It’s the weeks where we feel beaten down before Monday begins that are the hardest to face, eh?
This morning’s rife with the turmoil of a good Pacific storm. A lot of wind and rain. As is usually the case, a good windstorm means a blue sky’s on its heels. I literally see both from my north-facing writing desk. Blue skies over the Pacific, charcoal over the inland. A torrent has just ended and the roads are filled with the splitter-splatter of cars racing through puddles, and roofs are dripping themselves dry.
It’s life. Damages come fast and fleeting. One minute we’re one way, the next, everything’s changed, oppressively so. The storm passes, we’re in a daze, but the reality is, we look around, nothing’s really changed.
That’s the trouble with troubles. Continue reading
Category Archives: Specifically Steff
In Vino Veritas: Of Bananas And Hotties
I’m drunkish. I feel obligated to write for you. But you’ll take obligated, won’t you? Yeah, that’s human nature.
Stringing thoughts together might be a challenge. But. It’s not like I get graded on this, right?
It’s been a weird day. I’ll get into that in a minute, but you need the prelude first.
I was up at 5, for starters. Oh, what a horrid thing that is. Then I weighed myself. Down 3 pounds this week. Heh, I’m sure I’m rectifying that terrible inconvenience tonight, though. Continue reading
Just Another Whorey Sugasm (159)
I just checked out the Sugasm. It’s been a bit of a week. What can I tell ya? But it turns out the folk who do voting-type-things with Sugasm liked my schwag and I was one of the top three again. You know, it never gets old, so, please, by all means. Thank you.
I love writing. It’s who I am. It’s what I do. I’d do it for nothing. Probably why I’m doing it for nothing. Hey, wait a minute. People get paid for this shit. I should look into that. Continue reading
Sidewalk Reckonings
I’ve never been a walker. It was always painful for me. Somehow, over the last six months, maybe the stretching routine I’ve gotten into, perhaps the weight I’ve lost, walking has become comfortable, even enjoyable. I daresay I may even have a cute bounce in my step instead of the weary old “do I have to?” not-so-stride. I walk a lot these days. Sometimes even on purpose. And I usually take longer routes.
I KNOW. WEIRD.
Seemingly a tangent, but totally not: Continue reading
a lament: to beg for a season's end
a bath, a book, a glass of wine. a fine end to a mostly long day.
the book? elizabeth smart’s By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept. poetric prose. love tryst. “homewrecking”, said moralistic critics of the time. swirling romance, says i. fitting for a tub.1940s classic lost for a couple of decades, then found again.
she’s describing a stretch of northern californian coastline, up into oregon, that i know well and haven’t seen for seven years. inside, my heart’s breaking a little. i long for it, but i mostly long for summer.
honeysuckle-scented nights. warm salted breezes off the shore. the feeling of sweat on the small of your back. when air’s temperature matches the warmth of your breath. the heat of the sun on as much skin as you can bare. nights warm enough to lie under a tree or lay stargazing on the beach as conversation bleeds into dawn. jacketless at 2am.
i ache for summer. Continue reading
In Vinos Veritas: I'll Probably Wish I Hadn't Posted This
I promised myself I would write tonight so I’m doing so out of obligation, not inspiration. Let’s get that straight right off the bat.
And I’ve been drinking. I think I hear Cat Stevens singing “Trouble” off in the background there.
Truth be told, this is one of those heavy-thinking anniversaries most of us maybe have. It’s not affecting me, not in a negative way anyhow. More in a “Fuck it! I’m only here once! I’m BUYING WINE!” kind of way, actually. That’s not so bad. Continue reading
Doorknob Detours
I’m sitting here in my Chuck’s, with my suede carcoat on, my sunglasses, and even my courier bag slung around my shoulder, because I was literally turning my doorhandle and something hit me.
I realized my bike ride yesterday is literally one of maybe a half-dozen times I’ve really been able to just settle the fuck down and enjoy life in a physical-outdoors-active kind of way since early last September. Yes, five months. Continue reading
My Time of Paradox
Hormones. I hate them.
Periods are a necessary evil in every woman’s life. What can we do? It’s there. Monthly. Looming dangerously and tauntingly on every lunar cycle.
My time used to be the full moon. Now, for some reason, I’m magically on the waxing half-moon. Which means I got caught by surprise at work. On a Monday. So, yeah, that happened. Nothing horrible, thank goodness. Just “Well, this is five days early. That’s lovely. And fuck you too.”
I never had a cunty-phase, though. I always have a “cuntday” a couple days before my period, sometimes the day before. I generally always have one great “ranting” bog post a month. You do the math. Continue reading
Fakin' It, Baby
[I’ve had a strange week. I bought some wine Tuesday, finished in Wednesday night, and wrote this while under the influence. It’s long, rambling, but it’s also a good dose of in vino veritas.]
This year of mine will require tremendous courage and a willingness to fail on my part, because I’ll need to push through a whole lot of existential and emotional roadblocks that have always kept me from a few places I’ve needed to be.
It’s not like I’m not a confident person. I am. I’ve got a great personality. I can sell anything, argue anyone. I’m smart as hell. I like my writing. I’m funny. I’m kind. I’m generous. I’m creative. I’m dogged. I may even be invincible. I know these things. I know these things.
The trouble is believing them. Because I wasn’t always this way, and, before that, I wasn’t always that way. Continue reading
Saying What's Meant and Meaning What's Said
We, as a society, seem pretty lost on the subject of communicating these days.
Oh, sure, we’ve got the surfacing of it all down pat. We text each other. Email abounds. Blogging has given a voice to everyone we wish never had one. Twitter makes it possible to nanobroadcast your life. Coworkers instant message each other from their desks. Feet? Who needs ’em? We’re more in touch with each other without even moving than we’ve ever been.
Yet it’s like the end of communication’s been happening before our very eyes. Does anyone ever really SAY anything anymore? Does any of it ever really MEAN anything? Continue reading