Don’t Call it a Comeback… Yet

Write this down: Love is infinite and invincible, our lovers (mothers, fathers, children, siblings, pets and friends) are not.

Image: handmade journal (by me) and tree bark pen

Handmade ephemera and quotes accordion-style envelope journal: by me and tree bark pencil

These days—well, on rare occasion when I sit down to a bloodletting via the Mighty Mac, a little—not so little—voice beckons from the bowels of my ego and says, “Well, where the fuck have you been?!” And I’m like, “Gworrrrrl (this is our special love language) you don’t even know!”

Greatest love story never told (abridged version) is as follows: loving myself (more than ever), my children, my cats, and this beautifully complex human (whom I’m honored to call my adventure partner, and [what I call him], and not a cussword today) takes up every single moment of my conscious existence. And, judging from the damage I’ve done to my teeth lately (grinding) some of my semiconsciousness.

Relationships are hard and egos are BIG and fragile and crazy and I am broken in many of the right places. “You see my light shinin’ through? Get with this!” But also some of the wrong places; and those edges are sharp. My days are a combination of being fully present and open, transparent and authentic, brilliant and available and free, yet also moving cautiously: slow—ly through this place and space in time and trying not to cut a bitch with my sharp edges. This is no easy feat, but what I have found (and repeatedly lose sight of) is the tremendous therapeutic gift of being able to release this ire and angst in my writing and make connections through the resonation of that gift.

Virtual tea time and back rubs have rescued me (and many of you) many times over through the course of the eight or so years in which I’ve been bloodletting on these here interwebs. And the friendships…man, listen! I love my NEW! (some old, some recycled, some vintage) tribe with my whole ass, and I just wanted to let y’all know that I’m fighting my way through the taupes, fog, and haze, (And tangled blankets; I forgot what a clusterfuck bed-sharing is.) and slowly– one word after the other– making my way back to do tea…and of course, honey bread with you all.


-BIG love

In 40 Days

In just under 40 days I’ll be 40 years old. This is awesome for many reasons, but rallying for number one is the sucktacular turned spectacular turned  sucktacularer and then, the take-my-breath-away-supercalifragilestically-spectacular of my 30’s. I assure you, while I have come out on the brightest side, I have zero intention on ever partaking in that kind of emotional roller coaster ever again. Nor, for the sake of readership, will I ever string those same words together to describe a life event. 

OOTD: Tunic-Free People
Sexy Boyfriend shorts-Gap
Sandals-Sperry Topsider

So what is the big deal about turning 40? Well, see…I don’t have one, but the best part, is I don’t need one. I have reached the age–well…almost– of zero fucks! (F)our-zero! See what I did there?

At some point in one’s life–preferably before the need for prescription drugs–we must all accept the, ever trite, “things we cannot change”. And, something about imbibing enough liquid courage to, “change the things we can.” That, my friends is what these here 40s are all about.

I don’t have a list of things I must accomplish, because I would aim way too high and fall short, and self-flagellate. This is not only ugly, but honestly after 39.94 years of practice, rather boring.

I’m not going to pose nude for Vanity Fair exposing the battle scars of childbirth, fine lager and “bad” carbs. Actually, I’ve already posed, in my skivvies for a far better publication. (Details forthcoming)

Also, I will no longer refer to anything that tastes like a doughnut, bialy, bagel, baguette–hell, any bread-like goodness as, “bad”. Please forgive me, my previous trespasses.

There will be no sex tape. I’ll give you a moment to gather yourself.

You good? Very well, then.

There will be no hullabaloo. However, over the course of the next 40 days, or more–I reserve the right to be flaky (Thank you, Lavonne Ellis)–I will take the time to reflect– at length, or not– on how far I’ve come. In that reflection, there will be celebration, and libations, because that’s the way to bring in a new year. So…uh, yeah, in case you weren’t paying attention, I am quite fond of libations.

For posterity, (and, the kick in the ass I need to return to blogging like a rock star) I will share these small celebrations; one just never knows when they’ll need reminding of their innate awesome. So, let us commence, shall we?

Peace and love