Spring break

The kids just had two weeks of Spring break. I'm on my own useless break too. A break in the action. The only thing on my dance card is another surgery on April 1. No pomp and circumstance. I think my doctors have forgotten about me and I'm kind of forgetting that I have (had?) breast cancer and still have surgery and radiation and many many many hundreds of hormone bending druggy pills (maybe over 3500 of them - how big a jar would that be?) to take. But right now I can hide and pretend none of that is true or real or coming. I'm lulled. And dulled. This part is boring, frankly. And you'd think "but this is the GOOD kind of boring!" wouldn't you? But it's not because I feel paused. Not poised. Not poised for action or in any way. Unseen, unheard, not very anything.

I want to cast off this current job I have of being a cancer patient, yet I cannot yet. So right now I don't feel like much of anything. Even writing that is so boring that I feel like throwing my phone across the room and quitting my blog altogether. However that would go against my goal of writing a blog.

I've been listening to lots of lovely loudy  music lately with Violet. She is my contemporary and I'm glad that I made her, to join me.

I've been writing a lot of letters and cards and weird little creaky poems and I've been reading lots of books and magazines and stories and books and more books (such good books) and doing lots of crossword puzzles - cramming and eating and spewing my drug of choice: words words words. I eat them and shed them. Uselessly? Too bad whatever the reason the result is, it's my life. My habitual me.

Too many of the word "I" here. I am with and for and about many other people and things too. Spring break included a parade of beautiful girls coming in and out of my kitchen my house my stairways my bathroom my shower my minivan my couch my refrigerator my computer and my front door. I'm so grateful for the beautiful bouncy bubbling barbaric babbling girls that I have and the little friends they bring and drop at my feet like kittens for me to put in my nest and rearrange and tend. We have lots of fun. I am privileged and honored and so so so enjoyed being the mother of girls with fun girls and boys as friends. They are my party of choice.

I like to craft little wordy things for friends. I'm looking for utility so if you want me I'll write one for you. Here is a wordy thing I wrote about Vicki a while ago  (and I know her and we are similar so I'm in it too) - the last line is my state of mind now:

Dark Girl Sunday

I am boring

sometimes sad

she said in her head.

As someone walked by and looked at her thinking what an utterly charming person that dark haired little yustwanian person must be with her darling little three baby salads on toast points all eggy and tuna delighty and toasty.

Even the way she eats is

entrancing and her scarf says a lot about her.

I don't really care about most things

she continued in her head not

knowing that indeed she did but her radiator needed replacing.

She ran hot when she should be cold and vice

versa

Grapefruit soda is a sign of deep charisma

she’d forgotten.

The toms muddled in her head like the bottom of a mojito where the glass muddler smashes the mint and sugar, crystals crashing into green cells popping them;

the camp bell the pine street the brother so fair, the big one

and not last nor least the dad one.

They messed me up she asked herself, maybe

maybe not.

I’m not sure what gets me excited anymore

she pondered, once again going inside herself instead of noticing the merician purple flowered pictures and the breezy breeze and the crowds of people who could not take their eyes off of her coffee grounded eyebrows, her queenly fingers, her bubbling brook voice that was silver in color.

I need more interesting friends that live around me

she thought but forgot that modern day moves us all around and maybe next door is a wise witch

Maybe I do not try hard enough with anything she also

thought and this could be but really the world is who doesn’t try enough for her, for her the world should bow down, for she is lovely.

I do love my dog oz the oz of oz land and I don’t mean Australia he is so

short he falls short he gets up short but so understands me and she didn’t know maybe but that is

good.

Good enough.