March 15th, 2015

2013, cyd, new

Okay, I love my play list right now.

It's treating me so well. I want to get up and dance. But, no. I would scare the cats.

At 9:45 this evening, this night, if you must, it was still warm enough to smoke outside in a tank top and bare feet. No slippers, no sweatshirt. Just jeans and an olive men's working tank. The kind that looks good on skinny girls without muffin tops or Buddha bellies. But I wear them anyway when I'm around the house because who's going to see me?

And I'm losing weight in my face. I didn't realize that my cheekbones had been so obscured over the last year and a half. I was going through selfies. I know it seems a lot of them seem to end up, but about1% actually get posted here, Facebook or Twitter. The rest, I just archive and study later. Like today.

I also noticed something about my hair. When my mom was my age, 45, she had a 25 year old daughter, and a passel of children of various colors ranging from 9 to 18 years younger than the 25 year old. She was salt and pepper on top. Mostly salt. She had started going grey early, and so had my Nana, so I figured I would. But my roots have grown out about 6 inches, and it's all rat fur brown, there are stray grey hairs here and there, but there are no gatherings of them, no stripes, nothing. If my natural hair color weren't so damned unflattering to my coloring (DNA kind of missed something there, I got my Papa's other traits, I should have gotten his blonde hair), I would just grow it out and wear it. But no, it makes me look horrible. With sun or without. Tan or pale. Well, I can't tan, I just burn. Swedish, they must have a word for what happens when they are hit with direct sunlight.

So, weird about the grey hair thing, huh? I guess kids do make a difference. Pity, that.

Bagira is curled up in the folding chair with all the throw pillows, what is the relative temperature? Trick question. Chewy is on the Comfy Chair. I know, I am a cruel mistress.

The music just gets better and better. I truly believe you should always follow Adele's "Cold Shoulder" from 19, with Joe Stummer's "Love Kills", from the Sid & Nancy Soundtrack. That's how this all started. It's all been a fabulous roller coaster of feelings I no longer feel because of my meds. Doesn't mean I don't like to revisit the music. Those three days I was off Cybalta? I wrote the one and only poem I had written since I started taking Cymbalta. And now that the Cybmata has built back up in my system, words once again fail me. The price I'm paying for this tenuous hold on sanity is my creativity.

We're so busy getting me to take a shower or feed myself or do my assigned chores, that there is no time for us to nurture my artistic side. Like clearing out the studio of all the shit that has collected there in the past year. It just isn't a priority.

This weekend was hell. But it's over now. I have a fresh pot of coffee. After restarting the coffee maker 7 times. It is either very mad at us, or dying an undignified death.

Doc was a little drunk one of his days off and let it slip that he DID in fact leave the real ignition key with B and was, himself, worried B was out driving it and that was why he hadn't heard from B all week. He was two whiskeys in, I just let it slide. I've come to understand in the years with him, and this may not be true for everyone, but for us, there are little lies we tell each other. And sometimes we get caught but most times we don't. And most of it we just let go. That is the secret to our relationship. It may not be the secret to a happy marriage, because if you look at us as husband/wife, we are Epic Fail. If you look at us as Big Brother/Little Sister, we are aces. Neither of us had conventional sibling relationships, though we both had siblings. So we've just thrown this show together, and taken it on the road. The road ended in Las Vegas.

So much NOT SUCK on the play list. It is reminding me of songs I forgot I had that I love.

"Being with you girl
Is like being low
Hey hey hey
Like being stoned."
-- Guess, I can't be arsed to look