooks? How are people promoting/distributing zines these days? If anyone reading this can give me any advice/suggestions, I’d really appreciate it.

In other news –

My new rhythm of days is working really well for me. I feel like I’ve achieved a pretty decent balance of internal/external time, and I’m making time for art and education as well as day-to-day practical things. I’m a little less worried about completing everything on my list, and am working on finding chunks of my week where I can just forget about time completely and focus on a task until *I* feel done with it, rather than when a clock tells me it’s time to be done with it. I still need to work on eliminating distractions and focusing on the task at hand (as evidenced by the fact that I got caught up in several facebook discussions during the writing of this blog post.) but I do feel like I’m spending the time I have doing things that are important to me, or essential to my family and community.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about dating, and how people without children maybe don’t really grasp the challenges in the lives of single parents – particularly custodial parents. Primarily, it’s odd to me how even very kind and understanding people can misunderstand how much of a financial and logistical burden it is to be the custodial parent of children – even when those children are older and not in need of constant supervision. As a woman and a feminist, for instance, I’m not really keen on a guy always picking up the tab for me. As a single mother who is struggling financially, however, you are damn straight I can’t even afford dating unless the other person pays. I’m totally cool with non-extravagant dating. I’m especially cool with cooking in or creating our own DIY entertainment…but it’s really difficult for me to help people understand that my inability to pay for a date is not a “reverse sexist” thing, but a “financial necessity” thing…and if I was the person in the relationship in a better financial situation, I would definitely be the person who offered to pay, or I would adjust my expectations of what a date might entail to ensure affordability. It’s a tricky subject, and it makes me want to avoid dating rather than having to attempt to unpack it with someone. hahaha.

Also, my children are not baggage. It might be challenging to date a woman with children, but it is hopefully a net positive. Oddly enough, I feel like my children become more of a challenge to my dating relationships as they get older. When they were younger, they tended to be more agreeable and open-minded about accepting people into our lives. Now they are more set in their ways and can be resistant to inviting new people in, even temporarily. I’m sure it’s difficult for a man to come into my home and be shunned by my adolescent boys, but that is the way adolescents sometimes are. It might be more exaggerated in my household because I am not a strict authoritarian, and my boys have always been very free to express themselves (for better or for worse) – but it’s the way it is. It’s really up to the adults in the relationship to navigate these issues…and I seem to find men who want instant acceptance from people who just aren’t designed to be uncritical of new people in their lives. It takes time. It takes time. It takes time. And the last thing I need is to be this person who is trying to solely balance the needs of the children with the needs of a potential new partner. Guess whose needs are going to come first every time, guys? You got it – the non-adults! The ones who I am obligated to care for until they are able to care for themselves. Which, by the way,  might not be the very day they turn 18. It could possibly take longer than that. Because all kids mature differently.

I suppose dating as a single parent of adolescent boys is a good filter for me, though. It’s a lot more difficult to get involved in relationships and situations that are overly-complicated and require more of me than I should be expected to reasonably give. I’m just not capable of accommodating another person’s needs above mine or my children’s right now. It’s challenging for me, because my tendency is to accommodate. My tendency is to invite chaos. My tendency is to try new and different things, experiment, and see where they end up. And while I might be giving up on some things that might, after some work, end up being beneficial…I just can’t spare the time and energy to get there at this point in my life. I require a partner who is able to give more than take right now. I require a partner who accommodates me, more than requiring me to accommodate him. That FEELS selfish to me, but it’s reality. It’s where I am. And, really? I’m fucking worth it! hahahaha.

 

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I’ve decided I’m going to attempt to write a poem a day in October. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to accomplish it, and I’m double not sure if I’ll want to share what I’ve written…but I am committing myself to trying, and as inspiration I’m going to read poetry every day, so at the very least I will link to a poem I have read. And I know it’s not October yet, but…

The Poetic Process

Drove home stoned on Cohen

and Waits had to write

a poem like a full bladder, brainsharp

pencil, ran

Into the house with a

simultaneous empty that felt like

Hunger, got distracted

by all of the Chores

that never get done

Poured

some water in a pot to boil

Divorced

myself from the conversation

To my room, tried to turn on

Music, music

won’t turn on, got

Distracted by Facebook

as I scrambled for

my journal, which

I found in a crevice

between my bed &

the wall, too small

to fit my hand in to

Got a stiff

bookmark, managed

to knock it over,

then flat

on the floor

once again beyond grasp

As I dropped my favorite

pen in trying

to retrieve it

Rolled far

Underbed, the metal pieces of which

Came apart, thankfully temporarily, as I

wrenched it

away from wall enough

for my fingers to grasp

Several other

Lost Items

Unknowingly Sacrificed

to bed monster

Until finally,

gingerly,

with very fingertips pinching

journal cover

Extracted from

hungry maw

but not before

accidentally pushing it

further underbed, causing

me to burst out

in glee of the fact that

At least now

I had something

completely absurd to

birth upon it’s recovered

pages

And that’s

when the water boiled

over.

Lainie

9/13/2013

It’s all done! ❤

Tattoo accomplished! I feel complete, and at the same time…I suddenly have the desire to get a bunch more tattoos. I just saw a picture of a really cool crow tattoo and I was like “Oooooh…I could have a crow on my right arm.” It’s like that. I’ve heard many people say tattoos are like potato chips…you can’t stop at just one.

But for now I’ll enjoy my artichoke, and be glad that I finally got it done. And, as it turns out, I waited just long enough for it to be perfect timing. Everything that is happening in my life right now enhances that tattoo, gives it more meaning, provides a particular context, and makes it even more special than I thought it would be when I first had the idea to tattoo a flaming heartichoke on my arm many years ago.

That’s just how things go. We always think we know the best timing for certain things, and frequently discover that the universe (or whatever you want to call the infinite stage upon which our lives unfold) has other ideas – often better ideas – about how and when things will unfold. It’s why I’ve never put much stake in making plans and having goals. Instead, I try to pay attention to natural rhythms in my life and focus on a center based on how I feel about life. I mean, to be sure, I make plans and have goals, but I try. I try. I really try to remain open to all of those variables that tend to rearrange those plans and throw a monkeywrench into those goals.

“There is no way to suppress change […] there is only the choice between a way of living that allows constant, if gradual, alterations and a way of living that combines great control and cataclysmic upheavals. Those who panic and bind the trickster choose the latter path. It would be better to learn to play with him, better especially to develop styles (cultural, spiritual, artistic) that allow some commerce with accident, and some acceptance of the changes contingency will always engender. -Lewis Hyde (from Trickster Makes the World: How Disruptive Imagination Creates Culture.)

I have many things in my life that I am thankful for. One of which is an early exposure to Taoism, which has always allowed me to convince my frequently fraught mind that, really, none of this matters. And if I just sit still and wait patiently, a lot of times things just work themselves out. And when they don’t, I have more energy to devote to working them out because I did sit patiently the last time. And when they REALLY don’t, fuck it. In the end, it never mattered anyway.

Bird, age 12, mentioned today that he suddenly didn’t have any idea what life was all about. He said it as though he had known 5 minutes before and lost it. It was one of those moments where I thought maybe I was being called upon to Be Wise. I did my best. I looked to punk rock for the meaning of life, as I frequently do, and told him “Strive to survive, causing the least suffering possible.” I also reminded him that he’s 12, and it’s ok to just enjoy life and maybe not worry about what it means so much right now. But who am I fooling? This is the kid who, at age 2, would walk up to me and ask “Why am I alive inside this body, mom?”

My job as this child’s parent is to learn the lessons he is constantly teaching me, teach them back to him, and try to honor and welcome the trickster when our plans and goals are sidetracked or rerouted.

I’m in the process of writing a long post about my experience with the Occupy movement over the past 2 years. I started writing it on 9/17 – the anniversary of OWS. But it’s such a personal topic for me. I want to be careful that I don’t make my experiences sound as if they are universal experiences, which is what frustrates me most about what I read about the Occupy movement. So, it’s going to take some time. Perhaps I’ll have it done by 10/6, which is the anniversary of Occupy Austin.

I’m also immersed in a spree of overtime. Like ACTUAL overtime that I’m ACTUALLY PAID FOR! Time and a half, and everything. It occurred to me tonight that I haven’t been able to take advantage of overtime pay since before I had children. I’m really enjoying being paid for every fucking minute I work. I can handle a little temporary work/life imbalance for that. I’m also really enjoying my job. It’s gotten to the point where most of the situations I deal with are easy for me to handle, and I really love the fact that I get to talk to people all day in the spirit of helpingness. Plus I really love my team, who I only have to interact with in chat. We’re on a team of about 20 people who all work different schedules and are from different cities, and every person on our team has some sweet, endearing quality that I adore. Today I worked an entire full day of overtime and I actually really enjoyed myself pretty much all day. I’m missing my friends and activist activities, but all in good time.

from _Gregory_ by Marc Hempel

I’m pleased to say that both of the boys are settling into the school year nicely and seem to be doing really well. I feel like a broken record, but I’m so proud of those guys. It really has been a rough couple of years for them, and I hate that. I especially hate that decisions I have made have made their lives more difficult, because I want only for their lives to be peaceful and easy and uncomplicated. Ha!

But the awesome thing about those guys is that they really are totally brave and strong and resilient. And also really quite funny and fun to be around, even though they do both have their teenage moments that occasionally stretch on for days and even sometimes weeks. At this age, parenting requires a magnifying glass, to enlarge fragments of microcosms of moments into a bonding experience. I don’t want to give away too many of my secrets, but I have recently discovered the wonders of plopping down on my sofa and watching a dumb movie as a means of enticing my children to emerge from wherever they were hiding and clamor for conversation. And I’ll take that!

 

from _Gregory_ by Marc Hempel

Tattoo gets finished on Sunday. I’m already wanting another one. Several. Maybe even that little mouse, Wendell…or Herman Vermin. hahaha.

 

Mommy-Son time with The Tao of Bird today. We went out to breakfast at his FAVORITE RESTAURANT ON EARTH, Donut Taco Palace.

We ate donuts AND tacos, and enjoyed some tasty beverages.

Juice…or no juice?

I kept trying to get a picture of Bird, but he kept, as he called it, “Sean Penning” me.

I have embarrassingly few photos of my children. Both of them started to hate having their photo taken at a young age, and I gradually just trained myself to take pictures of food and trees and birds and stuff. I can’t say I blame them…I’m not terribly fond of being in photos, either. But I need good material to embarrass them in front of their dates wi…er, I mean, to send to relatives who have no clue what my children look like.

After breakfast, Bird and I went to the library to check out some books. Bird is really enjoying Lord of the Flies. He is just certain that’s the way it would really be if children were stranded on an island. I told him he needs to watch Lost…or Gilligan’s island…for slightly different points of view. He says he likes books that are grim and depressing and unsentimental. I tried to get him to read Native Son by Richard Wright, but he chose some sort of weird space cowboy mystery, instead. I think this is going to be an interesting reading year for him. He’s exploring new things. I chose some awesome books that I won’t be able to finish by the time they are due, and will probably end up buying, after paying my overdue fine at the library. Because that’s how I roll.

In the car on the way home, we listened to this episode of Radiolab.  What’s funny, is I remember listening to that episode of radiolab on a walk by myself one night. I was going to pick up Bird at a neighbor’s house while I was listening to it. I have no idea why I remember that, as the day was completely insignificant, unless you consider that radio show to be significant, which I suppose you can. It’s a pretty good episode.

Back home, I watched Heathers while Buddha the Grouch scoffed. As a 16-year old (actually, pretty much since he turned 5) he seems morally obligated to scoff at anything I like. In fact, he has actually told me that he’s not allowed to like anything I recommend to him. I keep telling him that’s going to bite him in the ass, especially when all of his friends start talking about how awesome, say, Raising Arizona is…and he’s either going to have to admit that it’s a great movie, or he’s going to forever be a closeted Coen Bros. fan. But I wonder if Heathers is really only funny in the context of all of the ’80s John Hughes-formula teen angst movies. I guess I’ll have to ask someone else’s kid. I hadn’t watched the movie since my 20’s, and I laughed out loud at some parts, but OH, THOSE SHOULDERPADS. hahaha. Of all of the eras of fashion, you have to admit…the 80’s were pretty fucking ridiculous.

The rest of the day was spent grocery shopping, driving to the other side of town and back, and avoiding being sucked into an endless “How It’s Made” marathon, because apparently that’s on Netflix now. I’m so toast if they ever start streaming House Hunters. As it is, Buddha the Grouch keeps trying to get me to watch “just this little bit” of How It’s Made, and I keep objecting vociferously.

So, you know, typical weekend of late. I’m glad I’ve taken the time to spend extra time with (or at least being available to) the kiddos lately. I’ve missed out on some important activities that I’d really like to be involved in, but I just don’t feel right not being here right now. Especially with the coming weeks and the work-hour craziness they will be bringing. Insane amounts of overtime – here I come! I’m telling people I’ll probably see them in October. Hopefully, I’ll still have time to write.

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This week has been kind of a whirlwind. I had really just begun to establish myself at work and not stress at all about whether or not I could do my job…and they threw us into training for something new. Which is awesome. It’s nice to learn new things…but I was just at that point where it seemed like I might maybe start establishing a good rhythm in my life & my schedule was thrown all out of whack, I’ve had to work extra hours, and now we’re being offered a bunch of overtime that I’d feel silly to not grab up while the grabbing is good. So, there’s that. A mix of bad and good things. Good things and their maybe not-so-great consequences, is what I’ll call it.

On my walk today, I had all sorts of ideas about what I might write about tonight. Apropos of the above, I thought a lot about how I have this love/hate relationship with chaos/order. I like making plans and schedules, but I rebel against them regularly. It’s possible I dislike commitment. It’s possible I am not fond of predictability. It’s possible that patterned behavior annoys me. OR…it could be an exercise. It COULD be that my rebellion against my inner organizer is just practice for when all of my plans go to shit and I work 12 hours of overtime in a week or something.

Maude (from Harold & Maude): Vice, Virtue. It’s best not to be too moral. You cheat yourself out of too much *life.* Aim above morality. If you apply that to life, then you’re bound to live life fully.

But mostly, I think I just figured out a long time ago that I will never ever get done all of the shit that needs getting done, and decided I might as well prioritize the fun shit as much as possible.

I also decided, after years and years (gosh, more than 20 years, really) of de-prioritizing my own desires, needs, and rituals out of fear of spending money on them, to get a tattoo I’ve been hoping to get for some time. Fuck the fact that I can’t afford it. I also can’t afford any of the other stuff I’m forced to afford, and I somehow get by. And how many packs of ex-boyfriends’ cigarettes, guitars, and whatever else have I paid for in my lifetime of waiting to get this damn tattoo? I could have gotten a zillion and a half tattoos by now!

Needless to say, I’m already planning the next tattoo.

 

(Not sure how that lyric plays out of context, so here’s the context.)

Today’s walk included several songs in a row that were fighting songs. As in, don’t stop fighting. As in “You Can’t Win ‘Em All, But You Gotta Win All of the Right Ones.” And, you know, in order to win the right ones…you gotta keep fighting. Maybe a better example would be:

Or my old standby pep talk song:

Anyway, you get the drift. I believe we have emerged, victorious. Yay!

(I knew we would, but it’s still nice to celebrate that we have.)

I’m celebrating by dying my hair and earnestly working on drawings for my zine. And FINALLY getting that tattoo that I’ve been wanting to get but have never been able to justify the expense of. Fuck it. It’s expensive. I can’t justify it. Well, I can, actually…it’s justified because it will be awesome, and it will remind me of my strength. And all of the strength it has taken to get here.

I’m slowly pulling things back together. I have another week of a weird work schedule, and after that I feel like I’ll be able to really participate in all of the things I enjoy participating in again. Slowly, and with priority. I’m already starting to read more…trying to take walks or dance every night. Really haven’t been seeing friends as much as I’d like, but I’m also feeling kind of introvertedy lately, so that hasn’t really bothered me. Working really hard to make sure we have at least SOME family time carved out so we don’t all lose touch with each other. These are the things I am prioritizing.

I’d like to keep participating in actions against ALEC and TPP, for sure…but probably not leading or organizing. What I’d really like to focus my energy on is housing justice. It was going to be what I focused on this year, but then I got laid off. And everything kind of got all weird. And then the state of Texas went to war over my uterus, and I kind of had to stand and fight that one. I’d like to get back to figuring out how I can be helpful in achieving truly affordable housing in Austin, and how we can ensure the protection of people who are being exploited or abused by apartment managers. That’s what I’d truly love to spend my activist energy on.

I don’t feel adequately educated to speak in any depth on Syria. I’m against all war, so I’m sort of working backwards from there. It would take a LOT of convincing to get me to support ANY war. Which makes it easy to oppose war, but is also kind of a cop-out. I still need to educate myself. I’m working on it. Slowly.