Doing White Dress but in a contralto this morning, semi-talking, squealing here and there, working on control.
As if.
Ever.
I hit the button on the keurig this morning and walked away. Came back to coffee all over the place because I forgot to put my mug underneath it and had to spend fifteen minutes scrubbing and now I'm sad that my ego rose up a little yesterday and this morning my heart snapped back. Never get too invested in the smallest successes, it said. Remember who you are, it chided, gently. Some days my heart is my singular refuge. Some days it is enemy number one.
And no, it's not my brain talking.You only wish you could hear what's going on in there. It's a whole separate monologue that never shuts off but some times I can tune it right out. Sometimes the volume knob gets bumped and it just turns into a feedback whine. Sometimes it's pink noise.
And sometimes I chuck it all out and replace it with a piano or headphones and someone else's words.
I was so proud. I cleaned and refilled and rehung all of the bird feeders. We only put them out in daylight, here. The first hummingbird of our season came by yesterday to say hi but his feed was stale and so he didn't stay, even as I promised to fix it. We had the work-guys come on a rare Saturday to do some things we wanted done and Ransom wouldn't let us touch. We lifted Henry's spirits and played with the dog a lot.
It was sunny.
After dinner I cut down my paintbrushes and sanded them round again. I don't have any use for brushes that are two feet long. I bump into them as I paint. I knock them over. It's not as if they are balanced or I need the length to reach or I like long graceful instruments. I just want things that fit me. So I was feeling pretty proud when Lochlan came out to the studio. I've been saying I was going to do it for years and years. So many stabby bruises. So many knocked-into palettes and spilled cups of brushes. Fuck it. I'm fixing all the things before the second act. It's going to be great.
***
Sam says I should be singing Tulsa Jesus Freak today. All my sensitive boys love Lana and have actually been listening, while I get distracted and then just end up defaulting to Tool or Demon Hunter half the time anyway.
I let him preach directly to me this morning over my second, successful coffee this time. He loves the audience I give him. If it's engaging I am rapt. If it's not I am absent. Then he'll tweak his words for effect from the feedback. I point out an audience of one with a specific fetish for bottomless emotion could possibly be the worst audience and instead he should be kissing the hand that feeds him. He just stared at me in his patient, peaceful way and said he planned to live an authentic life and he's not looking back.
What an inspiration.