More than Halfway

Can you believe it is already August!? Or, depending on how you're coping with some measure of isolation, quarantine, pandemic situations, it is "just" August!?  

In either case we're more than half-way through 2020.

Outside of Covid news, there is the election.  I feel like that should be typed in all caps, bold, underlined, and highlighted; THE ELECTION! 

I'm getting the sense that folks are trying to hold on, trying to stay a course, counting on THE ELECTION  to be the catalyst that changes the course of where we are and where we may be headed, which is nowhere good. 

Simply put, we're in deep doo-doo and it's getting deeper.  

I can't talk about it much because every time I do. . . rage.  

In other news...well, there isn't any other news, really.  I'm a year older, my son is exploring musical expression, my daughter is frustrated with work and her car. In the meantime we are masking, distancing, keeping our respective worlds small, and adapting.

Illinois has 195,00 confirmed Covid-19 cases.  Over two thousand new cases were reported yesterday.  There have been 7,846 deaths as of the tally reported yesterday. 

I heard a song a couple of weeks ago, a new release by newly named, "The Chicks" titled, "Set Me Free" and is a haunting love-gone-wrong, nasty dissolution anthem. But I heard it as a battle cry to be released from the horror of  45.

Decency would be for you to sign and release me. If you ever loved me, then will you do this one last thing? Set me free, set me free. 

    

Too Long

It was my intent to be back long before now. But the last couple of weeks have been, in a word, crappy. Without going into an inordinate amount of detail, which is torturous for me, just so you know, I'll just say fifty-three year old women should not be having periods. Okay, maybe I shouldn't speak (or type) for ALL fifty-three year old women. But, for sure and for certain THIS fifty three-year old woman should most definitely, absolutely, positively NOT be having a period. Ever again. Please. Thank You. 

Yes, yes, I should be careful of what I ask for. I could be trading one painfully, inconvenient, uncomfortable, mind-numbing, aggravating event for another. Still, I ask. 

The hereafter never-mentioned-again period is not (in and of itself) the only cause for crappy feelings over the past couple of weeks. There were the usual subjects; frustrations at work, weather, commuting debacles, minor household upheavals, my hair, the impending holidays, grief, wardrobe malfunctions (fucking socks) . . . quite possibly all exacerbated by . . . yeah, that. 

Overall crappy feeling aside, there were some inspirational touches, some, "I'm grateful to be here in this time, in the place" moments, some, "let's forge ahead" attitudinal brio, if you will. This video was such a touch. It is long but if you have or find the time, it is worth it.  

Aging in general and my aging specifically has been front and center these past couple of weeks and not in such a kind way, thanks to the screaming muscles and achy joints, among other things. The Fabulous Fashionistas came into my time and space and just the right time an space. 

The physical aches and pains are still in residence and seem destined to visit for quite a while longer. On the flip-side, the emotional crappy is lifting. Some. 

Fried Days

Okay, I'll say it here and now. July has basically been a bust with regard to my goals.  I mean, for fuck's sake it's been hot, beyond hot. And when it hasn't been hot it has been storming. And when it hasn't been storming, it has just been . . .

BLAH.

Well, blah for me.

Not so much the heat, well yeah the heat, but because of the heat the usual, 'unable to sleep through the night' plague is even worse.

Which means getting up (waking up not the issue) to don some clothes, get on the bike and ride, ride, ride, Sally Deborah ride, is just . . . well, it hasn't been happening with any regularity. Or, at all.

And I bought new gloves and padded shorts too.

Not riding wouldn't be so bad, but I'm eating horribly. Well, not so much horrible choices but just too damn much. Over-stuffing. And I'm drinking a hella beer.

HELLA!

Not riding (or walking beyond what is absolutely necessary) eating and drinking too much wouldn't be oh, SO bad, but on top of all that, feeling guilty about it . . . I can't flippin' think.

It took too many days (cha-ching to the library coffers) to finish a 378 page book. I saw the movie for fuck's sake. I KNEW (basically) how it would end. And it wasn't like it was (at) all challenging. Come to think of it, maybe, 'can't flipin' think' is not precisely accurate. I. Can't. Focus.!.!

My brain is just fried (hehehehe, I typed, 'friend')....anyhoo...F.R.I.E.D and speaking of, fried green tomatoes, now, YES PLEASE, and while we're at it, fried pickles. EXCEPT for the variety I had at Seven Ten in Hyde Park many months ago. They were awful.

That said, July isn't over. I still have a chance. I have to shake this . . . whatever. I can't change the heat, the  job, any other stuff proffering the 'blues' just my reaction to it, them.

Each day is a brand new day. Welcome to the end of Wednesday and (plus) 100 heat index.

Bring on Thursday.

PS: special note to newest recruit who once gave me HOT SEX and who  is no longer, technically new . . .well, she is, but isn't; it's a long story . . . anywhoo, note to newest recruit who is now a bona fide friend . . . THEY  ARE FUCKING IDIOTS!!! 

This was a day, not THAT day, but . . a day

Some days. Some days. Some days defy description
understanding.Some days scream for a re-wind button, or better yet, delete, or at the very least a re-booting.

One day you'll look back on a day like one of those days and you'll frown, you'll shudder, and you'll be thinking thank goodness there weren't more like that in the mix.

Some days: Finding Her Here*
I am becoming the woman I've wanted,
grey at the temples,
soft body, delighted,
cracked up by life
with a laugh that's known bitter
but, past it, got better,
knows she's a survivor--
that whatever comes,
she can outlast it.
I am becoming a deep
weathered basket.

I am becoming the woman I've longed for,
the motherly lover
with arms strong and tender,
the growing up daughter
who blushes surprises,
I am becoming full moons
and sunrises.

I find her becoming
this woman I've wanted,
who knows she'll encompass,
who knows she's sufficient,
knows where she's going
and travels with passion.
Who remembers she's precious,
but knows she's not scarce---
who knows she is plenty,
plenty to share.

is just what is needed to shake the crap of some days, renewing for the next, hoping, expecting better. Some days are indeed better and some others are simply, the best.

*Jayne Relaford Brown

DAGNABBIT

Driver A was in the right lane of a two lane roadway, travel in both lanes, west-bound. Driver B was in the left lane 1/4 car length behind driver A. *I* was standing on the median between the service drive and the 2 lane west-bound traffic, waiting for traffic to clear so I could continue crossing the street(s).

It is just beyond 5:00 p.m. so traffic is heavy and near the intersection where I'm waiting to cross the street stands a Montess*rri school, parents and care-givers double parked retrieving youngsters, buckling in youngsters, admonishing youngsters, bribing youngsters to get in the freakin' car. It is a rather congested intersection at just past 5:00 p.m. I know better than to come this way, but I was taking this different route home and had forgotten.

Driver A and driver B ride along (I pick them up two blocks away) nearly side-by-side, with driver B fading behind ever so often. As they get closer to the intersection where I am waiting to cross the street(s) and where all the double-parked, blinkin' flippin' youngster activity is going on, something strikes me. I don't know what but before I could could think about what I see driver A veer to her left, prepping to make a left turn from the RIGHT lane. She nearly clipped driver B who veered to her left, right toward where I was standing on the median between the service drive and two lanes of west-bound traffic they were traveling.

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!! That would be me.

Horns blaring, middle fingers raised, traffic stalled, Montess*rri youngsters, parents, and caregivers paused to take note of possible horror.

I've been hit before, it hurt like a sum-bitch. And like THAT time, I was holding food in my hand, well, in a bag. Though, unlike that time it wasn't fried chicken from the colonel. It was 3 lbs. of ground beef and six cans of cat food.

My life didn't flash before my eyes. What flashed was that I was likely going to lose the ground beef and maybe a couple of the cans. Not to mention being laid up for a while. Shit. Fuck. Damn.

Hi-ever, I didn't get hit this time. Thankfully, driver b had just enough distance between her and A and possessed enough skill and instinct to avoid being hit and hitting someone namely, ME.

Thanks much to driver B and her skills.

Driver A can go suck it.

image cred

Stimulus Query # 200

Paranoia strikes deep in the heartland

But I think it's all overdone

Exaggerating this and exaggerating that

They don't have no fun

*Paul Simon's Have A Good Time