2am, no tylenol pm, no benadryl…

,,, and so i’m awake. feedback given on 2 pieces, photo funya explored, Deadly Women watched, mild facebook stalking complete and unsatisfactory, dogs with full bellies (ALL ELEVEN), menfolk asleep, fire humming (i know crackling would sound better, but it’s just NOT, it’s humming), ceiling stared at, head cocked, tomorrow planned for, today evaluated and found satisfactory (and more than satisfactory), domesticity planned including heels, snow falling – or drifting, or floating, slowly. slowly, slowly….

low lights and the sounds of the keys. typing to hear them, too braindead to put my fingers to good use. listening to the fire and my fingers, and the drone of a documentary voiceover.

can. i. feel. my. heartbeat. as a sensation or as a sound? sensation. i never hear it. it rattles, coughs, bounces off my ribs and laughs, large and sloppy wet. the color of meat in fridge light at midnight, in the last hours before it goes bad.

but it’s been this color since….

well, at least it’s fat, and it works. my eyes are swollen – they might be getting rounder, my contacts slide around on them a lot lately.

bridget is drumming her fingertips (no nails, they’re bitten down) on a greyish formica table in the rec room, chin on her opposite palm, waiting for me to get my shit together so she and charlotte can get on with their dastardly plans – charlotte now fancies them villians, with arched backs and arched eyebrows, black capes and snickers and mischief. bridget now knows they are children, doing things movie-style because sometimes there is simply no other way to do them….

my soft kitty entry video wouldn’t load, that sucks, the timeslot is closed. i didn’t even know what the prize was, but i wanted to enter.

that’s all, i think. for now. glad when i wake up it will be friday.

wait, there are real things!

tomorrow is adam’s big Haircut Day. he goes in a baby, comes out a man. i’ll take too many pictures. he won’t be scared, he’s too excited. I’M excited.

the puppies are 4 weeks old this morning. they eat mush from a cracked devilled eggs platter and bark and growl and wink and blink. adam has selected a large and fluffy one, not the largest but easily the most mellow – and dubbed him R2D2. now when there are puppy riots and escapes, he heads directly for the door and into the house. he wants snuggled and scratched, and to sprawl on the lap of my son, to make eye contact and sniff, to learn about their relationship. my son wants them to play all the time. he is tender and careful and comfortable – they make a good match. i like them together. every boy needs a dog.

that is all. and here are the corresponding photos:

 

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Guy Fawkes Day

weird friday shakes today – my brain is exhausted i think – plus i think i’m hallucinating, because i could SWEAR it’s snowing. what the fuck? i have to press my face on the window and let my jaw hang for a moment while i assess this situation…..

well, i think it WAS snowing.

the outsides of my wrists and the underside of my mandible (falling into top 5 favorite words of all time) are red from scratching, another sign of exhaustion. luckily i cut my nails way down so i’m not actually scratching myself. i just get so ITCHY when the battery light comes on. feel like that creepy running-down teddy ruxpin voice is going to come out every time i open my mouth, or the sound a tape makes when you fast-forward it – WWWHHHHEEEEEEEEE – shudders and bursts before randomness dissolves into nothing.  i’m repeating myself to the kiddo – i can tell because he doesn’t want to play with me, he’s content to just play cars, drums, and just throw me those exasperated toddler looks now and then when i suggest something unappealing. tonight is grandparent night, he’s ready for a break from me anyway.

birds and birds on the wires. the flocks of blackbirds have been moving through the last two days, moving like schools of fish.

gonna break into a ramble, better wrap this up. it’s friday. there’s a netflix movie in the mailbox, it’s either robin hood (eric’s pick) or equus (combo pick).  tonight i’ll sleep. tomorrow i’ll sleep in, then watch judi dench in my pajamas with a cup of coffee, and by afternoon i should have most of my brain matter gathered back up. some of it’s in the bathroom, some under the bed, a LOT is stuck in between the keys on this keyboard, and the rest is on the bottom of all our shoes….

close to fragmenting. have to stop internet communication for the weekend, everything comes out wrong when i’m tired. this is all coming out wrong. sounds like a major deal when it’s just an average burnout from a long 2 weeks. i’ll be 5X5 tomorrow.

WHAT DOES 5X5 ACTUALLY MEAN?? where did that come from? is it about a square??? anyway, time to burn some effigies or blow something up, all depends on which side i decide to choose for the day – american film version or popular british version. normally i side with whatever includes the most fire, but this really is a can’ t lose situation.

gasoline

everything in the house smells like gasoline this morning,  i keep lighting candles with contradictory scents. it isn’t my fault, i dreamed i went to a re-enactment (found the envelope with heather’s brickhouse measurements right before i went to bed) and only about half the people knew it was fake – big plantation house, not enough staff. simon baker thought it was real, he “lived” there.. there was something about who the baby belonged to, i kept trying to tell the melodramatically distraught grey-clad governess that it wasn’t real, but there were a couple of old women in touristy sweatshirts that chastised me over and over for ruining it.

dinner was poisened. several people actually died, and several people that hadn’t paid for the dinner inclusion thought it was spectacular. gaslighting after dark, and little by little the smell of gasoline, everywhere and on everything. after dark in the yard, crickets, dew on the ground, late, rose byrne/governess with a cardboard box of rags and a box of matches, and i yelled “they’ve soaked your clothes, don’t you realize they knew what you would do?” and she lit the match and the box caught and her skirt, and i was yanking and tearing at her clothes while she screamed and i screamed, and when she was finally naked and the box blazed and i was lost between real/fake, all the people that had gathered on the lawn were clapping, including simon baker and the old women in their keds.

i punched simon baker over and over in that ineffectual girly lower-arms-involved way, but woke up before anything was resolved.

still smells like gas.