beach sand

it crept home in her sandals and the folds of her clothes. it spilled and sprinkled itself around her apartment. it seemed by the end of the summer there were dunes in her kitchen and drifts in her livingroom.

the new kitten

her sister's cat was expressive. if it found you or something you did disagreeable it let you know. no warnings. no conversations. a direct approach. if you pissed it off it.. pissed... on... something you cared about. your shoes. your clean laundry. your favourite book. it didn't discern.

her sister started a new job and stopped being home as much. the cat was left alone. it did not appreciate the newfound hours of solitude. it did not crave silence and reflection. it did not want her to leave so much. so it began to express its displeasure. cleaning up pee became a second part-time job for her sister.

so she got a new kitten to see if that would help. a friend for the cat. a distraction. a companion during long lonely days.

and now she was cleaning up the pee from two cats - desperate to litter train the one and placate the other.

festival culture

she'd never been before. it was truly like another planet. half dress multi-colour painted bodies dancing in time to the pulse and beat of the mainstage. hulahooping fire wielding dancers near the drum circle. children in the mudslides. babies on blankets, on hips and shoulders, on breasts. food that was vegan. food that was locally grown. food that was gluten free. food that had names she couldn't pronounce and ethnic origins she was likely to misremember. and there were unspoken rules. who could lay their tarp where. heights for chairs. shower and bathing rituals. male and female spaces. she felt half overwhelmed and half anthropologist. she felt out of place and excited all at once. she got lost. she lost her sense of caring. she lost herself in the rhythm of the music.

sawdust

power tools scared her. she knew that if you followed instructions and took safety precautions you'd be ok. she knew it but she didn't truly believe it. she had seen a horror movie as a child where a drill was used to torture an innocent. that might be part of it. the best funny thing though, was that she had inadvertently chopped off the tip of her left index finger with an axe while cutting kindling and yet had no fear of sharp knives or blades. the even funnier thing was that the tip of her finger grew back.

socks

No matter how much time and energy she invested - counting them in the basket, again on the way to the dryer, matching them in her drawer... There always seemed to be one or two strays. Where did all the missing socks end up? She imagines a one legged creature creeping into her bedroom and
selecting it's favourites (always hers too). Could she placate it with some other offering? Would the wily sockhound never be sated?

Third time's a charm?

Tonight a few words, tomorrow more, eventually an hour a day?

Write more. Write more. You've got to practice if you want to improve and she really did want to improve.

This is possible. It will happen this time.

tv superstars

she felt a little bit embarrased about her obsession with reality television, especially contests. she couldn't sing or dance herself. she wasn't talented. but she really did love to watch people try to win big on tv. she got so excited for them.

time zones

it hasn't been invented yet but when time travel does start to happen will time zones be as relevant.

long distance call...

she had to dial three times before she correctly got every number from the calling card and the long distace country code and the mobile number all in the proper order, so by the time he answered she was already a bit flustered. hearing his voice after so much time was cotton candy at the midway. she dove into the sweetness knowing full well that the toothache would be around the corner. they laughed and shared gossip and caught up on all the minutia of their lives speaking rapidly and aware that minute by minute they were running out of time. then the line was interrupted with the one minute warning bleep so they sang eachother their iloveyous and sent wishes to everyone else they collectively knew. when the line went dead she had tears in her eyes but so much joy in her heart.

cheating

she felt a bit sick to her stomach. she listened and smiled and nodded and tried to look normal and yet she was starting to get more and more angry. I told you I know his wife, she thought, so why are you confiding this all in me? How would she be able to look him in the eye. her friend continued the detailed description of her illicit affair celebrating each stolen kiss and all she wanted to do was scream: homewrecker! liar! cheat! whore! but instead she reached over and poured herself another cup of coffee, pasted her smile back on more firmly while her back was turned and continued to nod along with the retelling and retelling and retelling ...

if money grew on trees

she daydreams about homes and travels and providing endowments and bursaries for worthy causes. she wonders which friends and family members would come calling. she pretends she would be philanthropic and good, but she knows deep down she'd spend the first year a glutton and splurge-fiend.

.

She wasn't sure when she had started calling them her "moon tithings" but she really loved the sound of it. It felt connected to Mother Earth. It felt natural and clean and sacred. She celebrated her womanhood and considered these days of blood letting a kind of sacrifice to her soul. A reminder of new beginnings and a reminder of the powers of creation that were embodied within her. The cramping and bloating however she could do without.

hair spray

She hated the daily battle she had with her hair. No matter what style her head insisted each morning on a new crop of cow licks and curls for her to try and negotiate into something resembling sane. She'd tried straigtening rods, gel, creams, waxes, specialty combs and myriad as-seen-on-TV products to no avail. The only trick that seemed surefire was to soak her hair in hairspray, sculpt it into shape and then gently blowdry and this always took at least an hour. She realized that if she was willing to shave her head she'd save about 33$ a week on product alone. She wondered how much extra she could save on concealer and eye treatments if she could wake up an hour later every day. Shave your head and buy a bus? Mayhaps she would.

Take two...

The firsttime hadn't stuck. She thought she was committed. She thought she'd be true.But within a couple weeks it was over. Tossed aside like yesterday's laundry.kaput.

A lot ofher relationships throughout her life had begun in October. So far none of themwere that lifelong heartmate stay together until-death-do-us-part sort. Why shethought her relationship with writing would be any different was beyond her.The only permanent commitments she had ever made in her life were her tattoos(and one of those was now a cover-up).

But asmuch as her fickle nature was woven into her soul, so was her propensity toforgive herself, and so she took a deep breath one mid May morning and startedagain.

“WriteSomething Every Day”, her new mantra. She could do it. She would do it.

A year this time, she thought.That's attainable. I'll do it for a year.