Stationary Unicycle

“So, what’s so awesome about being a girl?” My daughter can’t think of a thing. And frankly, I’m coming up empty, too. My dear son is just lying on the floor listening to his sis and me talking, he pretends not to hear but I know he hears us. He is very quiet, intent, he’s got those listening ears ON. First, my daughter says something about how it sucks to have a period. I have to concur. But because I’m a mom and my daughter is my daughter, I must also try to spin the whole period thing into something grand and beautiful. Moms have to say that shit. It’s in the Mom Rules, so I add that bit about the awe and how amazeballs it is to be able to have babies.  “But women can bring new life into the world!” And my daughter says, “So you’re saying that women are special because they can have babies? What about women who don’t want to have babies? Are they worthless? If you define what’s good about being a woman in terms of reproduction, then women who choose not to...

Happy Wednesday, good readers. I was feeling so super good there for a while. But all things pass, the good and the bad. The bad seem to linger though, while the good stuff evaporates like Isopropyl alcohol on your skin, leaves you feeling a little chilled tensely anticipating the needle prick that inevitably comes next. Yeah, so there's that. I guess I'm reluctant to unload completely here. I'm depressed. This is my default setting. But I don't want to make other people feel bad. I want to offer other people a hand, some comfort. I don't want to suck all the life out of the room even though I'm feeling completely shit. It's sort of like finding a dress a certain shade of green that would make me look like something out of The Walking Dead, but knowing it would fit someone else and be just the right color to complement their hair or their eyes. Hope is like that for me today. It's going to look great on you. You can do anything....

Yesterday I was talking to a person who doesn't know me very well. We were talking about the upcoming election.  The name Donald Trump came up, as you can imagine it would. I mean, how could it not? And we briefly talked about the Trumpster's obvious pathology. I mean, really, how can some people not see the dude is a classic narcissist? It's so clear.  But maybe not everyone had a narcissist for a father, those lucky assholes.   Narcissists are charismatic.  People are drawn to the persona.  Narcissists spend an inordinate amount of time cultivating this image of themselves as special, bigger than life, smarter, more capable.  Some people are drawn to the narcissist because on some level, they think the narcissist's magic will rub off on them.  It won't, but I can understand the desire to associate with the gregarious bold bombast and bask in the glow of their accepting gaze.  But, the narcissist always turn...

Wednesday was supposed to be blog day, but I’m a slacker by nature and I let my self-imposed deadline pass, as usual. Or have I? Because I’m just writing some bullshit down right now, so maybe this is the blog post. Maybe things are unfolding as they should. Or whatever the fuck. I’m sitting here in a pool of my own sweat, which frankly is better than sitting in a pool of someone else’s sweat, so that’s good. I’m stuck in a place where my chest feels like it’s going to explode, sort of like that scene in Alien , you know the one. Maybe my heart is an alien. I’ve been working on a series of self-indulgent poems and I think I have a title, My Heart and Other Winged Insects …I like the title, at least for now. Who knows. Yeah, no. I hate it now. The Heart is a Lonely Hunter …etc etc, my heart crap, it’s been done better by better and it’s been done to death. But how else do we explain that horrible amazing feeling? That feeling that life is just too too much, ...