More rest in order

If I ever needed proof that I’m not running at 100% capacity, I got it.

After work, I did some shopping. Just regular household shopping, for groceries and the like. I was only out for a couple hours, but I feel like I got run down by a couple semis.

I need to have my dinner and then find my bed, but I’m too tired to get up to do either.

More rest is in order, I suppose.



I thought I would be back to work on the purging today, but nope.

I had every intention of gearing up when I got home from work; got lots of stuff to get rid of, y’know? But walking up to open my door, everything felt very heavy, and each step was harder.


I ignored the thought, got things together for what I had planned. I started yawning, but I ignored that and kept on.

Rest. Louder now.

Looking for ideas on the internet, I began to fall asleep sitting up. All my energy was suddenly gone.

REST. Ringing in my head.

I guess we’ll get back to the purge another day.

A thing that made me laugh out loud

My dad called me today, mainly to be sure that the number he has for me is right.

He told me how he’s doing, asked how I’m doing, and said some other stuff.

He asked me if I was praying. I told him yes, and then he said, “It’s important that you spend some time alone with God every day.”

I choked out a reply in the affirmative, meantime trying not to bray like a donkey over the phone.

I’m still cracking up over it. šŸ˜€

Out of the shadows

I’ve never been one for the spotlight.

I’ve never wanted to be out where people can see me. Ā I prefer to be support, quietly doing my part in the background to help those who are suited for it to shine.

But all that has to change, I’ve been told.

I have to take steps to become public. Apparently, Some People think I’ve got worthwhile things to say, things that other people need. I don’t agree, but I’m Ā outvoted and overruled.


I feel like I’m slacking off.

I’ve got a job (finally) and am, at long, long last, making money. I pay rent. I try to be a good roommate. But despite all that, I feel like there’s something else I should be doing.

No, I don’t know what the “something else” is. If I knew, I’d be doing it, right? But it nags me. It’s in my dreams, this sense of something that needs to be done. I think of it when I have quiet time.

So because I can’t Ā find it, I feel like I’m not living up to expectations. I don’t know whose expectations either. But I’ve been grading myself on Adulthood Matters and, so far, I fail.


The worst part is that I don’t know where to start the unfailing process.

This poem speaks to me

The Myth of Innocence
Louise Gluck

One summer she goes into the field as usual
stopping for a bit at the pool where she often
looks at herself, to see
if she detects any changes. She sees
the same person, the horrible mantle
of daughterliness still clinging to her.

The sun seems, in the water, very close.
That’s my uncle spying again, she thinksā€”
everything in nature is in some way her relative.
I am never alone, she thinks,
turning the thought into a prayer.
Then death appears, like the answer to a prayer.

No one understands anymore
how beautiful he was. But Persephone remembers.
Also that he embraced her, right there,
with her uncle watching. She remembers
sunlight flashing on his bare arms.

This is the last moment she remembers clearly.
Then the dark god bore her away.

She also remembers, less clearly,
the chilling insight that from this moment
she couldn’t live without him again.

The girl who disappears from the pool
will never return. A woman will return,
looking for the girl she was.

She stands by the pool saying, from time to time,
I was abducted, but it sounds
wrong to her, nothing like what she felt.
Then she says, I was not abducted.
Then she says, I offered myself, I wanted
to escape my body.
Even, sometimes,
I willed this. But ignorance

cannot will knowledge. Ignorance
wills something imagined, which it believes exists.

All the different nounsā€”
she says them in rotation.
Death, husband, god, stranger.
Everything sounds so simple, so conventional.
I must have been, she thinks, a simple girl.

She can’t remember herself as that person
but she keeps thinking the pool will remember
and explain to her the meaning of her prayer
so she can understand
whether it was answered or not.

A tale of a horrible, terrible, very, very BAD day

Can this day get any fucking worse?

I wake up, get dressed. I clean the bathrooms, then make the boys get up and help me pick up their stuff, as it’s been sitting around in here for days. They grouse and grumble, but I stand firm and they get it done. I wash the dishes, then sit down and plan my strategy for tomorrow, if I can get what I need to get.

After a bit I decide to wash my clothes, so I put them in the machine and start it up. It fills…and nothing else. Okay, this has happened to me before. I rearrange some things, then restart the machine. It fills–and that’s it. Getting frustrated now, but I rearrange the clothes and restart the machine again. It fills–and stops.

I kicked the machine once or twice–not hard–then took my clothes out and washed them all by hand. I did the best I could, but I have no idea how clean they are. I do not need the washing machine to stop working. I already don’t have money for simple, basic things; I have absolutely none to go to a laundromat. My friends are already on edge with me; they don’t need this either.

The clothes are in the dryer now. I want to wash what I’m wearing later, so I’m going to have to do that by hand too. I have to decide what to do about this new obstacle.

By then, it’s time to get dinner up for the kids, so I reach into the freezer and pull out the wings they said they wanted. Remember that, okay? There aren’t a lot of wings to fill up the stomachs of three kids, so I pull out some taquitos to supplement. I get the wings done and the taquitos, then fix plates.

The boys come back after three minutes, say they don’t like the wings. Their father bought them, so I’d figure he knows what they like to eat. By this time, I just don’t care, so I split the wings with my goddaughter and make more taquitos for the boys.

Then the older boy comes in the kitchen. He wants to throw some taquitos in the trash. They ate them just fine yesterday, so I ask him what the problem with them is. They have sauce (from the wings) on them, he says. At this point, these kids have eaten no dinner at all; they throw those taquitos away, they’ll be left with just three. I know these kids–they’ll be looking all pouty and starved in two hours or less if I let this happen. I tell him that there are six taquitos frying now–three each for himself and his brother. Once those are gone, there aren’t any more. He wants to throw those away, fine, but don’t come looking at me when he’s hungry in two hours. He says okay and throws them out. I tell him to wash the plate and get ready to put the other taquitos on it. Then he says that’s not his plate, it’s his brother’s.

I asked him why his brother couldn’t come in here and tell me himself he had a problem? He’s 6, but still old enough to tell me what he doesn’t like. I tell myself to breathe, and take some deep breaths. I tell myself that this too shall pass. I give the older boy his taquitos, and tell the younger one (who’s suddenly full, even though he’s eaten nothing) that his taquitos are in the microwave, and can be warmed up when he’s ready for them.

Then I called Volcano to wish him happy father’s day. I was annoyed and pissed off, and he heard it. He asked me about it. Gave him a rundown and my mother heard it. Don’t get me started about what *she* had to say about it.

This weekend has not been fun. Today has not been fun. What am I doing wrong to have all this happen to me? Is this some kind of sign?