A Mary Oliver quote inspired me to write again. I also found some handmade books that I wrote in a box here in the mountains. They make little sense but I was following the gist of the stories and parts are hilarious. It seems that I get into these writing frenzies then I move and lose the momentum. I think we love poets because they say what we think. We must be all linked together. The white akita is sleeping next to me right now and a peepee lumpy cat is sleeping in the bathroom. The world is good sometimes.

March second. I’m not always honest and I don’t even care what anyone thinks about that. Honest people often are deluded. I think we are brainwashed into being honest. So then honesty isn’t really even honest. I have a point to make but don’t have the analytical mind to put it on paper however there is no paper here so there is nowhere to put whatever point it is that I’m trying to make. I just ate pumpkin pie. The dog is sighing. I drank wine. It is stormy outside. I think I’m in love with an African. makes no sense.

I know that people still have issues over black and white. He kept saying mama mia. It was Hawaii. I don’t know. I thought he was Italian. When I saw him in the states I was shocked that he was black. I thought it was a tan. This whole skin thing has really thrown me. I’m finding that the only difference is skin color. Not much else is different. Oh, I know Hawaii is a state. I forget sometimes. I forget what is supposed to be us and what is supposed to be not us. Italian is not us? Confusing.

I’ve always hid who I am. It is what you do for self preservation. My parents would never have brought me into this world if they had known who I’d be. I’m a gentle soul but annoying. This dog is a loud sleeper. Don’t know if I’ll let her stay inside tonight. Maybe I should sleep on this sofabed in here and see what she does. How old must she be? I’ve had this place for nine years and she’s come around for most of the time. I have to check for mice in the sofabed anyway. Mice will play.

As the great poet Mary Oliver says, “Tell me what you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” Isn’t it time for you to sing? I have no idea who Mary Oliver is but I like the above quote and comments that came in email from a jazz club. It sums up why some of us jump from one thing to another while others stay focused on actually accomplishing something tangible. Of course why not sing? One wild and precious life......something to think about. I’m snowed in. The Akita slept in. The cat slept in the bathroom.

the bad ass ghost took a steak knife. I didn’t mention that a chardonnay glass is missing. Also a plate. In Paris months ago he took a beer glass. I used to think it was my ex-husband but he’s not here and no one else has been in this place. Everything’s locked and a thief would want more than eating utensils. The cat that was so pretty weeks ago now looks goofy. One eye is looking the wrong way. And the pupil is too big. Years ago all the clocks would go goofy but at least that doesn’t happen anymore.

My mom used to think I was crazy but she had an earring come back after being missing for a year. I had a butterfly pin disappear and come back. That was a few years ago but it one day was sitting next to me in my car in the glassholderthing next to the pullbreakthing. No possible explanation. No person could have put it there. I talked to the ghost today and asked him if he could bring back the pictures I accidentally threw away. That would be an impossible task but thought I’d ask anyway. He, she…I don’t know.

So much work here. How did I think I’d be practicing tai chi and drum rhythms? Patching mouse holes and cleaning wood. Raking leaves and vacuuming. Putting everything in plastic. Bought a lamp and a trunk. Had to wash everything. Sheets, blankets, whatever. This ghost thing is puzzling. Nothing is ever scary. Just normal day-to-day stuff with a few odd things thrown in. Man in the store said that d-con makes mice stumble around before they die. I had a rat like that in the garden in SF years back. Drunk. Maybe they don’t feel pain then before they die.

I think of things to write when I’m almost asleep. They flit by. One by one. The sheep. But they are more like moths. I always think I will remember when I’m up the next morning. I always forget. Even dreams don’t stick anymore. Even old memories that were burned in the brain forever now are not forever. They are going one by one like the things to write when I’m almost asleep. The sheep have been slaughtered and so their babies. I forget. Veal is lamb? simple things are not so simple anymore. Veal scallopini. What does that mean?

told him that someone tried to pick me up. “Should I say you’re my boyfriend?” “Yes,” he said. “I told you that everyone knows you’re my girlfriend,” he told me for the fortieth time. It is either a romantic relationship that lasts no matter the distance between meetings or it is a farce. The guy who tried to pick me up was younger than my son. I have deep wrinkles from the corner of my mouth to my chin. suits me to have a boyfriend I never see and don’t have to deal with. twice a year is about right.

Too tired to go to dance class. Must have hit my head on the glass ceiling. Can see that all of this exhaustive energy is only wrinkling my jawline. And that boyfriend thing is ridiculous. I’m only lying to myself. And I know he lies to everyone. He doesn’t exactly lie but if you try to pin him on something he avoids direct questions. Or he suddenly has to get off the phone. What’s with men who want to keep you while they juggle several women yet they’d be shocked if you did the same? Why do I play stupid?

Will spend more time in the mountains. First have to get this place in order. Organize. Scrub. Downsize. The cat is very sweet but difficult because of the urine problem. Have to keep her in one room. How do I end up with these old stinky animals? I think men gravitate toward me because they think I’d be the one taking care of them. I won’t. They should stand in line to be euthanized….humanely….like the sweet dogs and cats and rats. I’m sick of the man thing with the dopey smiles that turn to sneers when my back is turned.

Just don’t understand why so many men look for women to take care of them. What is happening? They pee in alleys. They want women to feed them. They hardly verbalize and when they do you can hardly understand what they’re trying to say. But like a dirty old horse we love them anyway. The dirty old horse is the woman loving or the man being loved? Not sure. Just sad and angry. About repeating unhealthy patterns. Instead of creating more beautiful ones. If you can’t trust then move on and stop beating up on possibly innocent people. Crazy lady.

Trying to be normal. For an American. Non-Mormon. some places men have several wives and treat them like servants. I’m not a hater basher. Or a writer musician dancer singer. I want to be a natural lady like a leopard is a natural cat. I want movement and sound to be natural. A can of chili has over a thousand grams of sodium. Is that natural? may not hear from the boyfriend again. pinned him on sending me a cd. I send him whatever he asks for yet can’t get a piddly cd after sending money and a self-addressed envelope.

Slept til almost noon. Don’t feel like rushing around. Stayed in. How silly. What does the world is your oyster mean? Something to do with a pearl? Oysters are stinky. the word itself looks like it’s missing letters. Stoyers syorets soreyst sore eyes maybe you could put a slimey oyster on each eye as a health remedy. I put avocado and olive oil on my jaw wrinkles. Maybe oysters. Seriously. Other old animals don’t wrinkle. Fish don’t. Birds don’t. I loved the facelift barbie on tv. So many funny things and funny people that you can’t stay sad for long.

Many people have died who I have cared about. Not that I’ve been that close but they have influenced my life. Life is all about the dead intermingling with the living. Even many of the living are half-dead already. Some of the living might even be dead for all I know. The man I have thought that I love might be half-dead. It is like that poster: wanted dead or alive. Sometimes you think you’re alive but you could be dead. Or he could be brain-dead. But most likely you’re brain-dead. And then you come alive when you are dreaming.

Forced myself to dance class. Dragging around. Forgot to pay. Had to drive back found the teacher. should have yelled out to me but he’s shy. Drum and dance. Incredible opportunity yet I am fifty years too late with a brain that is hardened and resistent. Chinese herbs might be slowing me down. Then this old red wine. Expensive yet the cork breaks. Life can be magnificent. We make it whatever we want. Why make it screwy then? If you do make it screwy do you end up fine by the time you get to the tip of the screw?

So sad to hear about someone dying. Have to live with purpose and intensity. Been getting my paperwork together. As if I’m dying. If I am dying then I can love the man who might be conning me. Or conned me. Think he ran off to Africa. He’s a funny man. Talented. I hear his voice and love him all over again. This is what happens to abused women, too, so it’s hard to know what is normal and what is all messed up. He really only conned me out of giving my heart to any other man. That’s all.

Too tired to dance tonight. Left abruptly and felt bad after that I didn’t talk with the ladies. Think I come off as stand-offish when it’s shyness and lack of energy. Something is not right with me. Wonder if it’s the herbal tonic draining everything out. know that the pseudo-love is not real. Think he was always conning. Wonder why I find con men. Have to strengthen lose timidity, passiveness, craziness, self-absorbtion. cat must be dying. hardly eats. son cuts me off on the phone when I talk too much. a knee-jerk phone reaction to talk a mile a minute

Had to leave during mini-intermission. Marriage of Figaro. Seats too close together and my tailbone was not liking that seat. Been fine for so long but it’s acting up again. Could be the herbal stuff or that yoga class weeks ago that tweaked the sacrum or maybe it’s the jaw relaxing spurting out old emotion. Maybe I was spanked a lot as a young child and only the jaw knows. The vocal coach says that stuff is stored there in that tense jaw. You massage and little bits release. Have to keep up with the dance to keep pain away.

Drum. Dance. Pot luck dinner. Energy coming back. The cat is covered in lumps. Every day there’s a new one. Last time she went to the vet she let him do anything. Never knew cats could be so sweet. She listens to me… like right now when I told her to “don’t go where I can’t see you!” I have to watch her if I open this door because she has a urine problem. “Ah. Stay here. Stay here.” “Ththth don’t go down.” She comes back. “What did I tell you? No no. Come back here. Come in your house.”

My late aunt used to take in strays. One time we went to visit and she had a stray chicken. She lived in L.A. I don’t know why there was a stray chicken there. Makes no sense. But she had a swimming pool and a chicken. They are smarter than most people think. I still feel bad about my ex-father-in-law raising chickens and eating them one-by-one. They loved him. Goes to show that you can trust someone and think they care about you when all they’re really doing is plumping you up so they can eat you. Something like that.

Too much death. Now my son’s father. Grief. Can’t stop crying. He didn’t like me. We were too young. thought I was dying. Got my insurance papers together for my son. Thought I was having a heart attack. But it was he. should have known when I gave the broken watch to my daughter-in-law. It was a Christmas present from him thirty-seven years ago. I was afraid that someone might steal it someday. A gold watch. Gold chain. Just gave it to her and it took a lot of guts to do it. My heart broke to part with it.

Pretty soon there will be more dead than alive if it keeps up at this rate. The older you get the more people are dropping like flies. One lady who practices tai chi with me says she’s the only one left of all her old friends. We horde and worry over money then we just die anyway with people going through our drawers and crying and laughing and throwing stuff out that we clung to and couldn’t part with. Food hasn’t been tasting very good. Nothing is that interesting. Tired. Nothing to write. Again just finishing up the month. Nothing.

Seems like many of us who survived the sixties when we were young are now recluses if we’re still alive. What did it? Nuns? Priests? Some married and are normal but many of us are crazy. I know that I only fall for men who are capable of killing me. What kind of disorder is that? Listened to Janis Joplin singing Summertime. How did she sing like that? Tomorrow have to sing for a teacher and didn’t get that tiny muscle in the back of my throat to work. Every two weeks I have a legitimate excuse…recluse….mamoose…papoose on the loose

Again writing is torture. The computer is filled with junk. All of a sudden my belly is fat. Money is running out. Can you donate to this? Can you do that? Can hardly speak. There is always a stressor. Barricaded the stairs so the cat can’t go down. One good thing: aaaaaah……would be able to come up with something if I hadn’t eaten that chocolate peanut butter thing. It was a good thing until I ate the whole thing. Now it is hard to focus with fatigue and nausea. Out of balance. Relaxation can also be annoying. Irritating. Good. Night.

Been drinking wine each night. Lost interest in writing. Food isn’t exciting. Do not ever want sex again. Could easily accept a death sentence. Have done everything. Life is nice but death is inevitable and ok when you are past 55. The ex who died put a balloon on my friend’s car asking her how her trip was. That was over 36 years ago. He always wanted what he couldn’t have. Just splashed red wine on the wall, mirror, carpet, pants, shirt. Reversatol. Something like that. Supposed to make your skin younger. Red wine the skin saver. sad but blessed.

The man who claimed to love me so much has pretty much disappeared. The ex disappeared also because he died. Seems to me that the men who profess to love you with all their hearts are the ones who are bullshitting. Should have just stayed with the first one in spite of the balloon and all the nonsense. All the others seem to have just been a waste of time. Should have just kicked his butt. Some men just need a woman to be strong and not timid and weak. The cat seems blind. The eyes are all cock-eyed. Pathetic.

Wiped the wall with a damp rag. A spider showed up on that spot. Now an hour later he’s up in the corner. Guess he needed some of the moisture. Thought about scooping him into a jar to put outside but was too lazy. Sadness. Could I have stayed married the first time? Didn’t know how to fight. Gave up before learning how. Now I would find ways to stay kind. Stay kind without jeopardizing the child’s upbringing. Would it have been possible? Probably not. For twenty years did wonder if he’d ever show that he actually cared. Spider’s sleeping.

So glad the month is almost up. Now that I could write if I wanted, I’ve lost interest. Just like the man pining over the woman he can’t have. “Here I am!” she shouts with glee. “Whhhaat?” He’s sheepish. Stunned. A little sick to his stomach. He notices some little hairs in her nose. I don’t know. It’s just a pain to have to sit at a computer. The TV in the other room only gets channel 3. I hear Jay Leno. It feels good to spread out on a couch. Drink wine. Eat those chicken nugget things. Fall asleep.

Five hundred dollars was a lot in 1971. Auctioned that dining room set in 1994 for double. Now it would be thousands. It was about 110 years old. Always miss it. Why didn’t I miss the husband like that? I’m just learning to appreciate people rather than inanimate objects. Used to have real dining rooms. People are difficult, though. There must be a trick to it all. Stay calm. Listen. Try to see what the other person sees. Feel what he feels. While taking care of yourself. Vacuumed up the spider. Didn’t want to get bit. Have to sometimes. Caution.