Skip to main content

Well

So, as I was saying yesterday, it's been kind of a bummer week for me. But yesterday I went at it anyway--did my prayers, got dressed, and did what I needed to do, mostly.

I ate, I wrote, I did my to-do list, I watered the plants, I walked the dog, I called my sponsor, I tended the vegetables, I mowed the front lawn, I turned the compost, I deadheaded perennials, I emptied the dishwasher, I filled the dishwasher, and so on. All in all it was only 2 and a half hours...still, I suppose I should focus on the accomplishment more than the time for now, though generally I'd aim for 3 or 4 hours a day during the week, fewer if I've worked on the weekends.

The highlight of the day, though, was after my Friday night meeting a close friend of my sponsor and mine--who usually comes off somewhat prudish--said I looked so good he could almost thirteenth step me on the spot. Hellz yeah. It's funny cuz I'd dressed more conservatively than usual--bright limey green polo tucked into blue-grey corduroy boot-cuts. If that's all I need to be fuckable, then there goes half my wardrobe XD

Comments

Other things that might interest you...

On phases and fixations.

My fixations are powerful, but they can also be maddeningly ephemeral and fleeting. And I hate that; about them and, honestly, about myself. But I’ve never really  asked why I feel that way... I'll commit immense amounts of time and energy and even money to a fixation for a few weeks, maybe even a month or two, sometimes rebranding my whole personality around it, then just...move on. I'm not sure when I first noticed this pattern—if it was always there or if it emerged and intensified over time—but it's been part of me for a long while. And every time I do, I feel such guilt and shame. Who even am I if I can't be consistent, dedicated, substantive? How disingenuous is it that nothing I care about lasts? I’ve always just accepted those feelings; I’ve never poked at them in earnest. If you can’t tell from the recent flurry of activity on this blog, I have been fixated on blogging; I mentioned in a recent post about this blog that I had a compulsion to revamp the whole bl...

Oatmeal is tasty.

{slurps up berry-oatmeal-deliciousness} Indeed. I need to work on rebuilding a morning schedule. I can be zombie-like enough that I'll waste a perfectly good morning, and have often slept through many. And, really, it's such a useful time of day.

My new favorite painting.

I, generally speaking, love art. I wish I understood it better; sometimes I can articulate its effects on me and what I think; at other times, that's tough for me. This is an attempt at understanding art, if only by trying to understand my experience of it.¹ The title of this post is a bit funny, tho: "New" is misleading—I first drafted it 6 years ago in Dec 2017, updated it in Aug 2018, and revised it a bit this week (Feb 2024). I'll write more about visual art and my ability to interact with it another time, but here's what I've got for now. So I finally went. There's a show right now at the Phillips Collection on Pierre-Auguste Renoir, my longtime favorite artist, and I went. I got to see more of his work at one time than I ever have before. And I found myself a new favorite painting among them—not just a favorite out of Renoir's work, but perhaps a favorite among all art I will ever see. The exhibit itself explores the story behind one of Renoir...