When I was 16, many thousands of years ago, I changed my name in my head and with any new people I met to Jyllian/Jyll from Jill. I don’t recall how I told my friends or when they started using it. Some still call me Jyll. I did this change …
A woman of seven and twenty,said Marianne, after pausing a moment, can never hope to feel or inspire affection again.”
~~Jane Austen
With this last birthday the thought I’d been shoving to the very back of my mind became too large to ignore. And it is interesting how it expressed itself. I still mourn the original triumvirate: Hotspur, Mr. Newguise and Miss Ninny. And the following, but no lest majestic quartet: Zachary, …
The Lion and the Cobra by Sinéad O’Conner is being played on my turntable right now. It seems fitting. My second copy, I wore one out the very year it came out. The year that my life imploded, well one of the times. I was young and painfully naive. It …
verb self-med· i· cate ?self-?me-di-?k?t self-medicated; self-medicating; self-medicates 1 transitive : to treat (something) by self-medication people who attempt to self-medicate depression 2 intransitive : to treat oneself by self-medication I ran out of quotes for the time being so now I’m trying definitions. It started with reading. I always snarked when I heard someone say their self medicating …
a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations. What happens when the song comes up on Spotify. 10th grade- Blue Öyster Cult Tenderloin and Vivaldi’s winter. I wasn’t ready to have sex yet, but I wanted to. He was beautiful. I still kind of regret …
Does this shit ever end? Do we just keep crossing the identity bridge over and over-adjusting and readjusting, putting on and taking off all the hats?
makes us strong, but sometimes it is letting go. ~Herman Hesse It’s been, as they say, a journey. And I’m standing in the doorway, crossing from what was to what is becoming. Our daughter moved into her first apartment in September. It was a chaotic move, as these things can …
Well then, it’s been so long I don’t recognize how posts are working on this newest iteration of wordpress. I really shouldn’t drop this on the floor like I have, over and over and over the last few years. I shouldn’t because … Well, why shouldn’t I? Honestly, it isn’t …
Such a perfect evening. Oh yes. I haven’t been here a lot. I thought perhaps it was depression. Turns out it was anemia. Once I started working on that, things got much better. I have refinished a table and put a lot of shit where it goes. I went out …
I don’t know why I can’t do things I enjoy. They have to have a purpose (like putting things away–I enjoy that AND it achieves something necessary). Not just BE the purpose.
“There is always time for another last minute†― Terry Pratchett, Hogfather It wasn’t the best news, but we aren’t giving up. And it never gets easier. Mr. Teatime was named for a character in the Pratchett book Hogfather. Mr. Teatime, when he was a kitten was a tiny little …
I know the way to be a writer is to write. I’ve told that to students. I used to write every day. Somewhere along the line, survival took over. I was working full time and going to school full time. I lived in a tiny apartment in a kinda bad …
I love graveyards. Cemeteries. Boneyards. Cities of the Dead. They are quiet. There is a story for every stone or monument. You can visit for a conversation or just to be. I don’t think I want my body to be buried–though that has always interested me. If I could have, …
Every time I think I’m going to give up with this long long long standing blog, I come back. This is a long one, hold on. Will it click this time, again? I don’t know. The last year and a half has been, well, large. Â Purging a lot. A LOT. …
I was given one today. As we try to/prepare to/hope to move to Oregon (when this house sells) I’ve had things on my mind that give me pause. I am estranged from my family. Â This has happened several times through out my life. I’m not sure this one will be …
Sometimes you just let someone else’s music speak for you. (Thank you Abney Park) Why do the things we love Torture us more than the things The things we can do without? I can’t do without The things that you do to me But why d’you do the …
