BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


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If I Had a Magic Wand

Magic-Wand-Lower-Your-A1cGetting out of bed this morning, I realized that I’m on day four of feeling like poop. The hacking is getting worse, the eye that turned red yesterday is oozy, and the nose that keeps running is sore. Ugh.

“I wish I could just go back to bed.”

I shuffled down the hall to wake my son and noticed how disgusting his bathroom is. Spattered mirror, dirty sink, and God-only-knows what might be growing in the toilet and tub.

“I wish he would clean that bathroom.”

As I let the dog out into the yard, a cold blast of air greeted me. Great. I have playground duty this morning.

“I wish it were warmer outside.”

I fed the dog and filled her water bowl, careful not to knock over the glasses in the kitchen sink.

“I wish these dishes were done and put away.”

I glanced at the clock and realized that I could probably squeeze in a quick post, but I wasn’t sure what to write about.

“I wish I had better ideas.”

For inspiration, I clicked on my newsĀ feed. Stories of refugees, illness, poverty, and desperation filled my screen.

“I have no problems.”


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Two Ways of Looking at Monday

Monday morning, ugh.

I’m not a fan of Mondays. I’m not a fan of transitions, in general. It took me a long time to realize this about myself, but it’s true.

I used to think that I just didn’t like going to bed, and I don’t, but I don’t like waking up either. I don’t like getting into the shower, but getting out is no fun either. Same with a swimming pool. I love being wet, that’s not the issue. It’s the getting wet that I don’t like, and the getting dry too. Transitions.

The transition from the workweek to the weekend doesn’t seem to bother me as much, though. Go figure. The opposite, however, is a bitch.grumpy_cat_cutie_mark__canon__by_lahirien-d71u11w

Here’s today’s Monday thought catalog:

  1. I have playground duty this morning. Ugh.
  2. It’s cold outside (well, relatively speaking, I know…54 isn’t really that cold), and I have playground duty.
  3. It poured last night, leaving the fields wet and muddy, and it’s cold, and I have playground duty.
  4. My math tests didn’t quite finish scoring themselves.
  5. My students are still struggling terribly with division.
  6. This week we start the dreaded fractions unit.
  7. After school I have a dental appointment.

I realize that not one of these things, by itself, is that big a deal. In fact, the whole collection of them isn’t awful. It’s all in the framing. Maybe I ought to try something like this instead:KTje8beGc

  1. I have the chance to get some fresh air before school and chat with the kids.
  2. It’s a brisk morning, so I’ll want to walk around and get some exercise while I’m outside.
  3. There will be plenty of kids on the blacktop to visit with.
  4. I have some time this afternoon to finish scoring the math tests.
  5. I’ve pinpointed the kids who need the most help with division.
  6. Fractions are necessary and kids generally enjoy learning about them, at least at first.
  7. I have good dental insurance and a terrific dental office to take care of me.

That second list is a lot more palatable. I think I’ll go with that one today. I hope your transition into the work week is a smooth one and that you’re able to see your little challenges as speed bumps rather than mountains.


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The Business of Writing

Jan 7. Beaver Pond Forest.ottawasgreatforestWriting, constantly writing
Get it Down
Draw it Out
Feel the words as they Flow
or Grind
or Pulsate
Breathe them in
Allow them to just be for a while
Exhale them
Bleed them if necessary

Sometimes it’s so easy
They flow from brain to fingertips
Other times they have to be pulled out
Yanked
Ripped
Excavated
With a rope thick as my arm
A coil of dense wire
An impossibly heavy iron chain

Are those words inelegant?
Flawed?
Damaged somehow?
Or do those rough-hewn words hold their own poetry?
Different than the silky thoughts of their more manageable cousins

This business of poetry
It seems like a cheat
Just snippets of words
Punctuation optional
Just meaning, nothing more
Style be damned
Conventions? Not today

The writing is a pipeline
A conduit
A path
Sometimes paved
Usually not

Jarring
Jagged
Rugged
Decayed in places
Pristine in others

Sometimes flat, cool, peaceful
Effortless
Most times steep, rocky, even painful
Exhausting and all consuming
But in the end worth the toil

This place I go
Is sometimes Lonely
Sorrowful
Desolate and Deserted
Terrifying
Disturbing even

Usually, though, it’s just Quiet
This place where hopes, dreams, wishes, and fears all meet

Like his forest
With the path grown over
It still exists but it has been neglected
However, neglect has not harmed it
It has preserved it
Kept it Sacred
Kept out the trespassers who don’t understand
Who don’t respect the Sacred
Who can’t see or feel or know why it’s important

Are my thoughts preserved? My fears and hopes, are they Sacred?
Or are they stagnant?
Do they develop and grow and evolve?
Am I walking in circles revisiting the same tired worn places over and over?
Like tracing a scar that has healed long ago
Or am I breaking new ground?
And if it is new ground, is it leading me in the right direction?
How will I know?
How can I tell?