Last month was crazy. Met the mambo and houngans. But it was crazy because I had no time. that shaman who slept in my car called me. someone told me that she heard "after the 25th"would have significance for me. On the 26th my frog disappeared out of his cube. An impossibility. And I had recently been calling him Mr. Impossible. His companion snail disappeared two days later. got the rest of the deer bones, but that's another story. A black swan showed me the jawbone and two birds showed me the rest of the skull. I'm not psychotic.

Found the frog behind the television. All dried up. Don't know how he squeezed out or why he would hop way over there after the long drop on the stone floor. Been crying. Found out my cousin jumped out a window and died. He was a sound editor for movies. Feel like my life is a quasi-nightmare. So many people dying lately. Behind on sympathy notes. Everything upside down here. Have eye ache. Took workshop which I had to force myself through because I have a cold. Made accordian-style book. haven't finished glueing collages of ancestors, vodou veves, miscellaneous images.

was going to let this month go, but since I started I can't let it slide and get blocked off the site. drank a half bottle of wine so I guess it means I can write. haven't been drinking lately but it seems to be helping tonight to push me when I'm down. I wouldn't recommend drinking to anyone else on the site because it usually keeps people down which is where I must be because I've just repeated myself. I only drink red wine and the rest of the alcohol in the house goes to feed the ancestors. 99

If we don't write it is as if we don't exist. For this reason you should also go out and have your picture taken. Fix up. Keep retaking the picture if you look stupid or ugly. When you have one that looks like you think you should look then put it in a safe place with some of your writings. It may be all that will be left of you someday. In 200 years someone may hold your picture and writings in reverence even though you may be a numbskull right now. I don't know how to spell numbskull. 99

spend too much time on a computer. Used to ride horses. Used to take African dance classes. Try now to fit stuff in but there's too much computer-related work. I got old. My body still remembers. I'm in the country. The dogs didn't come. Last time a neighbor's dog was especially violent toward me. I feared it might try to do me damage. If I walk up that way I'll bring dogbones to see if they work as a bribe. If they don't I might be maimed. I'm not joking so I also should bring a large stick or gun.

My frog did show up all dried up behind the television. My cousin died by jumping out a window. There seemed to be a relation but only crazy people would see it. I can't remember if I wrote about the deer bones. I have them in storage now. It was a young male. A mambo said that a dried frog could be a talisman so I tried digging him back up but couldn't find him. have no time to write lately because people keep dying and I'm behind on sympathy cards. Oh shoot. I'd better not forget the memorial Saturday

dreamed of a slow-flying butterfly. think the color was a buttercup yellow or maybe slightly peachy orange. I was supposed to catch it for butterfly soup. I eventually did but it stuck in my throat for a few seconds—a wing—and for that reason didn't make sense as soup. I later dreamed of a man who fell from a very tall building and I watched as he hit the ground, got up, and walked away. In real life a yoga teacher says at the end of a class to surround the body with happiness to imprint the nervous system

A pigeon swooped down and crashed into my windshield heading for my face. Good thing I was only going 25 miles and hour or he'd be dead. maybe my windshield would have given way. Shattered. then the pigeon could have hit my face causing me to lose control. possibly needing facial surgery or I could have crashed and died. I was thinking about my dried up frog at the time. About how I tried to dig him back up from the ground but couldn't find him. maybe the ants took him. maybe I could have used him as a talisman

A temporary filling fell out immediately so now I have trouble chewing. These are things we take for granted. Who has two thousand dollars to spend on fillings? It's ridiculous. It's reality. It's all about what life is for me. Working. Filling teeth. Moving my mouth carefully. Teeth crack. We think everything lasts forever but it's only that way in Europe. Why is that? We think fifty year old houses are old here. A four hundred year old house is normal in Italy. Are their teeth better, too? I don't like change. I don't want to be cremated. Bury me.

Most likely I will die with no great writing to my name, and embarrassment, an idiot, someone who always made stupid choices, and wasted time, and who threw away opportunities. "Stop putting yourself down. It's very self-centered. it's the same old, same old.- "Yes. You are an idiot. you are embarrassing yourself.- "I'm so sick of listening to you I could barf.- I got up, kicked the pillow, ripped the print off the wall, and threw the rice cake in the toilet. I don't care about great anything. I just want good food. A comfy bed. And some kind pet.

No time no time no time. Frizzled hair. Maybe beyond repair. Thought the lady knew what she was doing. It was great 17 months ago. This time she fried it. Right when it was finally the length I was happy with. Not much more to go to get to the waist. Tired. Never catch up. Regret starting up again this month. Now with computers work is unending. Not happy. Saw a picture of a room in a house where I grew up. Very sad. We work more now and have less. Or is it all my imagination playing tricks? 99

Wake up in the morning feeling like the real dream is about to begin. The real unconscious time. Maybe this is a natural experience in mid-life or late mid-life. In a dream we have no clue sometimes that a person is no longer living or we believe a stranger is our husband or we think our grown son is a baby. I have no clue now about what is real in waking life or is waking life not waking life but a dream. The lady who fried my hair tried to explain it all away pretending that it wasn't fried.

nothing more to write about. If I'm honest I only irritate people. It's burnout. Don't want to be googled. Finishing up the month. Too tired. All creative endeavors floating down the river. Burnt hair. Teeth don't seem right after new fillings put in. No time. Whatever is squeezed in is stressful. Too many appointments. Car. To fix. To check for end of lease payoff. Wedding. Maybe next month will be better. Can't get to the country. Last few times no dogs. Don't want to write about day to day stuff. Entering bills and the nightmare tedious time-consuming hour-eating life wasting

Might be losing my mind. Mornings are blank. Everything that I knew I was supposed to do is gone. I wake up with a sense of dread. It's like my mind is prolonging my dream only I'm awake. We're not supposed to edit. Read my lips. Oh God. Makes me think of how I had recurring dreams of a dark figure coming to get me. I'd be frozen in bed with "helppppp"forcing its way out of my mouth. The sound would wake my husband. We'd laugh. All I had to do was divorce to get rid of those dreams.

Went to the zoo. Favorite animal. Bat. Looked like dog. Loved the wings. Chimpanzees were vicious. Baboons were so upset over the chimpanzees fighting. If I could hug any animal it would be the old baboon with the worried eyes. For the first time in years I have no pet. The snails left in the frog cube don't count. thinking back counting years since I had no animal ......has to be at least 20 years. How did I ever have time? must have been totally irresponsible. I was. used the poor creatures to entertain me when I felt like it.

"How important do you believe it is"my voice cracked and I added "sorry I'm losing my voice"it was my turn to ask the interviewer a question "to feel comfortable speaking in public?" She had been in the front of the room looking at us one by one to let us know it was our turn to ask the question. I hadn't prepared one. After asking, she all of a sudden was the driver of a muni bus, and we were at the curb. I was astonished that she was going to finish her route before continuing the interview

The art critic has been replaced with a food critic. Chefs often were art students who had to keep their cooking jobs. There is nothing glamorous about cooking and doing it for packs is stressful, tiring, and I have no time now to finish my thought. It's all a hoax. Food is not a substitute for what we used to have. You dance. You make music. You project you inner workings onto something tangible. Then you eat. What does it say about our society when so much focus is on food? Let's make it pretty talk and write about it.

Up all night conditioning my hair. Still can't believe it is fried. Nothing de-fries it. Bought brandied cherries like I used to eat but can't remember what I did with them. Put them on top of something warm? Some biscuit? Got a bill last call before collection. Inter cranial artery scan. When did I get my head scanned and for what reason? My fried hair has nothing to do with it. The pain in my butt is lessening. I sat for a manicure pedicure easily. Maybe only one end of the body can be in good shape at a time.

Sometimes I have thoughts that slip away. Ideas. Something that I want to write but maybe I'm driving in the car or at work. Too much time passes to obliterate the thread. I'm left later with only a big blank. You know that something dire has happened to your life when going to a grocery store is a highlight of the day. It's as if all of your time has been sucked away so you are thankful to just be pushing a cart. It makes me wonder if there really is some sort of conspiracy. A raspberry seems so innocent.

A couple women have gotten sore tailbones. How often do you hear that? Maybe it's a new trend. One says she's better but the other now needs a donut cushion to sit. I've wanted to ask if they are involved with younger men who drain their energy out the bottom of their spines. Or maybe I've passed along my malady through association. I've gotten so much better. I'm wanting to plant a sunflower by my front door. It's where the frog was buried. Where was I once with those huge sunflowers? Santa Fe? Beautiful colored houses. Babatunde Olatunje. Dancing. Yes

Have to get up early to go to a wedding so have no time to spend on this computer. Went in to the city to have my hair combed since I can't get the fuzz out without help. If it rains tomorrow I'll have to stuff it into a beret. Want to have time in the morning for raspberries, bananas, brandied cherries, and a peach scone/biscuit thing. Lost the taste for coffee and don't even drink wine anymore. Although I'm sure I'll drink tomorrow. Plan to have fun even though I had pretty hair which turned to s.h. i. 100

Who would think that we'd be just waiting for the time to go by? Makes no sense. The girl in the Suchard poster is throwing a kiss. I've had that poster for many years. It's supposed to be an original from Paris. I had my dining room set then. I was social then. French classes in my flat. Wine and cheese. What happened? I cheated and edited. My life and this entry. I cut out. Did the same with my old albums. We can give to the Goodwill but sometimes we're not ready and never recover. I only cheat sometimes.

There is always one more thing that if we had we'd be happy. For me it's the attic. If I only could get the attic converted into a useable room, then I'd be happy. This depressed, shriveled little person would be transformed if the attic had a floor and air and light and bookshelves. If that were a reality then how ridiculous life would be. Yes I must be manic depressive with the manic trying to survice except that I can't remember how to spell survace survice ser surface oh shoot I must be drunk of course it is surface.

I'm always wishing that I'll wake up from a nightmare and have my husband walk in calling out " my wifey!!" It must be that I'm only writing this because I'm drinking some red wine. And crying. George Noori is on the radio. I've been so much healthier since being married. Must be normal to have setbacks. Went to a wedding and since it was a long day I now have physical pain. Since being married doesn't make sense. Should have said since being divorced. It must have been a con. It's so hard to have a mind playing tricks.

Not sure what I want to write about. This will be it for a while. Since we're supposed to show what's going on day-to-day it's been like a diary. It's uncomfortable. You know, airing dirty laundry, being superficial, it's like standing in your underwear. And I can't stand not editing. George Noori had someone on last night talking about negative people attracting low-down-dirty entities. That wasn't the description but I can't remember what they were called. Today my eyes itch but I have to be upbeat even though I can't stand overly happy people. I think they have screws loose.

not really wanting to write about the day and I can't remember what I wrote about yesterday. Did I write about the dream of the mosquito-eater? I was angry with my father because the mosquito-eater had his wings pulled off after he was trapped in paper on a wall. Don't know why I was mad at my dad. I tried to save the insect by feeding him greens. He ate and had a strong bite as though he had teeth pulling on the lettuce or whatever it was. When I was a child my dad made cork prisons for flies.

The last time I saw the male Akita was in the snow. The female hadn't come for a long time. They must be gone now. Don't know if they died or were given away. No protection now from the wild things. Had my gun in the garage while moving the bookcase. Mold was at the base due to standing water. Before darkness a bat was flying in circles until I turned off the light. That helped him to find his way out. So intensely aware of change. It has sped up. The time shift. The endings and beginnings and endings.

Why do we not see reports of hate crimes against whites? I know of a white middle-aged couple who were attacked by a group of blacks after they came out of a supermarket in a major city here in the US. It was "because of what you've done to us." Wish I were a writer so I could express my thoughts on this. That was my old neighborhood. You have to be very rich or very poor to live there now. The poor qualify to buy condos as do the wealthier. Middle class gets pushed out. The haters live there.

So beaten up from moving the bookcase from the gargage to the house. Water settled in under it. Tried washing the mold, disinfecting. Figured out ways to get it in there and no one would believe that 95 pounds can move 500 pounds. You call down saints, lwas, and your old, late, great grandmother and before you know it all the brush and poison oak is cleared around the house and your bedroom is re-arranged. You then have to promise to cook them mostaccioli. Made friends with a wild turkey. Bees kept coming into the house. Killed one by mistake.

Someone at work feels sorry for the dishwashers who work two jobs at low pay. I said, "yeah, look at so-and-so. He works two jobs, hardly understands English, can't read or write it, but he owns a home in San Francisco and put two kids through college." Granted he slaves away and has no real life for himself and might croak before retirement. Maybe we do just dream up our own lives. Maybe it's all about knowing when to fight and when to quit. When to run. When to start over. They say turkeys are stupid. Because they are trusting?