Sometimes I miss the previous version of myself with her thick thick hair (my hair is thinning rapidly on these wicked pills) and her creative energy driving her to write something every day and doodle fairy tale pictures on index cards but she is asleep inside the slow moving automaton I am now.
I was off this weekend which was lovely and I made banana bread for M's birthday cake by request and I made little buttermilk biscuits with self rising flour because that is all self rising flour is good for and they were light and crisp and buttery and I could have eaten my weight in those little bastards.
I am binge watching The Blacklist on netflix starring a very weathered looking James Spader and all of the characters are morally ambiguous not just the criminals and I eat the episodes like those little red candy fish.
I need to give up on everthing I do so I can endlessly watch crime dramas and consume many varieties of homemade biscuits. I tire of you, real grownup world.
Last night I had a dream that my son was thirteen years old and he had chubby dimpled wrists like a baby and we were staying in a cottage near the ocean and we sat in the grassy spaces just beyond the sand and we watched the boats and then we danced in the living room. This was a good dream and not an anxiety dream which happens only rarely.
I am thinking about how people want so many things, like trips to Hawaii or a kitchen remodel or a glamorous pair of shoes and all I want is a.) lots of sleep and b.) pain relief. No really. That's it.
I read some monster poems on Saturday at Uncharted Books and it was the first time I felt well enough to go to a reading in at least a year so it was nice to feel a little like my old self almost although not quite because I felt like hell the next day even though I wasn't really on my feet for more than a few minutes at a time. Still it was good to read and to listen and to go someplace other than a.) work or b.) a doctor's office or physical therapy.
I am off tomorrow and I want to write and bake french bread or almond poppyseed cake and maybe draw pictures of insects and tragic women but I will probably sleep and go to PT and go to the pharmacy and sleep some more and make dinner and go to sleep again.
It was so much harder than I expected it to be this back to work thing and I was exhausted by 12:30 but I made it through an 8 hour day and then I came home and made baked ziti with garlic bread and it was a good day until my face broke out in an angry little autoimmune rash and my ankles swelled up like tennis balls but I have this compulsion to show my body that I am the boss.
I watched a horror movie called The Babadook on Netflix and it was not bad: both creepy and effective.
I finished reading The Magicians and need to move on to a new book.
I hope I can keep myself going and do ALL THE THINGS.
Back to work tomorrow! Feels so normal.
Dreamt of playing basketball with a wet washcloth instead of a ball and it kept wrapping itself around my fingers and this made it really difficult to get it through the damn hoop as you might well imagine. Boring frustration dream.
My jaw is flaring up again but I outsmart it by taking very small bites of everything.
The house is full of baked goods because every possible emotion inspires me to make cookies and cakes and more banana bread.
I have not felt much like writing lately. I think this has been the longest time that I've not really been an active participant in poetryworld. I just want to draw pictures of bees and make pots and pots of homemade tomato soup and watch horror movies and take naps.
I am tired and my joints ache like crazy but I am oddly happy today.
Today I wear a little black box to decrypt the secrets of the rock-hard charcoal briquette that is my tiny, evil heart or perhaps there are no secrets to be revealed except that it beats at the same rate as a hummingbird for no reason whatsoever. I am the queen of hearts, a mysterious arrhythmia.
Today is earth day-birthday and my kid is twenty five and I will make a pan of gingerbread for his birthday cake as this is the request made EVERY YEAR since forever. I have made fresh ginger cakes and gingerbread with stout and chocolate gingerbread but today is simply Joy of Cooking plain, dark, spicy gingerbread. I have a whole stick of butter softening on the counter right now. The only question is do I garnish with orange peel as recommended in the OLD Joy (the one with instructions on how to skin a muskrat and a recipe for Tomato Soup Cake--so retro!) or with candied ginger as recommended in the NEW Joy (which is a completely different animal, as cookbooks go).
Today I broke the protective box for my cellular phone. A bad omen? Or good luck as my phone itself is unscathed?
Today I woke up achy and STIFF AS HELL.
Today I will sneak up to my Secret Rapunzel Tower Room and write a poem about something random.
Susan Slaviero lives on the cusp of a hellmouth, where she vanquishes evil with poetry and cupcakes. She hopes to someday land a job as either a dog whisperer or a telephone psychic. In the meantime, she writes. She has a fondness for esoterica.