in brief

Monday, I turned 44 and I did all my favourite things, went to bed happy. Tuesday, I shared good news with the world, also did math with Cinder, was not so bad. Actually, it was AWFUL, and yet, not so bad. Wednesday, weepy, no real reason, every reason, maybe I missed you, maybe I missed me, but I went to yoga so that was good. Thursday, Cinder turned 16 and I felt so small and so shocked. My giant baby. Friday, a good day productive but well-paced. Saturday, overcast, and I don’t know, yoga, sheesha, or bed?

I chose Rex Stout.

numbers

This week, I turned 44 and baby turned 16, and my mother couldn’t stop saying, “44!” which I suppose I get—my being 44th is rather ardent proof she’s not…

When I look at Cinder, it’s not so much his age that astounds me as his size. I mean—I grew, HATCHED this giant. That used to be inside me, that came out of me. I am… well, astounded.

I’ve told you before, love, that existence or non-existence of God is irrelevant to me because, caterpillar. I mean: the metamorphosis of a caterpillar into a butterfly is miraculous and divine enough on its own—there is no need for more.

This week, I feel the same about the journey of the of the human from egg+sperm to baby, toddler, teenager!

It’s a little harder to see old age as a miracle and I suppose that is the task I will set myself as I age. I hope I will find something divine in wrinkles, brittle bones, and white hairs. And that aching knee and malfunctioning hip…

apropos nothing in particular

I miss you.

censored

[————————————]

Sometimes, I really miss the freedom of blogging anonymously.

xoxo
“Jane”

2018

The year started with a Monday; so does every week (Week 1: Transitions and Intentions)

Easier than you think, harder than I expected: a week in eleven stanzas (Week 2: Goodness and Selfishness)

A moody story (Week 3: Ebb and Flow)

Do it full out (Week 4: Passions and Outcomes)

The Buddha was a psychopath and other heresies (Week 5: No Cohesion)

A good week (Week 6: Execute, Regroup)

Killing it (Week 7: Exhaustion and Adrenaline)

Tired, petty, tired, unimportant (Week 8: Disappointment and Perseverance)

Professionals do it like this: [insert key scene here] (Week 9: Battle, Fatigue, Reward)

Reading Nabokov, crying, whining, regrouping (Week 10: Tears and Dreams)

Shake the Disease (Week 11: Sickness and Health… well, mostly sickness)

Cremation, not embalming, but I think I might live after all (Week 12: Angst and Gratitude)

Let’s pretend it all does have meaning (Week 13: Convalescence and Rebirth)

The cage is will, the lock is discipline (Week 14: Up and Down)

My negotiated self thinks you don’t exist–wanna make something of it? (Week 15: Priorities and Opportunity)

An introvert’s submission + radical prioritization in action, also pouting (Week 16: Ruthless and Weepy)

It’s about a radical, sustainable rhythm (Week 17: Sprinting and Napping)

It was a pickle juice waterfall but no bread was really harmed in the process (Week 18: Happy and Sad)

You probably shouldn’t call your teacher bad names, but sometimes, your mother must (Week 19: Excitement and Exhaustion)

Tell me I’m beautiful and feed me cherries (Week 20: Excitement and Exhaustion II)

A very short post about miracles, censorship, change: Week 21 (Transitions and Celebrations)

—->>>POSTCARDS FROM CUBA

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