frustrating thoughts on a tuesday morning

your author, dressed for 29°F weather at 7a, sitting in the parking lot to medicate (description below)

It is currently 29°F outside, actual feel of 22°F. I am outside for my morning medication: today is cannabis and coffee. I’ve already taken my fish oil, but there’s no one to say anything about that if I take that in my kitchen. So I come outside after having dressed for the weather. This includes: underwear, thick socks, two pairs of flannel pajama bottoms, a long sleeved shirt over a short sleeved shirt, a fleece hoodie, my purple fuzzy robe with white stars, a knitted neck warmer, a knitted hat. I have spiked my coffee with hot cocoa mix and butter to make the warmth seem thicker and more long-lasting.

I have a medical marijuana card. Up until *very* recently, whole flower was not allowed to be sold in medical dispensaries. Smoking whole flower is the method of delivery that works best for me. If vaping worked for me, I could probably get away with vaping inside my apartment, although I really wouldn’t want to try. But it doesn’t. Smoking whole flower is what works. I no longer engage in practices that are meant to be good for me but in actuality, aren’t. Imagine if instead of taking your anti-anxiety meds by pill, you had to have them by suppository and you had to do that outside because that’s what the law dictated. Just because.

When it is colder than this, or when the weather is shit, or after dark (I feel like a D!sney princess out here sometimes, skunks ((Flower!)), raccoons, possums, cats, ALL the squirrels), I sit in the car. Even with the engine off, this is illegal to do. When I have zoom therapy and I am home I do it in my car or outside so that I can smoke. So that I can medicate. When I have zoom therapy and I’m at a friend’s house, I can be inside and warm and still medicate.

No other medication is subjected to restrictions and procedures like this. This is inhumane. Could you imagine if I told you you had to go outside for your heart medication if you weren’t well off enough to own your own home with private property? If I told you you had to take your cholesterol meds every morning but go outside somewhere on the street, what would happen?

And if I told you that unless you had the wherewithal, you couldn’t have a get-together with friends and have a smoke sesh. Have all the wine and cheese parties you want, every book club has its Bordeaux, every rehearsal dinner its Riesling, but no ma’am, you’re not allowed to enjoy this totally legal thing where you live, where you love, where you entertain. What would you do? What would you say?


People are going to consume where they are able to consume. Where they are forced to consume. This has always, and will continue to be what happens. By welcoming dispensaries and consumption lounges into Peekskill, by allowing smoking in specific areas of our many public parks, we are making our residents and visitors feel more comfortable and welcomed.

water washes away

sitting in my car, rain smashing into the windshield
coming hugely into the narrow slit I’ve opened in the window
smoke hazing around the inside of the cabin

It is pouring (again)

giant crocodile tears wetting my sweater
I don’t dare lower the window any further not even to tap my ash
thunder competing with the din of the rain on my roof

I have eaten and smoked and am grateful for the help I had in making it through this day.
I am not alone.

i do not know if I can take being loved this way.

Yesterday was my birthday.
I turned 53 years old.
I spent the entire weekend with people and missing people who clearly love me and who I love so much.
I spent the weekend

I spent the weekend doing familiar birthday things,
Going to the Lyndhurst craft fair as I have done for decades
(maybe half the artists this time, different layout, timed ticketing, all due to covid restrictions)
stressing out from all of the unknowns
(known and unknown, thank you D. Rumsfeld)
wanting so much for normalcy
(but what is “normal”, anyway? I certainly don’t have a fucking clue)
feeling so much that I have to explain even though I know I don’t
It seems like all I have been doing for the past three and a half years is explaining and explaining and explaining because honestly I
don’t understand any of it.
Just when I think I do I get caught off guard and none of it makes sense again.

I suppose I’m not explaining to others so much as to myself.

I miss all of the things that we talked about, all of those things that we never did.
All of the ways we responded to each other, all of the good, all of the terrible.
The contrast, I think,
the contrast is what’s killing me now.
i do not know if I can take being loved this way.

I can say things out loud and
I can say things out loud and not worry about feeling stupid for saying them.
Being made to feel stupid for saying them.
I can say things out loud and not worry about
I can say things out loud and not worry about being instantly and immediately criticized.
I can say things out loud and not worry about who might be on my side.

I know
I know for sure
I know now that you loved me but I didn’t then. I never knew for sure. I never knew from one minute to the next.
You would rescind and retract your love like the outgoing tide.
Snatch it away from me,
away from my

craven, grasping, grubby little paws

I want to forgive you for saying these things to me.
I want to forgive you for this so much.

How can I miss you so much and still be so angry at the things you did to me?
That we did to each other.

I told your sister once that I never really had an accurate sense of your feeling for me, not that I felt I could believe anyway. That I always thought you thought I was stupid and not enough and too much all at once.
That now I can look at the last things you wrote, and know.
I can look at all the small lovelinesses you left behind.
I can look at those things and know that they are real, they are proof.
Not soon enough to be able to enjoy with you, no.

The very desperate need to hold onto them

((craven, grasping, grubby little paws)screaming to the sky to talk to you
for you to hear me

I am trying so hard to do everything I can to be well.
I am still so
I am still so unwell but I don’t feel crushed by having to hold up every other damn thing anymore if only because I have given up on everything it seems)

I can look at the small lovelinesses that you left and see them for the huge gestures that they were. Everything is relative.

I can see the unexplored and forever unknown possibility of us becoming better to each other, to ourselves.
Knowing how difficult it was even in the very best of us
knowing I would not be this person if you were still alive
proving my progress to the memory of a dead man
wanting so much to escape your critical eye, your devastating words
and yet wanting to show you that I am okay
I am not okay.

Yesterday was my birthday.
I felt loved, and cherished, and adored, and so sad for what we never had.
If you could see how people treat me now.
If you could see how people love me now and aren’t afraid to say, to show.
I know you would, too.

ancient artifacts

black clay medallion, going into the salt

I look at this
it looks like a cookie
i wanna eat it
I look at this and I think you might have liked it.
Like really liked it.
It has that stone boulder-type look that you loved
you made your file folders and icons all have it
It has that riveted, homemade robot-type look to it
that wonky, wabi-sabi ancient technology look.
something you could have unearthed on a dig
or found in our backyard, sticking half-up out of the dirt.
You can see my fingerprints in it, for now.
You can see the literal hand of the artist.
The linen cloth I use to protect both surfaces
above and beneath.

I had to come forward this far.
this far.
Three years.
I had to come forward this far
to make something I truly think you would like.

I think so much that you would like it.

but why am I trying so desperately to please my dead husband?

8:51a, 6 september, 2019

there are so many things i’ve wanted to tell you
so much i’ve discovered
about the world
about myself
music, tv, life, art.
humans. people.
people i think you would like, approve of
people i want to tell you about, share
humans i have told about you
the good ones, they respond with warmth
with love. tenderness and care.
anyone else is dismissed, flicked away
deleted.
no time for unadulterated bullshit.

today is the day before the day that
it began for the last time.
the day before the day that was your last in this house
on this couch.
it is as clear as it was seven hundred thirty days ago.

“…Now I miss you more than I can take
And I will surely break
And every morning that I wake
god, it’s the same
There’s nothing more to it
I just get through it

It always takes me by surprise
how dark it gets this time of year
and how apparent it all becomes
that you’re not close, not even near

no matter how many times I tell myself
I have to be sincere
I have a hard time standing up
and facing those fears…”

To A Poet, First Aid Kit

On defeating toxic masculinity

The article I linked below was posted in a women’s group I’m in, and it needs to be shared far and wide.

There are men I know, men I have dated, men I have married, on both sides of this: men who are doing the hard work to become more emotionally vulnerable, to open up to other men, who are relying on each other and their therapists, and men who aren’t there yet.

Things I am learning about myself after Gary’s death include the now-ingrained understanding that it is not my job to be anyone’s one and only ANYTHING. In my fifty-one years on this planet, my entry into therapy at age twelve, and my twenty-six years with a formal diagnosis, I have always done the hard work. I am a damaged individual, absofuckingtively. I am a product of my genetics and my upbringing and all of the fucked up shit that people have done to me and that I have survived.

That’s the key: I have survived. I have absolutely leaned on others for support, for aid, for guidance. To just listen to me when I am truly inconsolable. When people ask “are you okay???” and my response is “No, I am not.” To actually sit with me and be interested in why instead of ordering drinks.

I have some incredible women friends now, a Squad of Strength, a Posse of Power, a Coven of Courage. These women, my Sisterhood of the Salt are invaluable to me, are precious to me. I don’t ask for permission from them, nor validation that what I’m ever doing is the right thing to do. What my tribe unequivocally offers up to me is a safe place, a place of love and support. A place where I will be listened to, where objective opinions are welcomed. Where difficult questions are asked, and always with care and great love. It isn’t an echo chamber, not in the least. I know that some of what I’m experiencing is tempered by my illness, my neediness, my fear. But these women on the whole continue to ask the good, convoluted-yet-simple questions that make me think hard, and allow me to untangle my feelings around some very tricky situations. All without judgment. All with thoughts towards my safety first.

I don’t know how men can possibly do without this kind of thing.

“Toxic masculinity—and the persistent idea that feelings are a ‘female thing’—has left a generation of straight men stranded on emotionally-stunted island, unable to forge intimate relationships with other men. It’s women who are paying the price.”

Every person should read this article. And do the hard, messy work.

https://www.harpersbazaar.com/culture/features/a27259689/toxic-masculinity-male-friendships-emotional-labor-men-rely-on-women/

10:01p, 15 april, 2019

I could not have done this yesterday.

Nor the day before, or the
one before that, no.
Even though it meant that whatever
Whatever it is growing rapidly had extra time.
I could not have done this yesterday.

I pulled myself together and made a plan
and altered that plan the second it needed be.
I kept my head,
channeled my fear into anger
Not rage,
Anger.
Anger, while focused, can be productive.
Rage, always focused, never is.
Always is destructive..

I could not have done this yesterday.
I only hope I don’t have needed to anyway.