I have time to write now because of stupid medical stuff that leaves me with limited mobility and thus, a fuck-ton of time. I want to write again in the everyday sense like I used to before the 4 a.m. shift work and Dad's Alzheimer's disease and the run run run run run of being female and of a certain age where you are supposed to take care of everybody and there is nothing left at the end of it all except the desire to drink bourbon and watch three hours of Parks and Rec until you fall asleep in your ratty slippers and sweatpants.
Eye doctor to make sure the new meds I am taking don't make me go blind. I looked at pictures of my macula and it looks just like a disembodied eyeball should. Plus I am getting new glasses! I am wearing my happy gray cableknit cardigan and my favorite opal necklace for no reason. Once I wore the necklace to work and one of the women said that she heard opals are unlucky and asked her if she ever read The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter and she look at me like I sprouted a thumb in the middle of my forehead so I learned not to talk about books at work. Currently reading The Doomsday Book by Connie Willis. I also just finished book one of Hyperion by Dan Simmons. If I feel up to it I will make a pot pie later and look at the twinkly tree lights and pretend I do not have to deal with xmas because it is just too much with all the expectations for elaborate baked goods and fancy presents I cannot buy for people.
Something poem-like. It's okay if it sucks. Also: something gingerbread.
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.