second too late

Today I want not to think that you will be aging without me.

The previous set of postings is probably the second haiku I’ve ever written (the first one having been formulated at age 11).

Today tore at the nerves; stretched and stressed, calm cast aside to make way for the miscommunication of others. The impetus to react with far less provocation than I’m used to was disappointing.

Tomorrow will be better.

Even though I will likely still feel absolutely knackered, as I did today and do every day, while attempting to manage the ins and outs and the expansive in-betweens of living purposefully. Or just living.

Self-sufficiency.

Unnamed organization I volunteer with whose outward philosophy I no doubt believe in, I neither approve of your partnership with mega-chain nor support the other political affiliations that are unraveling before me as more truths begin to show through the cracks in your mismanaged skin.

Lacked appetite, but somehow successfully cleared my fridge of things-that-need-eating (ongoing).

I feel very behind this growing season and hope that this isn’t a sign of things to come for I have a lot of work ahead of me and fewer hands, unless you happen to be as passionate about composting as I am and enjoy mucking about the garden barefoot. Inquire within to work on my micro urban farm. Bring a goat or mason bee.

My foster kitten has gone away to have her ovariohysterectomy.

Do believe me when I say I will be without you and live in my own way, no longer will I/you draw you/me/us into circles to dance around the open flame.

I don’t care that it’s 1:42am. I’m going to have a second dinner and ponder the relevancy of pants in order to detract from the hole in my stocking. It is an unnerving hole, as are many holes.

sadydoyle:

The earthquake happened while I was in Boston. By the time I came home, it was already huge news. The only thing that seemed to matter, that seemed at all meaningful, was footage of the catastrophes. When I had a spare moment, I’d watch it. Sometimes just the same video, on a loop, over and over. And I’d wonder what I was going to say.

The earthquake, the tsunami, the volcano, the maybe-meltdown. So many people have lost their homes; so many people have died; the danger is so far from being over. And, thanks to 24-hour news and amateur YouTube videos, nearly all of these events have been captured on film. Thanks to the Internet, nearly everyone has blogged about them. There’s something uncomfortable about watching that footage. It draws you in; it refuses to let you stop watching. You click “replay” compulsively, hoping that the next time you see it, you’ll comprehend it all. The shaky camera, the kitchen drawers falling open, the cloud of ash, the supermarket aisle covered in shattered glass and spilled wine: It seems almost ordinary, especially if you watch it (as many people do) on tiny, low-resolution YouTube windows. But you know that something beyond your experience, something massive and with unimaginably awful consequences, just occurred. You saw it. But you didn’t see it. You didn’t understand.

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(via sadydoyle-deactivated20110608)