Elise and I went for a walk in Mitchell Woods after church yesterday with Todd and the dogs.

When we lived together we never did this, which sucks because it was a very enjoyable walk and the dogs were more enjoyable in this state than usual.

I’m hoping that in the short time he is still here we can do this again while the weather is good.

It’s amazing how nice a walk in 45 degree weather feels after living in a deep freeze of -10 or worst temperatures for a couple of weeks.

Equator, I’m coming for you!

Posted for the Candid prompt, 2 days late and with no fucks given.


The Winter Slump


When I’m particularly depressed, which I have been more in the last two or three months than I have been in the last few years, I don’t really do much.

I don’t want to get out of bed in the morning, I don’t want to leave the house, ever, for anything, and when it comes to things I have to do, like for work, I literally go out of my way to do anything and everything to NOT do those things, including and up to cleaning my house.

Of course, the winter makes things everything worse.

The cold makes it so that even on occasions where I might want to leave the house, I still feel like I am being personally assaulted by the weather, insult adding more injury.

It really, really sucks.

As my moods undulate the current of my days, I’m finding myself just trying my best to hold on tight, to screw my lips into something resembling a smile as I walk out of my room in the morning wondering what fresh new hell the day will bring.

I’ve been worrying a lot lately about Elise worrying about me.

I don’t want her to have memories of her mom always crying.

Even this, a commitment to daily writing, and writing more and more throughout the year, even this is a chore that I sometimes have to drag myself to only minutes before the day ends.

I’m still always surprised when the day ends and we’re all okay, and I know I’m not the only one feeling it this year.

Photo by:Talgat Baizrahmanov

I wish winter would die in a fire

I hate winter.

And before anyone asks with the snark “Well why do you still live in Connecticut if you hate winter and the snow so much?” the answer is because I share custody of a child with someone who wants to see her every week and I’m not a bitch.

But this fucking sucks. (There will be a lot more swearing, you’re warned.)

I just want to go closer to the equator, to a place where I don’t have to deal with snow.

I want to never, ever see, feel, touch, or hear snow falling around me ever again in my entire life, not even once.

No more white Christmases. Ever.

I am allergic to winter. I’m over it.

Yet here I am, buried, trapped inside my house with snow knee-deep against my door, and snow with the audacity to be thin enough to see the grass in my neighbor’s patch of yard on the other side of my driveway.

I hate snow.

I was fucking pissed.

But you know what I did today? I used that hateful anger that boils into a rage within me, and I shoveled myself out today like the badass bitch that I know I am inside.

I went out there and for two hours (on and off between breaks sitting on the stairs in the mudroom to prevent my nose from falling off) I did indeed make that pile of snow my bitch, and I’ve cleared myself a path out.

Yeah. It’s hard to see here, because there was no way in hell I was going back out, after removing my boots and finally warming my buttcheeks and nipples, just to take photos.

Oh, but tomorrow, I will. Tomorrow you may see the glory of my path out of this frozen hellhole, I mean my driveway.

Meanwhile, I’m going to self-medicate with a number of different drugs to see if I can get anything to touch this aching in my arms and shoulders.

I’ll pay for my badassery tomorrow.

Nothing to look forward to about winter in this city

Today’s prompt was elegance.

If you’re a poet, and you’re reading this, I have a question for you –

Do you ever edit your poems after you write them?

I find that I don’t. At all. Like, practically ever.

It’s not that I don’t think I can find a way to say something better, or in a better way, it’s just that there isn’t much planning behind my poems.

They are just thoughts in my head coming out on pages or the screen.