fflo: (dork L)
Art Fair, cutting up watermelon, tomato & cheese sandwich, thunderstorm that interrupts muggy and leaves muggy behind.  Seeking air conditioning, or at least a fan, every so often.  Netflix & muggy.  Lotsa fuzzy water and no deep thinkin'.

Outside somewhere.  Overdue.  Maybe drugs later (for sleep).  Sleep sooooo good.

Worry not, dear one.  Or don't worry about worrying, worry, cuz you're gonna worry, but be empowered by me/you to feel less compelled to worry, when you really don't want to.  Cuz who wants to?

A mathematician I follow points out today:  22/7 is a better approximation of pi than Pi Day.

I remembered to get rid of the storage unit key before they realized I still had it.  I ordered an orange mailbox, cuz someone knocked mine off.    I don't have two cancers.  Among others.  

Inside I'm still whispering--- "Write to me."

Summertime, summertime:  sum sum summertime.

fflo: (Default)
I don't get on facebook much any more, but I was on there yesterday, and here in the mammogram harem waiting lounge I ran out of phone game interest, and I looked again.  And there were a coupla nice things to see, but ugh to others.  The worst was the obit for a man made out to be a hero who was ongoingly raping his daughter for years, and had his hooks in her ever after, in multiple debilitating ways I don't know the half of.  So much of her difficulty in life seems tied to that soul-terrorizing monster-gaslight crap that he did.  And she has had tremendous difficulty.  It makes me nauseous, reading about---thinking of---his lauding, now that he's dead, like his lauding while he was alive.  She isn't the only victim of his I know about, either, and there were probably still others, gotta figure.  A charming and vile man who enjoyed himself and life and his self-importance and what he could take from others, regardless of the consequences for them, to the hilt.  Makes ya wish there were a hell for him.  Makes ya wish there had been a hell for him here.  His daughter is still in the hell he sent her to, built for her, consigned her to.

As I typed that last bit, the tech came to tell me I'm good to go, no need for biopsy, come back in a year (not even 6 months).  This is good.  I am grateful for this.

And that man was bad.  It's not facebook's fault.  But seeing him praised there came to me through that app/messenger, and isn't helping my sense of the bullshit and hostility and brutality and callous selfishness of humanity.

My new brown roof is on, and the gutters were about to be installed when I left for this appt.  My pets and I are basically well.  I got a good night's sleep.  My job is super-cool about me taking time off.  There may be a thunderstorm this afternoon.  Maybe I'll get a good night's sleep tonight, too.

This is me talking me down.

fflo: (Lu face)
Why it was my folks, I dunno, but in my dream they were in a room with a beloved one who was lying on the bed and saying just terrible stuff, about them, about I don't even remember what.  Thing after thing.  Bullshit things.  And then later, I was saying something to her, still there, about how shitty that was.  Felt like the way I knew it wouldn't necessarily come across, but was clearly going to sort of do-her-the-courtesy-of explaining, or trying to, what was not okay about that, had something to say to me.  Woke up during that heavy sigh moment, or soon after. 

I had been so deeply asleep.

This morning the dog and I went around in the world a while, but I finally dropped her off at doggy daycare for a stretch, while I came in to the office.  It's hard not to want to watch the stream of her from the webcam there on my phone all day.  But I've been managing to do some relatively tedious author summary stuff.  And look in on her every once in a while.
fflo: (tongue)
That's probably true whatever kind of boobs are in the second half, given how much worse roofies already are than roof + boobies.

Seems my new roof may suddenly be going on tomorrow.  And the day after that I have a 2-hour re-screening and ultrasound appt for my right breast, which has a nodule that merits further investigation.

These two things are enough for this week, I think, and here declare.

I have a dinner invitation for tomorrow that I still hope to make it to, and plan to sing at Art Fair on Saturday, but let others take the personning of the info booth.

Just had that whole it's-not-cancer thing about my skin, and still healing there.  Oy.

Right now I'm gonna get some ice and then I'm gonna have fuzzy water with my afternoon galleys.  One thing at a time.  E.g., attend to the gutters and any tumors later.
fflo: (LIMP headshot detail)

Here it is, upon us.

Chorus refresher practice tonight, for performance later at (back alley corner of) Art Fair.

Was just reminded of Art Fair Bingo, and the contributions I made to someone's cards, in what it turns out, looking back, was 2005.  The way you play Art Fair Bingo is either (a) you look for the things, you mark when you find them, you win when you get a bingo--- OR (b) you just read the card and be all townie know-it-all amused about what happens at Art Fair, extra points for a sense of superiority to the visiting art shoppers.

Art Fair Bingo 2005 card 2.jpg   Art Fair Bingo 2005 card 1.jpg
(click for bigger, should you want bigger)

Most of my squares were illustrating requested concepts from a list that went out with the call.  Pretty sure I threw in ex-lover myself, tho.  These were the ones of mine I like most:


And the also-rans:


It was hard to render a sunburn in B&W.  Maybe I shoulda gone with a cross-hatching kinda thing?  Less realistic, more cartoon?

That whacky tobacky smell is less illegal than it was then.

fflo: (teeter)
... now I don't wanna.

I'm the last one left, except Peter in the other room.  My Ingress nemesis has just turned this side of town green again.  (Yeah, I'm playing again.)  (Fighting off the unhappy birthdays of the world, one portal at a time?)

I was on facebook earlier and saw a picture that gave me a glimpse into a world I'm not in any more, and I'd say it wasn't as bad as it often is, how it stirred the difficulties I have with that sort of thing, and the association of another people world I'm no longer in, and such.  The fact is that I handle most losses just fine.  It's just a few of them.  Where we were close, or I felt that way.  Just a minute ago I almost wrote to the livejournaler who unfriended me not long ago, after years of my following her life through her posts, just to ask whether she'd reconsider.  I shake off unfriendings here pretty easily, generally, but not that one.  I've caught myself, though, and steered myself back to quiet acceptance, with sadness.  Just there's only so much of that a girl wants to feel, y'know?  And, in an lj way, I've felt a closeness to her and her life.

Perhaps some of this old bugaboo rearing its head is related to having quit that board, and disconnecting there from something that had gotten difficult to wrangle but had a tie on me, connected me to others, if fairly dysfunctionally.  I dunno, though.  It wasn't a tie of love.  Not to the board work itself, and not to the form of service I was managing, mediocrely, compared to what I would have liked.  I tried more than one shift in approach, and hung in there through some drama, but, I dunno.  I really didn't want to struggle with that any more.  And mostly I do feel relief.  But maybe it prompted some of this rising up of uncomfortable/discontented sensitivity, for lack of the right words for it.

I can think of at least one other way I'm encouraging the longing, vs. the wanting from the things I can have.  I gotta explore the longing more.  Talk to it.  Help it.  Somethin'.

The quiet moments of solitude are fine and dandy much of the time.  Then there are the spiritual pangs, the ache of the bereft, knowing what's missing, feeling the hollow.  I fully sympathize with myself not wanting to be in that basely human feeling of ---well I don't even want to type the word that come to mind for it.

Just remembered I saw a fella I used to be close to last night, and I was okay with that one.  I'm confident that it's better this way, with him.  I can see how that thing blew up in my face, and what was not good about it, and that seems bigger than what was good about it, which doesn't seem as big as it did when it was pretty good.

Certain people I miss I miss in a diehard way, tho.  Plus I miss having a set of solid buds within an hour's radius, and the way we gravitated toward each other in our spare time, and the ease of the whole thing, and how if they were behaving shittily toward each other or to me, I didn't much see it, or it was small, compared to the gift of their company, and the way their being out there as people who knew me and saw me and liked me was, deep down gut level, dear.

We're alone, all of us, really, I know.  The relationship with myself is the only one I know I will continue to have, and it should be important to me, and I oughta want to tend to it and value it.  And I do that, now, more and more.  But I wonder if it isn't always gonna feel hollow, with dear ones not dead, but gone.

It's 7:01.  That database didn't come back up at 6.  I bet it's not gonna come up for a while.  Let's go get some carryout dinner, Lisa, and knock out an anchor portal, free the people under the green from the brainwashing for another little bit, and go see the doggie and the kitties.
fflo: (Default)


Postcard of the Day

(a feature involving a postcard on a day)

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For another postcard thing, see
my old postcard poems tumblr or
its handy archive.

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I'm just starting to post here & at livejournal. Add me and let me know who you are, and we can read each other's protected posts.


"What was once thought cannot be unthought."

-- Möbius, The Physicists


July 2017

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