2/30: Time

You wanted to smother me
Instead, you ruined me

I spent seven hours crumpling
piles of paper
and
seven more hours ironing them back out
because I forgot to scribble
all the best parts
that mentioned
the unmentionables

If I could, I’d bore a hole in my skull and shake you out.

JB

 

Advertisements

NaPoWriMo Y’all

April is National Poetry Month!

Thirty days of poems. Of words. Jumbled into a secret code that might be for you, about you, remembering you or forgetting you.  Or it could just be, y’know, whatever I make it. Typically I write down snippets of thoughts on receipts or in a pinch, on napkins (I don’t recommend this, especially if you only have a marker in your purse). I’ve committed to logging into my site for thirty consecutive days to work on poems. Maybe you’ll pop in and visit.

I miss writing poetry. There’s another blog saved somewhere on the internet that details the unraveling of my life in poems.  This will be a fresher start- my life finished unraveling about eleven years ago and it’s been hanging in a perfect balance for a steady amount of time. It’s kind of nice.

So here’s what I have:

You feel
like
freshly shaved legs
on cool cotton sheets
and I hate you for it.

xx

Paint & Things

For the past few weeks, I’ve been playing around with watercolors. It’s a new medium for me- I’m an oil or acrylic type girl. The dainty uncertainness of this paint has always been lost on me, but I’m starting to love it more.

I had an idea in my head for what I wanted my little painting to look like (and it is little, I promise). Yet, during episode 1, season 2 of Santa Clarita Diet, this happened:
MurphIt’s slightly dark, with a hint of happiness I suppose. For those of you who are in the know, you’ll recognize this sketch of Murph- my husband painted a similar one of our dog, but with cold, leftover coffee.  The next one I’ll probably stick with what I love- circles and lines, with more blue/green watercolors. It’s just been really difficult for me to transmit what ideas are floating around in my brain onto actual paper.

My next project is for my creative arts class- I have to recreate a Jackson Pollock painting- or something “inspired” by him.  So basically, I should just smoke two packs of cigarettes, get wasted and dump paint all over a canvas while I’m in the garage listening to Hole.

Or something to that effect.

Which reminds me, I still have to write the paper to accompany that painting. Son of a…

Anyway-

I’m trying to delve into different art mediums lately to get myself out of a funk. Knitting isn’t cutting it right now and the projects I have started are still unfinished. Hell, I can’t even remember what line I left the Maple Leaf shawl on and currently, there’s a half knitted shawl that reminds me of tacos in the backseat of my car.

Doodling has helped me though. It keeps me sane and calms my anxiety.

More so than going to the gym.
But that’s not so bad.
My gym has a cardio room that: A) is in the dark and B) plays movies

I like the in the dark part. That way, when I go a little too hard on the treadmill, no one can see me cry.

I’m KIDDING. I have no shame in crying at the gym.

 

 

Love, The Coffee Table

In 2019, my coffee table will go back to being just that, a table. 

I’m not sure how I started doing my homework in the living room. We have a beautiful front office with billowy white curtains and desk made from heavy wood and metal. It’s quiet and the chair is blue, which I love.  There’s ample space and I love the french doors that open into the foyer, which I sometimes close when I’m forced to go in there to watch crazy educational videos from the seventies.

Yet, every night, I find myself sitting in the center of the couch with books laid out to the left of me and a staggering amount of notebooks and loose sheets of paper sprawled out behind my laptop.  There are no less than four pens and two mechanical pencils around me.

Doing work like this kills my back and my feet, as I tend to sit criss cross applesauce.  Maybe it’s because I like the way the sunlight moves throughout the living room. Without looking at a clock, I can tell that it’s midday or four p.m. It’s probably the view of all my plants and succulents that calms me. Often during the week, Miles will lay on the floor on the other side of the coffee table with his laptop open and all his chemistry homework surrounding him. Bill will be on the chaise going through work emails. Sometimes we listen to records. Sometimes we put Family Guy on repeat because we’ve seen them all and it’s just simple background noise.

We pause to get up and eat supper together.
We all drink coffee well into the evening.

Perhaps the only reason why I torture the coffee table with my constant frustrations, is quite simply that I do not want to be separate from my family.  The three of us do everything together- weekend trips, gym workouts, concerts, and now, homework. It’s comforting and it’s homey.

I know that in 2019, just a short year from now, my son will be getting ready to graduate and head off to college. Maybe I’ll gift him the coffee table so that he can say he also earned his degree on its wobbly legs and weird faux tile/wood top.

Or maybe I’ll keep it and work on a few other degrees.