Author of the novel WHEN YOU LOSE CONTROL

I was at my cousin's wedding the other day, and the waiter happened to be a very kind, very handsome young man. He served champagne and foods and desserts and was exceedingly polite. I flirted the tiniest bit, excited for the day- it was one of the few times I had been out and about in years, and was flattered by his occasional smile. However, I was halted in my tracks when he asked,  "Are you all done with that, ma'am?" Ouch.

I match energies,  and yours sucks. Escape into a fantasy like  it's a fucking job and with any luck, it will be. Shit attitude and  dirty house. Why isn't anything clean? Hope you all like the flaws in the other. It's all that you  can see.

Distract. Just to get by. Caring but burnt out. Too much tragedy. And horror and violence and terrifying things. People not seen as humans capable of their own decisions. Decisions being made to protect things over people. A vicious residue swirling in the bottom of a crucible; environmental nightmares and plastic and war and violence and hate and lies and the attempts! Attempts to vilify love and acceptance, and empowerment. What is this and what is happening, and more importantly, when will this stop? Will it ever? How have we not learned after hundreds of years? How do we- no, they- they-the powerful not seem to care?  It feels like we are doomed just to watch. Which will get us first? Which despicable thing will win in the end?

To recognize their inhumanities. Into the margins. To have have rights taken away. No choice. No voice. It has begun.

Yesterday at work, facing a large horizontal window that has a huge verticle window to its left, I saw in rapid succession; a yellow butterfly, a hummingbird, and a dragonfly. So, as I sit waiting (one hundred days), I saw the symbol for imagination/happiness, the Native American symbol for integrity/hard work, and the symbol for hope/change/love. Signs. So many signs. So many days.  This morning, I woke up confused. My alarm interrupted a dream that I think I've had before. At least, the setting seemed very familiar. But it couldn't be. I was in a late 60s/early 70s record store. And it wasn't vintage-style things; it was actually a perfectly preserved time capsule. The carpet was worn, the boxes of records were disintegrating. That wonderful musty smell hung in the air. I felt nervous like I didn't belong.  Then, a bunch of people walked through an entrance I hadn't noticed before. I looked where they came from, and it was an immense hallway with a pink and brown

And my brain can't stop. It's going and going and going on. On but never off. Consumed with what-ifs and scams and maybes and hopes and no ways. Turning and turning and turning all over. I think one oh two and add the numbers and subtract them and multiply them. I wish I could shorten them and control them, but they control me. Is it really this hot outside, or has my anxiety become the humidity and heat oppressing everything in its wake but mostly my brain. My brain that never stops...

I am, perhaps, on the precipice of my  dearest dream  realized.  I cannot tell up from down,  or left from right. I can only feel the nerves. And excitement. There is hope, in abundance  and lots of fear. Oh, yes.   

Umm...things seem to be heading in a very, very exciting direction.  I am...cautiously enthusiastic. 

Uninspired  Yet I'm wired Usually quite so tired Anxiety much acquired

12th time seeing Billy Joel. 7 times at Fenway Park. 2 times at MSG. 1 time at the Boston Garden. 1 time at Gillette Stadium. 1 time in CT.  All amazing. So grateful. 

Get off of my neck This is vile, not okay Person; I have rights

I hate you, thought I knew you, how gross you have become. You are all the bad things in the world; I am shocked, ashamed, let down. How could you? And how could you not see? He would hate you too. Disappointed as you bastardized His words. And this wrong flag you fly and these inaccuracies you spew. Vile. Vile.  It's broken. It's all broken. All.  All. I guess that's the word. But really, you're trying to make it some.

First Bully Day. First Abuser Day. Take your discount gift and shove it. Not a mother, a tormentor.

She lies on top of the couch, in the groove she made. This diva, named for flowers.  Staring out the window, she is wondering why she too isn't in the car.  The face of 'how dare you' as little sister dog joins her and they snuggle up, butt to butt, looking out different windows. Jumping up with a princess yelp, she launches into full-on barking. Another dog dares to walk in front of her house.  As soon as it begins, her outrage stops, and she settles back in, sitting like a Sphynx. This would be surprising, but she lives with five cats and likes to emulate them. With a sigh, she crosses her paws like a lady and places her head atop them. It is very hard, being a spoiled dog. 

I am a human. I'm not a birthing vessel.  I decide. Not you. 

Three little teardrops fell down his face in surprise. "Really?" "I think so."