05/01 Direct Link
"This wasn't so bad," as she felt the wave tighten her abdomen. "Easy peasy!"  Nancy's water had broken at 2:30. It was 4:30 now.

The doctor came in jovially, checked the recording strip, then said to the nurse, "Let's hurry this along a bit. Too slow."  They injected something into her IV.

Half an hour later, she was screaming as wave after wave of contractions ripped her uterus, over and over again. She puffed like a steam engine.

Pushing, ah relief!  A stinging snip, slippery form, then her wriggly baby girl was laid atop her.
05/02 Direct Link
Here's the deal. She doesn't get sacked, but she's only guaranteed a small piece of the work through November, see? The rest of her stuff, we're handing it to Jill. Jill will take over completely in November.

Yes, yes, I realize Jill has a reputation for being a ballbuster with her teams. Actually, kinda relying on that.

I don't care if she doesn't work well with Jill. That's her problem. Her's and Jill's. She isn't performing, Jones. Jill's good. We gotta make sure we can keep Jill.

She USED to be good, Jones.

That's my final word. Accept it.
05/03 Direct Link
I always wonder where it comes from. Someone writes something -- a song, perhaps, or an evocative bit of text. Or they paint something amazing, using a technique I'd never seen before and the way they capture that something takes my breath away and so I wonder, from whence comes that spark of genius? What suggests the chord progression chosen, that idea, that word order, those colors?  My eyes tear up; my heart wells with emotion.

I am filled with envy in those moments. I long, with all my being, to have that mind, just for those few creative moments.
05/04 Direct Link
"What can I get for ya?"

"Burger, medium rare. Fries. No tomatoes. To go."

I waited and reflected on the morning's activities, planned the afternoon's workload, daydreamed.

"You want fries with that?"


The nearby salad bar was crowding; people who'd been in line behind me realized that life was too precious to waste waiting for greasy grill food.

"For here or to go?"

"To go."

Clunk. A china plate laden with bun-clad blackened meat, limp fries, lettuce and tomatoes slid over the counter.  You’ll always get it this way regardless of your order. Consistency is king.
05/05 Direct Link
When you hear the song begin, you know what it is. You almost start singing it.

"Waiting for the break of day. Searching for something to say."

It's about writing a song.

For me though it's about a memory of some of the few really good times in an otherwise not generally good time of my life.

I was not in the band, but my friends were. I'd sit with them during the games, and they would always break out into that song at random times.

Fun times with happy friends. These live among the best memories from high school.
05/06 Direct Link
These arrogant males, filled with themselves, so certain they have her pegged. They crafted a paper silhouette version of her over the years.  She's a princess. She's moody. She's overweight, and not prone to physical activities, or so they think.

So it was that the two of them, father and son, were convinced there was no way she would have the stamina to traverse The Great Wall. They laughed at her, told her they'd see her eventually, and they took off.

Five minutes after they arrived at the end, she strode up to them, triumphant and proud.

Brava, Princess.
05/07 Direct Link
I was burning with need. 

This happens rarely; a physical arousal, spontaneous, without a recognizable trigger.  My loins flush with heat, my woman parts engorge and every fiber of my being thrums with desire. There is little I can do about its occurrence. I can only react.

It's inconvenient when this occurs when I am driving somewhere or sitting in a meeting.  It's not so bad if it happens when I am at home alone.  It's absofuckinglutely wonderful if it happens when I am with a man I love.

Today, though, there was no one around.
05/08 Direct Link
When I married 29 years ago this day fell on a Saturday and Mother's Day followed. Flowers for my wedding were priced with the increase for Mother's Day, making them probably three times what they would have cost had I found a place to get married that was available the following weekend.

I divorced four years ago, missing my 25th anniversary by a 4 months.  There were no flowers.  There was a signature and a hollow feeling.

The marriage was worth everything, though. Through that marriage, I was privileged to birth and raise two incredible people. Thanks, kids.
05/09 Direct Link
It is a small taste of the world as a child may experience it after denying myself that world for some period of time, then reintroducing it.

The scene outside my window is the same it has been, more or less, for 28 years.  I should be jaded, unseeing, gazing through it in the middle of a workday morning.

Yet, no. Middles of workday mornings usually find me slouched before a screen midst solemn solid walls, flourescent lit, industrial grayness swallowing me.

'Pon working at home, I am like a newborn seeing a sunsplashed, lively, color-filled world anew.
05/10 Direct Link
I hate running.

I never understood how people who run do it. When I've tried it, it hurt. It hurt my knees, my feet, my lungs.  I hated the feeling of my breasts, butt, and the fat on my thighs bouncing. I hated the impact. I hated the vibration. I hated the slam against the soles of my feet.

I envy those who run. They all look so fit, so healthy, so amazing. They move with grace, ease. They may jiggle a bit, in places, but it's enticing, not jarring.  They breathe with ease.

I wish I could run.
05/11 Direct Link
It was a crystalline day, sharp in her memory. It formed the basis of all that followed.

He was drunk. He'd spent the evening pawing at the young, beautiful woman. She was tired and wanted to get the kids and herself home and to bed. He put up a fuss. Their hosts took her side, and that incensed him.   In that one evening, he lost the respect of his best friend and blamed her for everything.

As years passed, she withdrew, divorcing him in her heart, moving on with her life even while continuing to be his wife.
05/12 Direct Link
There is a myth in romantic relationships that love is supposed to be made up of the same kind of sugar-spice-sustenance-of-life sort of thing. From youth, we dream of meeting our Prince or perfect woman. This soulmate will fulfill all our needs forever, and we will fulfill all of theirs.

Even eschewing the one mate for life notion, it seems that the myth of all sizes fit one in our relationships persists. I don't think that's realistic.

Differences have to exist. People differ. No one can be the same with one as they are for another.
05/13 Direct Link
And as I poor my troubles out

Into the cup you offer

I feel a lightening of heart:

You are my friend, my lover.


But even seas must empty

Or they will overflow

And drown the living, large and small,

No matter where they go


My love, I will not drown you;

You mean so very much to me.

You know how much I love you,

‘Though my troubles fill the sea.


Ah, my darling lover,

What more can I say?

Please remember, wear a wetsuit

When you go out today.


  -- circa 1995, thereabouts

05/14 Direct Link
There were words. There was trust. All this intertwined itself with love, and with lust.

No, I did not mean for that to rhyme. The rhythm throbbing in the air around me and within me is causing strange things, possibly including this sudden spate of poetry.

Bear with this stream of consciousness but the wine, the sun, and the surge of emotions have taken their toll on my ability to be clever, or especially creative.

What can I say? I love being with him. I love how our sweaty limbs tangle together. I love his manly scent. I love him. 
05/15 Direct Link
Wriggling with pleasure, although this one wasn't sure why. All she had done was sniff the girl child's ear. The result was amazing! The child squealed -- this one did not understand why the squeal made her feel right. The girl child wrapped her chubby pink arms around this one's neck.

Wrestle!  The girl child wanted to wrestle and this one loved nothing more than to wrestle. Her tongue, imbued with a life of its own, sneaked out meeting cheek and neck and the girl child squealed again.

Life became a tumble, girl child and baby dog, best friends forever.
05/16 Direct Link
Suddenly, I'm an insider. I don't usually get to hear the gossip or learn the secret plans. Don't know if it's because I never ask, or because I play the political games that earn you the gossip goodies.

Yet, inexplicably, I now possess secret knowledge. Luckily I've had some managerial experience with keeping secrets and doing so credibly, without compromising truth. It's a knack to lay low, listen, nod sympathetically, say nothing when rumors are whispered. The challenge is when asked directly. Then you tell them they know better than to ask. Managers are not allowed to confirm or deny.
05/17 Direct Link
It's difficult to set your heart's content to words and avoid the bromidic. Millennia of song and poetry has already recorded metaphor, sound and rhythm illuminating the ferocity of these emotions.

A new love summons past loves and holds them up for measurement, yet there is no need to dismiss the strength and reality of the past. What was felt then was real and had to be; this one is real.

What was forgotten, brought back into focus is the depth of the bond, the strength of its forging. Hold it. Steep your soul. Let it twine about your being.
05/18 Direct Link
I guess I'm built this way; maybe other people aren't. I don't mean to sound superior; forgive me if it comes across to you that way. Truly I do not grasp why I take pleasure in life yet others see only the grim, dark things. As I told a friend: there appear to be people who take perverse pleasure in being angry.

I don't get it.

When I am angry, or hurting -- it happens -- I hate it. I want nothing more than to get past it. I work on resolving it.

Is this coded into DNA?

Help me to understand.
05/19 Direct Link
Encountering dichotomies in personality. Which is not to say these are dissociative personalities trapped within one person, rather they are distinct people, each embodying distinct, yet stereotypical personality types.

The positive: they live through utter shit and work on turning it into nourishing mulch, thence bountiful food for life.

The negative: it's everyone else's fault and how could this happen to them, they don't deserve this. FML!

What I love about him is that in spite of having to slog his way through the murky aspects of a stressful set of situations, he is looking forward to the upcoming harvest.
05/20 Direct Link
Sometimes, even though I'm not in an especially bad mood, I want to whine.

She was just a child. I was Mom but only got to know little bits of her. Missed her teen years managing her angst, then burying myself in my Internet world while she whirled off with her friends. It wasn't until she was a young adult that I got to know her. But she moved away.

Now I miss her so much. When she visits, as she will this weekend, I resent having to share my time with her with her father. I miss her terribly.
05/21 Direct Link
It's the intensity. The constant talk, the ideas that rain storm. The need to help even after I say, "Yes, thank you, I appreciate that but this is for me, about me. It's something I need to do, for myself. I love your ideas, but you cannot do it for me."

It's not the offer. It's the hurt that I won't let him just do it all for me. He's not getting it.

I admit, there are times I want the help. I want to sit back and let someone do it for me. But that would defeat the purpose. 
05/22 Direct Link
I waited all day, yesterday, but was neither called up to be with Jesus, nor heard of anyone else who had been, in that bodily rapturous way.

I guess there are people who so fervently believed they did unwise financial things and are now left penniliess.

According to the Bible, Jesus himself had a practical view: earthly things belong to the earth. Don't be stupid about your earthly things while you're on the earth. Pay your taxes. And don't presume to predict when the rapture is going to happen, because the time belongs to God. IOW Jesus cautions against doofusery.
05/23 Direct Link
I cannot be with partners all the time. There are physical barriers (distance), plus emotional barriers (I apparently lack tolerance for long-term space sharing).

I pine for my newest lover.

Not spent enough time with him to know our limitations;  in my mind I imagine a lengthy period of easy interaction, mutual conscientious acknowledgment of spatial taboos. Ability to go off into our little corners when one or the other needs alone time, easily, no worries.

I pine for him. I pine for his touch, his presence. I am glad for the texts, e-mails, and posts, though. 

05/24 Direct Link
When I think of bonobos, I do not think "spiritual" connection. I think "social" connection.

I have social, even to some extent emotional, connections with my neighbor Bob. Were I a bonobo, I'd probably have sex with Bob. Probably with his wife, too. But I am not a bonobo.  So when I
connect with Bob, it's with, maybe, a hug. Words. Smiles. Not sex.

That's the difference between spiritual, deep connections that many humans need before having sex and the casual, social connections that are all that are required for bonobo and bonobo-like people to engage in sex.
05/25 Direct Link
I've really had enough of petty drama, at least for this week. I'm really not getting why these women are all so unprofessional about it. Sure, you're bound to come up against personality differences. You work around them. The goal is to get the job done, not vie for who's the bitchiest.

And, nothing against hair salons?  But, you know. You expect that there are job settings where personalities can clash and people get a little bitchy and hair salon is kind of one of them, especially if there are "artistes" who work there.

We're not a hair salon.
05/26 Direct Link
The air felt like tiny knife blades, slicing her throat, her lungs, her ribcage. She paused, looking up, looking ahead. She looked back and cursed. Surely she'd gotten further than that!

Sweat stung her eyes, dripping off of her, splattering the dust and rocks. Crazy, she thought. Maybe I'm watering a seed and next year a tree will be here.


Her feet obeyed the unspoken command and she trudged, grasping at the rock walls to steady herself up the steep incline. The pack must be filled with elephants. Her shoes were lined with lead.

She would do this, though.
05/27 Direct Link
We had to fly from home to LA to catch our international flight. Got there early and found some had gathered already. We had to wait for the whole group. Finally just Evelyn was missing so we started to check in. The group leader thought someone should call Evelyn's home to see if she had left. The phones were crowded, but what the heck, I joined the crowd hoping to snag a phone for her. Waited, then got one and turned to beckon her. Instead she handed me Evelyn's number.  I hate making phone calls.     
05/28 Direct Link
Words fail, and poetry flees. How did the masters do it? How did they capture what was sung in the heart, so flawlessly?

When our bodies join, our minds intertwine too and the world shrinks to just two. There is no work. No frets. No fears. No pain. There are only eyes staring with love and amazement and searing happiness. There are only lips and hands. There is only the taste of our mingled sweat and the feel of our bodies wrapped one around the other.

The beat of heart, the throb of mind mixed with mind. Simplicity of soul.
05/29 Direct Link
I love work when I'm engaged, sufficiently challenged, and have enough of it on hand to keep busy and feel as though I'm contributing. No surprise, right?

It follows that I don't like work when I'm over-challenged, or bored, or constrained such that I can't fix the problems I encounter.

Combining the recent cycle of layoffs with my latest role lacking sufficient meat to keep me busy, I'm not all that pleased with work at the moment.

I'm genuinely considering dusting off the ol' res and sending it around.  See what might be out there. Just considering it.
05/30 Direct Link
Back when I was still married, our daughter called while her father was ... occupied.

I’m not very clever on the phone -- one of my few failings. When she asked what he was up to, I was loath to explain that those rumbling noises in the background were emerging from her father’s buttcheeks and not a jackhammer outside.

“You don’t want to know. I’ll have him call you back.”

Eventually he finished. I donned the hazmat gear and did what I needed to do. Hours passed. Daughter called back.

“Are you guys finished?”

Yeah. That was embarrassing. 
05/31 Direct Link
I wish I was better at speaking. I wish my brain did not disconnect itself as soon as my vocal cords started to vibrate.

I can write fairly coherently straight out of the box. I have a thought, I start writing about it, the words flow, and, give or take a bit of wordiness or rambling, it's good. Decent, at least.

But let me open my mouth, try to speak those same words and suddenly I freeze up. The brain stops. I cannot recall certain words. I lose track. I make mistakes.

I end up sounding dumb. This is frustrating.