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1. In 1981 I was an eskimo & Wile E Coyote.
2. A punkin’ who stood proud & naked
3. In a forty-six inch plastic pool.
4. Five years later I was eight years old.
5. And losing a mother.
6. I have a beautiful, beautiful story to tell.
7. Laced with miracles, messes, promises, prophecy &
8. The type of healing acquired by faith.
9. I am the daughter of a believer.
10. Of a Pentecostal preacher.
11. Who found salvation while holding
12. a .357 Magnum to his head
13. while my brother & I slept.
14. Years later, that same man picked up a crow bar
15. pried steel, tugged & fought & fought
16. because my body was inside a blue neon, broken
17. and I just wanted him to hold my hand.
18. There are pieces of my life I won’t let myself remember.
19. And if, by chance, I submit to memory
20. Late at night, when my mind races
21. One pale blue toilet bowl keeps me company
22. While it holds my insides
23. & i cry at it’s feet.
24. The core of me is filled with guilt & regret.
25. Because, although I am quick to forgive others
26. I rarely ever forgive myself.
27. Instead, I replay scenarios in my head.
28. Constantly wondering, ‘would this have turned out differently if i had only…’
29. I have trouble accepting that things are how they are.
30. That my experience can’t be altered.
31. I have trouble letting go.
32. Giving up.
33. Giving in.
34. I have always been the underdog.
35. And a fighter.
36. Tonight I jumped guardrails, faced traffic
37. to take black & white photographs
38. of road signs that mean something to me.
39. I’m afraid that one day, everything I love will be gone.
40. So I document this life
41. as best as I can
42. with pictures & words & color
43. because twenty years from now I may not have the boy
44. But I will have a photograph of the field
45. we walked through, holding hands
46. after discarding our clothes in the barn
47. and propositioning each other in Irish accents
48. the night I lost my virginity.
49. Twenty years from now I may not remember
50. how good it was to be twenty-five
51. drunk with my best friend
52. in Wal-Mart buying duct tape & plastic
53. because we smashed a convertible window
54. and need to cover it at 3:00 in the morning
55. before rain sets in.
56. Or how hard it is to be twenty-five
57. And watching everyone around me give birth
58. heat oatmeal, raise families, while i
59. struggle with the concept of love and wonder
60. what went wrong
61. what happened
62. is it foolish to believe
63. in an ee type of love
64. in my grandparent’s type of love
65. in a type of love where
66. sixty-three years isn’t long enough
67. to love one man.
68. I admit I don’t know anything.
69. That I watched a boy I loved
70. devour his dreams, develop tics, give his everything away.
71. I watched his skin slowly fade
72. And thought that my love might be enough.
73. I wanted to save him.
74. I wanted to heal his little boy traumas.
75. I wanted to heal his memory of fists & blood & never being good enough.
76. I wanted the little battered girl inside of me to mend him.
77. I wanted to mend myself.
78. And he just wanted to forget.
79. I once thought that I would live my entire life bearing the weight of other’s sorrows.
80. That if I listened long enough, loved hard enough, took it all inside,
81. I might remedy some wrongs.
82. So I counted cuts on 17 year old wrists, 36 to be exact.
83. Bandaged burns, applied ointment.
84. Listened to stories of self-mutilation.
85. Gave hugs. Rides. Cried.
86. Called social services.
87. Took faces into my hands.
88. Listened while she held a gun
89. on the other end of the phone line.
90. Said I see you.
91. Said I love you.
92. Over & over.
93. Meant every word of it.
94. Because twenty years from now when I’m listening to your story
95. or telling mine in third person
96. I don’t want to question if I could have done more,
97. said more, been more
98. I want to be the woman who survived
99. all the moments of impact
100. and kept on loving with a love
101. acquired by faith.
1. I haven’t written anything lately.
2. That bothers me but
3. I’ve been painting and
4. Years ago I realized it’s a creative cycle of mine:
5. Live in words for one month (or two)
6. Then become overwhelmed by images.
7. I think it has to do with the Gemini & Cancer in me.
8. I’m not really certain though.
9. I’m indecisive.
10. When shopping I select items on a whim.
11. Then put them back on the shelf when I’m ready to check out.
12. I’ve worked in a department store.
13. Sometimes it bothers me not to put stray items in their place.
14. Sometimes I’m like that with men.
15. But only if they’re–arrogant, conceited, shitty, try to take the upper hand.
16. I stand my ground. Assume a role.
17. Become unbreakable for one moment in time.
18. I can be sweet as pie or stubborn as hell depending on mood and/or shifts in the wind.
19. As a teenager I was hell bent on saving the world.
20. I didn’t understand that the world wasn’t asking to be saved.
21. Five years ago I began working with emotionally disturbed / delinquent kids.
22. They have been my life but
23. I’m thinking about letting that go.
24. In two hours I will decide which direction my life will take.
25. After I make my decision I’ll have to spend a few days alone.
26. Some might refer to it as moping and crying.
27. I like to call it processing.
28. Sometimes I have to spend days processing just so I can
29. breathe again.
30. I grieve in private.
31. It’s a trait learned from my father and my grandmother.
32. By grieving in private we are strong for others.
33. I try to put on my strong face quite often.
34. Especially when I feel anything but.
35. Today I spent a few hours listening to my father tell stories.
36. He is a natural story teller and I try to memorize his expressions, voices, maneurisms.
37. I know that one day he won’t be around to tell anymore stories.
38. That thought breaks my heart.
39. As most of my world is somehow woven around him.
40. He has been my mother & father & healer.
41. Spiritual adviser & so much more.
42. When I was eight he carried my sick mother through the doors of a hospital.
43. Spent one winter driving back & forth & worrying about his wife.
44. He took her back to the hospital later that summer.
45. He didn’t bring her home.
46. Part of me still aches
47. But I’ve learned to bury it underneath such love.
48. I try to connect the things of my past with current habits.
49. I’m an obsessive collector.
50. I don’t like to call it hoarding but I believe that’s what it is.
51. Everything I own has some sentiment attached.
52. Every rock, stick, book, dried flower–a piece of memory embedded within its surface.
53. I collect antiques imagining the women whose families grew up moving around the pieces.
54. The hands that have dusted / swiped in anger, boredom, need.
55. It makes me feel connected to a world.
56. To a history that may not be my own.
57. But is still history and needs to be honored
58. in some small way.
59. I’m terribly afraid of making the wrong decisions.
60. Of being trapped in a career / love / relationship that might someday
61. suffocate me until I have to leave.
62. I’ve left before.
63. The look on his face and the way he told me it was okay
64. broke my heart.
65. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt anyone.
66. But I cannot settle for something that doesn’t make me blissfully happy.
67. At 67 I see myself sitting on a porch swing.
68. In a tie-dyed dress
69. sipping homemade wine
70. enjoying the moment
71. pondering flower beds
72. and what my hands will create next.
73. The little old man picking his guitar while I hum along
74. is not a permanent fixture in this vision.
75. I don’t know if I will ever find anyone to suit all my quirks.
76. But I would like a co-conspirator.
77. A collaborator.
78. We could write poetry for a few months.
79. Then split canvas and paint.
80. Communicate with our eyes.
81. Sit in silence.
82. Wake up each morning pinching each other with our toes.
83. Laugh until noon.
84. Then piddle around in antique shops.
85. wood shops.
86. flower beds / herb gardens / blackberry vines.
87. There are so many things left to do.
88. I doubt I’ll ever get around to everything in my head.
89. Right now I have four different projects going.
90. A huge decision weighing on my shoulders
91. And everyone around me seems to be pregnant.
92. Someday I wouldn’t mind 3-4-5 kids
93. playing outside in their very own boxcar
94. while I’m inside baking & cooking & making things pretty.
95. But I’m not ready for babies & diapers & 3 AM feedings.
96. I still feel like such a little girl myself
97. playing dress-up in women’s clothes
98. necklaces too big for my eight year old neck,
99. collecting chipped tea-cups
100. because I want to believe my memories
101. won’t ooze through the crack.
Venus & Rebecca
Gemini & Cancer
and my grandmother’s
fresh-picked turnip greens.
( I am 9 layers of deep love. )
in my simplicity,
I am a wanderer of inner worlds;
in search of purity,
uncovering my own truths,
wrestling with inadequacy
and trying like hell to make myself
( I am six variations of sound. )
I am sometimes a blue girl
with yellow trim
in self-portraits I release,
at midnight by the light of an oil lamp;
A hanger of daffodils and lilacs,
I hoard moments,
wrap them around me
like a crazy patchwork quilt
and choose to be comforted by the softness
instead of suffocated by the weight.
( I am 3 generations of women who could not speak. )
Stubborn and insightful
and capable of becoming something more
than what I allow myself to see,
I am my father’s daughter;
a teller of stories, a seer
the girl who knows that there is
something more to this life,
the girl who believes that god resides
in the way we look at each other,
the way we rub insides without ever
touching the skin.
( I am still the little girl crying for her mother
and the bigger girl still grieving for that loss. )
I write when I shouldn’t.
Refuse to speak when I should
and wonder if anyone will ever be interested enough
to glance below the exterior,
though I realize that your perception, his perception, her perception
won’t alter the core of who I am.
( I am 23 years of re-shaped awkwardness. )
Guided by instinct,
unable to see how emotion is separate from thought,
I live by lyric, swim in metaphor
understand that the feeling in my belly
heightens or bubbles or retreats depending on
the ferocity or existence of rain.
( I have a tendency to dance in my wetness. )
In love with e.e.
I swoon when it comes to words
and understand that the expression
of creativity through song, or pen
or paint, or changing guitar chords,
is, for me, much like foreplay
in the sense that creativity of one,
inspires passion in the next,
while new passion in itself,
births new creativity.
( I feel fire in my cheeks. )
A new woman,
I am learning to love the little girl inside,
speaking for her, understanding
letting her try on her mother’s clothes,
and convincing her
to get comfortable in my skin.
I am unraveling mystery,
reveling in it,
washing my hair in contentment
and wondering exactly where this road
I am three steps into forever.
Two steps into believing
and swimming through the waters of me.
With every stroke,
I am splitting the pool
When I woke up this morning it was almost 11 a.m. Ordinarily, that would qualify me as lazy. I haven’t slept past 10:00 in a long time. Yesterday morning I slept past 9 & couldn’t figure out what in the world was wrong with me. My body gets on a 7:45 rise & shine pattern & usually by 8 a.m. I’m starting my day.
Today though it was 10:45.
But last night was no ordinary night.
Dave’s friend, a local veterinarian, has a homecoming every year at the clinic. A local band plays bluegrass music, there’s good food, cornhole (a game–I was stunned the first time Dave told me he’d spent the evening cornholing.), and lots of visiting. Dave’s buddies Chris & Aundrea came over around 7:30 yesterday to pick him up. I’d planned a quiet evening in, white-washing 30 terra cotta pots & piddling in general. I piddled (which means I did whatever hit me at any given moment–ooh, let’s watch a movie, ooh–let’s read some of this book, ooh–let’s plant ivy in little baby shoes) until 12 & then decided I was going on to bed. I locked the doors, but left the deadbolt unlocked because Dave would be coming in later. I turned the lamp on the porch off, and instead, turned the overhead porch light on. Around 1:30 a.m. I woke up, went to the bathroom, checked the door to make sure I hadn’t locked the deadbolt.
At 2:30, I was in the middle of a horrible dream, there were charred bodies, I was swimming through a pond, and someone was chasing me. In my dream I learned that one of my brother’s friends had been burned alive inside his cabin. I was crying in my dream. Sometimes, when I cry in my dreams, I end up bawling in my sleep. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been awakened by “Are you okay? Beck, are you okay?” So at 2:30 when Dave was standing above me asking, “Are you alright? Beck, are you alright?”, I didn’t think much of it. I assumed I’d been crying or making noises in my sleep. Then he said “There’s a man on our porch.”
There’s a what on our what? “There’s a man on lying on our porch.” He grabs the phone & dials 911. I go to the door, peek through the blinds. In front of the door a man is sprawled out. It doesn’t look like he’s breathing. I wonder for a moment if he’s dead. I watch his stomach. It moves a little. It looks like his head is turning. He’s, maybe, is that a snore? I think he’s sleeping.
I decide he’s drunk. I want to open the door up, go outside, and kick him (just a nudge) & holler ‘get out of here, you get off this porch’. It’s everything I can do not to go out there & just look at him, amazed. But I’m still in my nightgown, Dave’s talking to a 911 operator & in the road are two trucks parked with caution lights flashing. Two guys are walking to the porch. I assume they’ve found their buddy. I tell Dave, “It’s okay, his buddies are coming after him.” I assumed they’d start picking him up & load him into one of their trucks. They didn’t. But they knelt down to make sure he was breathing.
I decided to change my clothes. Cops were coming. There were two strange men standing in our yard & another one snoozing on the porch. When I came back into the living room, Chris & Aundrea were coming into the house. They explained the men in the yard, while Aundrea & I peeked through the blinds, staring down at the sight before us.
Just before they pulled into the driveway, Dave, Chris & Aundrea, noticed that the guys in the trucks had stopped to throw something in our yard. When they got out, they noticed a saddlebag & bridle. Then Chris noticed the man on the porch & alerted Dave. “Dave, there’s a man on your porch. And I think he’s dead.” Two scenarios ran through Dave’s head. 1. The man had been injured by his own means. (He was drunk. Or had fallen off his horse. Or had been hit by a car.) 2. I’d heard him at the door, decided he was trying to break in & shot him.
The men approached, they were vets. They’d just come from the homecoming at the vet clinic. They’d seen the saddlebags in the road, saw the man on the porch & decided that his wife must’ve locked him out of the house. They looked for a saddle. There was no saddle.
I didn’t like the feeling of being kept under lock & key in the house & peeking through the blinds I just kept getting tickled. It was funny, because he was so apparently drunk. Funny, because I kept thinking about the headache he’d have the next morning. Funny, because when you wake up with two women peeking at you through blinds & four men standing over you staring in amazement, that’s got to be a trippy experience. At the same time, I realized that there were so many ways that this could’ve turned out to be a horrible experience. And that frightened me.
I didn’t hear the commotion at all. I don’t know if he knocked or just made it to the door & passed out or if he tried to get in. If the porch light hadn’t been on, Dave would’ve stepped on him, then proceeded to shit in his pants. If Lisa & Cody had stayed Saturday night instead of Friday night, they’d have been in the living room & would’ve had the daylights scared out of them. If those guys hadn’t had their hazard lights on, Chris & Aundrea would’ve dropped Dave off, waved bye & gone on home.
Luckily things worked out as they did.
While waiting for the deputy sheriff to arrive, we heard noises coming from the porch, low moans & an attempt at the formation of words. I made my way back to the front door, the best seat in the house. The Man was yawning, moaning, his hands had left their position behind his head & had moved to his belly, where he was scratching. His neck made weird movements. For a moment I thought he was vomiting in his sleep. I kept a close watch on him. I didn’t want him to die on our front porch while no one was looking. Having just read To Kill a Mockingbird, for just a moment I likened myself to Scout Finch, staring at Boo Radley for the first time. I was consumed by a large helping of curiosity, a little dose of fear, a dose a sympathy, a huge helping of amusement. At the same time I realized how odd this situation was. How this doesn’t happen every day. How it might not happen again in my lifetime. How the scene from that window was such a peculiar & unique view. I grabbed my camera & snap, snap, snapped.
Finally, the deputy sheriff arrived. He came to the porch, bent down & said something to the man. Aundrea & I, heads perched in the window like kids, couldn’t hear anything. We cracked the door. We heard the deputy.
–”Do you know where you are?”
– (a muffled reply)
–”Do you know where you are?”
–”You’re over in Grassy Creek now, son.”
–(looks around, eyes foggy.) “…….my horse.”
–”You’re sleeping on these people’s porch. You don’t even know who they are.”
The sheriff helps The Man up. He staggers, reaches for the screen door. I shut the front door, half expecting arms to start swinging & a rumble to ensue. I lock it.
We go outside. The sheriff’s putting The Man in the back seat of his car. He hasn’t cuffed him. The sheriff talks to The Man. He lives 15 miles away. He’s ridden the horse every mile. His wife threw him out of the house 2 days ago. I assume he’s been drunk since. His saddle? He sold it. His horse? We’ve spotted it in the field beside us, almost in our landlord’s yard.
Paramedics arrive. They check him out. He doesn’t complain about any soreness, but I’m not quite sure he can feel anything either. There are no marks on him. No blood, no bruises, no cuts, or contusions. They all decide along with the deputy sheriff that they can’t just leave the horse out, wandering that close to the road, otherwise they might have to come back a few hours later to work an accident scene. They get flashlights & head out after the horse. Dave’s points his headlights across the field. Eventually we see the paramedic coming back across the field, horse in tow. He leads it back up to our yard.
(For the protection of all involved parties, identities have been left anonymous & faces have been hidden in all photos.)
Dave tells them there’s a barn just down the road with stalls in it. Our landlord owns it. The paramedic leads the horse to the road. He’s going to walk it to the barn. The ambulance follows, headlights illuminating the way. The deputy sheriff falls in line behind. As we stand in the driveway watching the taillights slowly, slowly drift down the road, I comment that it looks like a little county parade. I half expect to see shriners in miniature cars & trucks whiz by us doing figure 8’s, tassels blowing in the wind.
We hear the ambulance backing up. We assume the horse is safely put up for the night. The ambulance roars by us sounding the siren once as a ‘See you later.’ The deputy sheriff drives by & shouts ‘Thank you.’ out the window. The four of us, Chris, Aundrea, Dave & I are still standing in the driveway. It’s 15 till 4.
I half expect to look over & still see someone lying on the porch, quietly snoring, perhaps scratching his belly.
There is no one.
Chris & Aundrea leave for home.
We go to bed. It’s 4:30 before I can make myself fall back asleep.]]>
The last few weeks have been crazy.
Dave purchased a new vehicle 2 weeks ago. Not new, new. But new to us. We left on Friday morning to go car shopping in Lexington. (He’s been car shopping online for months now.) It was such a hellish day. We’d been to a couple of lots in Mt. Sterling, Winchester & such & everyone we met was really laid back. Not at all the typical car salesman who comes running as soon as your front tire hits the lot. We drove around a bit & just browsed, went on a Kia lot & I’m pretty sure they sent the hippies out to deal with us. Those guys were so laid back & spotted the stickers on my Jeep which led to conversations about music, Pink Floyd, concerts. They weren’t pushy at all. So that was a good experience. Then we when on another lot & was met by this tweaking, banged-up, meth-head car salesman who kept us hostage for 3 hours, forcing us to listen to his lies & look at the 2 inch band-aid attached to his forehead. (Such a horrible experience.) Finally, after that deal fell through (a woman with great credit & a teenage daughter came in to look at the same vehicle we were looking at) we went on to Paris & found an honest car salesman & a vehicle we really liked. Dave drove it home that night.
Just a note: If you’re shopping for a car, look online before you step foot on a lot. We found that most vehicles were priced $1,000 lower online than they were on the lot. And if you go in knowing the internet price, that’s the price they’re obligated to give you.
The next day, we went to our second Black Crowes show of the summer at Riverbend in Cincinnati. Such an amazing show & such an amazing band, especially live. There were many moments again, where I was just floored & completely swept up in the moment. Drive-By Truckers opened for them (one of Dave’s favorite bands) so he was just in heaven. Robert Randolph & the Family Band also opened. I had never heard of them but they were great & put on such a fun, fun show.
Sunday we took in a Cincinnati Reds game & blistered under the sun. It was beyond hot. It was scorching hot. We had a good time. However, the walk to the stadium is awful. Every few feet there was someone with a sign: ‘Homeless. Need food.’ ‘Fell on hard times. Please give. (with a picture of a child)’ ‘Why lie? I need a beer.’ That was one heartbreaking walk.
Other than that we’ve been shucking corn, peeling apples, making pickles, chow chow & canning. This is the first time I’ve really ever canned anything & it’s been fun. It’s been hard work. (I have apple-peeling blisters.) But it makes me feel good knowing that this winter we’ll have plenty of tomato juice (the garden variety is always better) and apples & corn. I know we could always buy it, but it kinda feels good to know that we won’t have to.
On another note, I just learned about this a few days ago:
Is that not the coolest thing you’ve ever heard of in your life?
Visit the website. www.jescofest.com]]>
Ohh. I’ve been on cloud 9.
The Ani DiFranco concert at Moonlite Gardens in Cincinnati was amazing. The tickets were all general admission so after standing in line for about an hour and a half we entered the gardens & headed directly for center stage. We were in the equivalent of the second row. It was just amazing. I don’t know that I can really put it into words, but seeing her performing live was the best birthday gift I’ve ever received. When she came on stage & started playing the guitar, I teared up. It was unbelievable.
The ride up there not so fun. It was so hot. Even with all the windows down, it was oppressive. By the time we got home last night, our legs were weak after standing in one spot for so many hours & we were stinky & absolutely wet with sweat. After thirteen hours of sweating all your body fluids out, nothing holds up. Nothing.
We made it home around 1:30 last night.
But it was at least 2:30 before we unwound & could go to bed.
Dave had a good time & I was so happy that he did.
As amazing as these last few shows have been, with Ani (second row) last night & The Black Crowes (third row) last month, I can see how it would be so easy to sell what you own & just follow the band.
It just takes you to a different place.
But tonight I’m in my usual place. In front of this computer with the dryer running its hardest, a heap of clothes beside me in the laundry basket waiting to be folded & the washer lid up waiting for another load.
The attempt to eliminate filth is important. (A half-hearted scribble that never really made its way into a poem.)
We’re packing, trying to get everything together so we can leave for Berea tomorrow for Billie’s wedding. Packing for the weekend is hard enough as it is. Packing everything you need for the weekend plus everything you need to be a bridesmaid is awful. I’ve got a list a mile long.
But I’m having fun tonight.
My playlist has grown over the course of the evening.
I started out with some Iron & Wine & now it’s just gotten crazy. Neil Young. Canned Heat. Bob Dylan. Willie Nelson. The Band. The Allman Brothers Band. Buffalo Springfield. Johnny Cash & little George Jones thrown in. God we’re rocking tonight!
So many good songs. I love it.
I love how they just take you back in time. To a certain moment. To a specific parking lot. To one person. Or maybe just a period of time in your life. A decade. A year. A month. A second.
Here’s a line from last night that just floored me. Even with the heat I had chills.
“just show me a moment that is mine
its beauty blinding and unsurpassed
and i’ll forgive every moment that went by
that left me so half-hearted cuz i felt it so half-assed.”
That line just grabbed me by the shoulders & said “Listen, girl. Listen hard.”
And I have.
I’ve been listening to that song today & thinking.
Last night I read a review of one of Ani’s early albums, Little Plastic Castles. And one line in the review read ‘Even if you’re not a fourteen-year-old girl with issues, listen to this album.’
Isn’t that all we are sometimes. Underneath everything. Sometimes we’re still just fourteen-year-old girls with issues. Twelve years old. Eight years old. I think even when I’m old, I’ll still feel like a little girl sometimes.
I hope so.
Playing ‘Ring Around the Rosies’ with Cody & Alana this week made me feel alive. Watching Cody laugh when he fell & try to say ‘again’ through the laughter–that made me feel alive.
And I loved it.
It didn’t leave me half-hearted at all.
Cuz I didn’t feel it half-assed.]]>
‘a happy birthday to me a happy birthday to me‘ sing along everybody!
Today’s my birthday & honest to God that was the song going through my head this morning when I woke up & made my way to the bathroom. Because even though I sometimes still feel like I’m 12 or 13 or even 16, my bladder knows I’m getting older & the john is my first visit of the morning.
I think from the 18th birthday on I’ve pretty much had the worst luck ever on my birthday. I remember quite a few birthdays in a row just sucking. The last 3 have not been bad though. And I remember thinking, maybe last year, that the bad luck birthday streak may have ended. Yesterday, I thought it was back. I had a beautiful day for the most part. Dad took my Jeep to have the air conditioner fixed & get an oil change while I watched Cody. On my way to pick up the Jeep & give his truck back to him I kept thinking about how great it would be to just turn on the air conditioner in the evenings after the Jeep’s been sitting in the sun all day & it’s 405 degrees inside there. I thought about how great it would be to not have my face melt off every day on my way back home. How my drive from Campton to Grassy Creek wouldn’t be accompanied by the need to vomit. How I wouldn’t have to drink 5 bottles of Gatorade just to make it through the trip without dehydrating or dying from a heat stroke.
Ok. So maybe I’m exaggerating a little. But on those days when it’s crawling past 90, inching into 92, 94, it’s m effing hot.
I took Dad’s truck home. Went inside to get my keys. I asked “Did they fix it?” Dad just shook his head ‘no’.
I heard my heart plop all the way down to the basement floor.
Then he handed me the $150.00 receipt which read ‘traced wiring problem for a/c, worked a minute, then quit’.
I thought my head was going to go through the roof.
Twenty dollars for an oil change. One hundred thirty dollars for jack shit. I just bawled. I could still cry over it. I don’t care to pay that much to have something fixed. But I hate paying that much for nothing. For absolute nothing.
So my heart was heavy last night.
But apparently, that was only day-before-birthday bad luck. Cause when I stumbled to the computer this morning & checked my mail, I had these waiting on me.
Oh, I was so tickled when I saw the subject line ‘Tubing in Red River’ in my inbox. Then when I opened those up I couldn’t quit laughing. Technology is just the best.
So right now I’m doing laundry cause this afternoon we’re leaving for Ohio to see Ani DiFranco. (The reason I needed the air conditioner fixed yesterday. I just hope we don’t get stuck in road work or something, cause we’ll die. Literally die.)
But I’m so excited about the concert!
Birthday concerts rock!
a happy birthday to me a happy birthday to me, everybody sing!]]>