PSST! Rantings, Musings, & "Not Your Mama's" Platitudes

When I am left, again, holding disappointment for the world I am apart, I am on a back winding road in torrential rainfall. Hazard lights blink to reveal a vehicle up ahead: a dump truck, ambulance, no— a school bus stops. Yellow lights turn red in rain so thick I cannot see the tiny stop sign unfold. A man drapes a jacket over a child stepping off the bus, cradles him under his arm into their mini-van parked feet from the bus stop. Back he goes three more times, sheltering tiny feet through the monsoon, and my eyes well with tears at this immense love. I am a bystander of their little world suspended between two strong arms.

Song by The Killers (pure lyrical magic) A dustland fairytale beginning Or just another white trash County kiss In Sixty-one Long brown hair and foolish eyes He looked just like you'd want him to Some kind of slick chrome American prince A blue jean serenade Moon River what'd you do to me But I don't believe you Saw Cinderella in a party dress but She was looking for a night gown Saw the devil wrapping up his hands He's getting ready for the show down Saw the minute that I turned away I got my money on a pawn tonight A change came in disguise of revelation Set his soul on fire She said she always knew he'd come around And the decades disappear like sinking ships But we persevere, God gives us hope But we still fear What we don't know The mind is poison Castle's in the sky Sit stranded vandalized The drawbridge is closing Saw Cinderella in a party dress but She was looking for a night gown I saw the devil wrapping up his hands He's getting ready for the s...

Outgrown His demeanor was solemn. She pulled the same shit, criticized him for his silence, corrected him in regard to his career. She laughed and threatened to drive behind his work vehicle blaring protest chants, then stroked his face asking if he was okay. He did not react to her touch. He used to turn and look at her after one of her verbal jabs. He used to seek approval, search her eyes for remorse, an apology. Tonight, he was cold, sad. “Why are you laughing?” he asked me directly, after showing me something on his phone. “I didn’t understand. I’m sorry,” I said. We both looked down as the laughter continued. She declared her job is just as dangerous as his. She sells and orders restaurant equipment for a living. His silence was the loudest thing in the room. His exposure to reality, to the worst in people, has caused him to outgrow his wife. His patience was thin, he was ready to leave. I recognized it. He didn’t ask why she was still laughing. He already knew. The tan line on h...

She looks up online bachelor’s degrees again. Wonders if now would be a good time. Remembers it costs money. She doesn’t know what she would like to do. She hasn’t wanted anything badly enough to go through the trouble. What career would make her feel more alive? She doesn’t know and she doesn’t want to pick one at random. She knows even if it happened, even if she finished a degree, she would still feel unworthy. The wrong degree picked. Anyone could do it. What does it matter? Perhaps business. It would be helpful if she wanted to advance in management at her current employer. Everything feels far away. In two days it will be 8 years since her divorce was final. 8 years matches the amount of time she was married. And yet the healing feels incomplete. How do others move on? Do they ignore their feelings and gut to settle down with someone because they are afraid of being alone? Are they better at healing and ready to form healthy relationships? Are they better at ignoring things that ...

A boy spins a top on the pharmacy floor. As it spins, he adds dust, dirt, the leg of a cockroach to the body of the toy.  “I am 7 years old,” he says. “This is a tornado like on Squid Game. Have you ever seen Squid Game? It’s on Netflix. It only costs $11. The winner wins $7.4 Billion dollars. The losers die. They get shot. BANG!” He is wearing a neon green and blue camouflage t-shirt and black sweatpants. Black Adidas tennis shoes.  “They are my parents,” he says, pointing to the man and woman at the register. Neither of them acknowledge me. They appear old enough to be his grandparents. The man is wearing pajama pants and has a long beard. The woman wears a white mesh top. You can see her bra underneath.  “Joshua,” the man says, “let’s go.”  The boy looks at me and smiles. “Bye!” He says. I wave and say goodbye. 

The back yard has overgrown. It was too much to keep up with along with everything else. I bought brush killer and a pump sprayer, but all I can think of: the birds. They love the brush. They inhabit what was forgotten. The twisted roots and overgrown weeds and saplings, stubborn and wild. Our love tossed to the wayside. Oh, how we were entangled. I hoped the roots were deep enough. That somehow, in the brush, the lush green of our hearts would be enough. But the weeds are cruel and strong. And love can only hold so much. And the green shoots scattered about are smothered by brown rope vines. Tonight, a cardinal rests on a tendril. She sings her song, still.

Lots of change. Lots of starting over. Over and again. Here and again. Again. Again. Watching the words and my hands and wondering if any of it will stick this time. Throwing the motions at the fridge. Hearing the slap. The pause. The pause between silence and the fall.

Sorry, it’s been a quiet depressive day. I didn’t go for a walk today, which I feel guilty for. But tomorrow is a new day. I finally mixed up new bread dough for the next two weeks. It’s in the fridge and I will bake it tomorrow. I have plans to make more breakfast sandwiches for the next two weeks. I’ve been taking them for lunch at work. Quick and easy. I also have turkey for meatballs I hope to make tomorrow. I was going to do it all today but I couldn’t make my body move if my life depended on it. I finally mixed the dough in the dark because I couldn’t even bear to turn the light on. But I did it and that’s what counts. I painted for a little while this afternoon. I think it broke me from my trance just enough to get the dough mixed. Silly painting, colors, blobs, but something other than the vast nothingness brainscape.  I love everything bagel anything. I have the seasoning and use it on my crackers (I made some this morning—forgot about that). I hope you’re doing okay and t...

I imagine the clouds are a tsunami calculate which direction the wave might hit how long it would take to die I write wedding vows for my Uber driver tell my lover to have a good evening The nurse asks me to relax my arm before the stick she asks, again: let your arm hang like a noodle It is! I tell her Relax! she says my jaw tightens there is nowhere for the pain to go so it spreads thin, hardens through my chest releases into my gut contracts into a rhythm that floods every vessel He tells me good morning, asks how I slept okay , I say, how about you? I wait for his response like a farmer praying for rain fruit on the vine Eh , he says, you? Round and round we go  waiting for the rain or permission  to give it up to the sun

In the name of relevance, I text you first. Or is it hope, love. I already know what it is. I have the need to remind others of my existence, or I may fade into oblivion. My mother and I over-bake things. We are unable to let go. We hold until it sours. Did her mother keep too? My daughter takes photos of everything. She never wants to forget. I worry about being forgotten, not being met where I am. Where I am is apart from you. I wait for the skillet to warm before adding the pancake batter. I walk away to tend to the dishes. The blueberries burn. 

https://theurbanmermaid.blogspot.com/2024/09/question-air.html?m=1 This poem is written by my dear friend, Emily Lisker. 

“I hope this week stirs something deep within you. May the answers you couldn’t see before now rise to the surface like whispers of truth breaking through the fog of uncertainty, and may you find the courage and clarity to bring them to life, to nurture them with intention and let them guide your path forward. I hope your heart finds balance, not by the weight of who you’ve been or the stories that you’ve carried but by the truth of who you are becoming, the truth that anchors you in the present and propels you towards the future. I wish you strength, both in body and spirit and the resilience to weather the storms you may face. May you stand firm in your values, even when life pulls you in many directions. I wish you grace to remain present in the here and the now, even when the pull to drift away feels so very strong. I hope you are reminded of your inner strength, of the power within you that grows with every challenge you face. May you find peace knowing that the journey ahead is u...

I just learned that dragonflies lay their eggs in bodies of water. The larvae swim out of the lakes, ponds, streams where their eggs were laid and climb up a nearby tree trunk or limb where they latch on to unhatch into fully grown dragonflies. Somehow they know exactly what they need to do to survive, and they do it. They don’t wonder if it’s the right time to exit the water, if they will be eaten, if the weather will be right. It just happens. Maybe I need to let things happen and stop overthinking them to death. Or maybe that’s the problem. Maybe letting things happen is what has brought me here. Maybe more discipline, more thought is required. Maybe my brain will explode. Maybe all we can do is just keep going.