It is what it is

Talking with some people is like trying to herd monkeys. Mildly amusing at first but ultimately exhausting, frustrating and futile.
I love my family but I’ve seemed to have developed different values than them. I recently started with an environmental rights non profit. I’m excited to get started but my family isn’t excited or proud. I mean they are happy I have a job but seem to have an eh,  you could do better attitude.
I don’t understand why people complain but refuse to do anything to change the way they do things.  They are just so accepting about they way the world is. The typical response is always “well, what are you gonna do.” I was talking about my new job with my brother, who has a masters in physics and he shrugged. My mother rants about politics but refuses to do anything other than mutter, I voted for the other guy.
My grandmother uses the phrase “it is what it is.” It drives me bonkers! Really? No, we dont have to except everything.  You lived through the woman’s movement, Vietnam,  and civil rights movement.  You have seen the  birth of this amazing new world of technology.  You have seen so much change and you say “it is what it is.”
My mom is just as bad. And she has taught my brother and sisters to be the same. I talk to people my age and half of them are like,  oh, I don’t want to get involved. The other half dont know what I’m talking about.
Why is everyone so apathetic? You have this amazing world to explore and make better and you do what? Tend bar, answer phones,  work at Walmart? Are you happy? What are you waiting for?
Live now dammit, wake up!






my head is so full

can’t stop

can’t breathe

I need to get out



screaming inside

but no one notices

no one hears the cries of anguish

pacing back and forth

like a trapped animal in a cage

never free

trapped by the need to be a grown up

responsible for other people

have to keep telling myself

can’t run

can’t go

have to stay

but I want to be free


It’s not that simple

I dread visiting my Mom sometimes

She doesn’t want to know

I’m in love, for the first time in my life

and she doesn’t want to know

I am married to a man

my best friend

a platonic relationship

and in love with someone else

but I can’t tell my Mom

because she doesn’t want to know

People have asked me why I’m not open about being poly

It’s not that simple

Should I respect my Mom’s feelings or shout out to the world

I am in love, for the first time

with a girl

Not my problem

About a year ago, my best friend from High School called me. We have kept in touch off and on over the years. She lives in another state. We chat on Facebook occasionally, and text every once in a while. So she called me and confessed that her life has gone to shit. She is in a emotionally abusive marriage. I told her I would be there for her, regardless of what she decided to do. We talked about her coming to stay with me and my family for a few weeks while she figured out what she wanted to do. I’m having a hard time being there for her right now. 

She didn’t leave. She stayed and I told her it was her choice. 

For the past year, she has been messaging me, texting me, telling me how awful her situation is, and then posting on FB about her perfect son, her perfect life.

I’m getting irritated and frustrated. 

I’ve been there, I understand the need to let the world think everything is ok. 

I know, sometimes having one friend who knows, helps.

But, I’m having a hard time being that friend.

She posted today that they bought a house.

I’m not sure I can be that friend who knows. It’s too hard, it brings up too much for me. In case you haven’t all figured it out, I have been in multiple abusive relationships. I also have some other issues that make it very hard for me to listen to her and be a good friend. 

How do I tell her I can’t be her go to person, that she needs to find someone else? 


I’ve been a bit lost this week
In my head
It gets loud sometimes
Too much shit
In the past
In the now
Sometimes it’s a struggle to get up
To smile
To talk
To remember to eat
I won’t go back to that place
I won’t let them drag me back there

Can’t stop

Can’t stop moving



all the sounds

are they there or in my head




need to do something


need to be anywhere but here

trapped in this small meaningless life

want to feel something

not sure who i am

or who any of these people are

want to cry, scream 


don’t know how to stop the pain

the noise


Things I carry with me

We all have our stuff, our things that are important, things that we need to get through the day
I realized the other day that my bag is huge, but then, I have a lot of baggage. I always wonder why people carry what they carry.

So, this is kind of an explanation and kind of a purse exploration, and kind of a random thoughts post.

The most noticible things in my bag are a book and my notebook.

I read, voraciously, incessantly.  I love words, I love how they go together. I love delving into the worlds that people imagine. It feels like in a small way, there is a connection between me and the person who is telling the story. Today’s book is Midnight Crossroad by Charlaine Harris. I’ve always wondered how to pronounce her name… is it like Charlene? Or is it like plane, Charlaine… prettier that way.

I write, all the thoughts in my head. I make notes about what I want blog about, ideas that pop into my head, things I want to research. I make lists, grocery lists, to do lists, books I need to read lists. I write the poetry that needs to be let out, the rants that make me angry and all the dirty thoughts that I can’t do anything about in that moment.

A pocket knife, it’s useful and it makes me feel better. Because,  I carry fear. Maybe not in my purse, but it’s there.  Someone might attack me, rape me. I need to protect myself, my daughter. I remember thinking the other day that she isn’t afraid enough. I was talking to another mom and she told me she showed her daughter some news clips about kids being kidnapped so she would be more careful. I don’t want my daughter to have to carry fear with her. It’s exhausting.

A one hit. Hey, I need to calm the anxiety. Get rid of that fear for just a minute. I need to clear my head and take a breath. Just for a minute. People ask me if I smoke.  Yeah, I do, so I can breathe.  You can tell a pot smoker from a cigarette smoker when they answer “not cigarettes” to the question, do you smoke?

Dig deeper, the usual stuff, my wallet, my keys. My little bag with business cards, my square,  and extra phone charger and cord.  Some tissues and napkins, tampons. Checkbook and a pen. And a marker. And a pencil, just in case.

A nail file, never used, because I forget that I’m supposed to be perfect, my nails chip and I just rip them off. Usually they get so long that they break when I dig them into her back when I’m orgasming. Is that a word? Maybe that’s a good time to stop and use the nail file.

Lipstick, about 3 years old, because I never remember to care if my lips are red enough. I used to carry eyeliner too, but the little cover would come off and I’d end up with eyeliner on everything.

Jellybeans. Does it really need to be explained? Jellybeans can make anyone smile. Always carry jellybeans. Gummy bears work too.

Loose change, I never understand how I end up with so much loose change in my bag, its supposed to be in my wallet. Change must be one of those mysterious items. Like socks. I have so many single socks, I decided not to bother matching socks anymore. The result?  A bucket of socks that thrills my daughter amd mismatched socks. She likes to find silly matches for me. I’m happy as long as they feel the same.

We’re at the front pockets now, the important stuff.  More change,  index cards with more lists, 2 plastic diamond shaped jewel from a dance recital, that have the word inspire written on them. Hand sanitizer,  for emergency use. People use that stuff too often. You know there are good germs too right? And you cant build up immunity if you never get sick. Getting a cold now, means you won’t catch that cold when you’re 95, in a hospital and no one will give you the freaking hand sanitizer! Ever notice it’s on the walls outside the rooms in hospitals?  That’s cause now you have all the germs. Hospitals are germ breeding grounds, between the hand sanitzer and the air vents, it’s a miracle people get better. Open the freaking windows! 

A button, a Bobby pin, some mints amd my daughter’s hair clip from today. Her headband from yesterday.  A flower, in pieces.  He gave it to me at the park. It will probably stay in there until it turns to powder in the bottom of my bag.

A handful of pills,  motrin and benadryl,  because I also carry constant pain. My back, my joints, the headaches,  the horrible, pounding headaches. So my choice is, deal with it and take a couple motrin, or complain to the doctor,  so they can give me stronger pills. Yeah, that worked well. I wasn’t in pain but, I can’t take care of monkey if I’m passed out drooling. I’ll just deal thanks.

Another button,  a rock, this rock, it’s a special rock, its been with me through a lot. A worry stone? Is that what they’re  called? No, I dont play with it, a good luck charm? Maybe, except I don’t really believe in them. I know what it is, it’s a memory.  I’ll keep that one to myself though.

A saftey pin and another pen.  My good pen, my pen for writing. It’s not all that special but it fits in my hand right. It seems to help the words come out. I’m writing on a tablet tonight and its a pain in the ass, I miss my laptop.

My back pocket has the odds and ends, usually trash my daughter hands me when there isn’t a trash barrel  around but some other oddities too.

A candy wrapper, tissues, a bottle of nail polish,  oooh! Now I want to do my nails! A receipt, or 4. More loose change and a bracelet.  An allergy bracelet,  that I probably should wear and not just carry.  A metal disk the size of a coin, with a heart stamped on it. Another memory, a painful one.

So, those are my things. Those are the permanent purse dwellers, things are added all the time, and sometimes I even clean out all the trash.