a post that should be a text or a private journal entry

(writing directly into the window again (and boy is this one boring))

I shifted into something or someone different last night (early this morning) around 3:30 a.m. I finished watching a series on a streaming service that I can cancel now, and something about the imaginative premise and over-the-top plot and stereotyped characters thrilled me and made me feel like writing on my own projects more intensely. I decided that my work matters as much as other people’s work, and I should stop putting other people’s work before mine and should make my own a priority.

What? It’s a thing with me. I often put other people’s work before mine. That’s not such a bad thing if I’m getting paid, but usually I am not. I don’t mind except my life is finite, and I have poems and novels to write before it ends.

The Universe has been screaming this at me for three years and nearly ten months.

(so has my brother)

I made notes until about 5:30 a.m. on one project: fleshed out two characters, created part of the setting, decided I could merge this new idea with one I barely started that has great promise. Then I pretended to sleep.

Today I ran an errand (prescriptions) and discovered my car is snickering at me when I try to start her. Sometimes she starts like a newborn Civic; sometimes she says, “Oh, honey, I’m 18 years old — 97 in human years — I need a rest.”

It will be fine. I need a new starter that I can actually afford because a friend of a friend is going to install it for me on Monday when the shop where I ordered it gets it in, and I won’t have to pay labor (though I’ll get the friend a gift or buy him and his partner a fancy meal).

I’m blessed.

My life is magical.

[I got a wolf whistle in the grocery store the other day (older bearded gentleman with a young teen and a toddler). Maybe I’m not the hideous Medusa monster I imagine I am with my serpent hair all trapped in this long white braid that I now want to think of as having scales. Scaly crone. Medusa eyes.]

Now, because my tricksy car won’t tell me whether she wants to start or not, I can stay home or walk to places for things I need

or stay home

I haven’t eaten much today, just a small bowl of oatmeal eight or so hours ago, but now I’m so hungry that I’m not hungry.

(cheese and apple will do)

It’s a rest day from rowing, though I could change my mind about that. I did walk down to a little store and back, but I don’t even think I went a quarter of a mile (okay, it’s just a quarter of a mile there and a quarter of a mile back). Cars that drive along this street and need to turn into the wine store or the daycare resent pedestrians.

That I can be a pedestrian, walking, walking, without (much) pain, WALKING, makes me want to thumb my nose at them or pfft at them because, come on! Walkers were here well before drivers. And that I can walk again! Heaven. Heaven!

I think I’ll take a nap before I feed myself. I’m too tired to chew.

(Lately, every time I go to this not-to-be-mentioned chain store down the street, I buy a new journal/notebook. I do not need anymore new journals. But for $1.25? I can’t help myself.)