Category Archives: Journal

As Sleep Creeps In

Sometimes Christmas feels a bit melancholy, and I once despised David Benoit’s tunes for The Peanuts that reminded me so. Now I love them, thankfully. Here’s another somewhat melancholy tune because melancholia sounds better when sung in French, from retro times past.

It was just Christmas a blink of an eye ago, and I was smiling internally all the morning through as I caught glimpses of the accumulated snow out my windows. Standing in the kitchen, I pressed down on a lemon, beginning to roll it along the cutting board to release all its juice before cutting into it for the sweet ginger syrup I was making for the blackberries. I’d just finished preparing an incredibly decadent Butterfinger pie the likes of which Bart would be proud. As I pressed, I looked down to find my hand wet and stinging, juice having found an invisible cut along my index. A first time for everything, there is, juice shot outta the skin of a lemon not yet cut- strength on my part or a lethargic lemon throwing in the towel early- you choose.

Squirrels are just daytime rats with a penchant for nuts. I gathered this while attempting to walk past the recycling bins this morning on the way to the car. I say attempt, because were YOU to be wearing my shoes on the (sneakily) icy pavement, you too may’ve spun ‘round twice, stumbled, and recovered just as I did. A solid 8.5!

I’m reluctant to stop watching holiday movies, as I started late this year. There’s one on in the background, even now. Someone’s late night/early morning shower has started in the building somewhere, which I find soothing to hear- the white noise of it, maybe. Trying not to be afraid of the new year ahead because there’s no use in that, but nevertheless. Hope brought me snow on Christmas, it can bring a heckuva a lot more. I want new and good things for my loved ones to start. ♦

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Had an indulgent nap alongside Edie this week. Or with Bun, rather. In the evolution of nicknames, Tina’s gone from Beanie Weenie to Beanie to Bean (and Fuzz), and Edie’s gone from Funny Bunny to Bunny to Bun. Bean and Bun. Characters to illustrate, put on the “someday” list. I’d love a (kind) nickname of my own, but it eludes me mostly, along with the affection required on the part of others in order for one to be bestowed apparently. I rarely hear my name spoken from the mouths of others, let alone a name that’s been nicked (must Google origin of term). Short on hugs and physical contact as well, feel I may shrivel up and wither away from the lack of general touch at any point. Thank God for Edie. To think there was a time in life I felt I’d received enough love and affection to last more than a lifetime.

Still, I’m happier somethingerothier than I’ve been in years making a living getting paid to design and illustrate daily. Current assessment of thanks- I’m angry as all get out at God while loving Him not a smidge less than I ever have. I’m angry in general these days, and rather short on patience. I’ve lived in my head alone for the better part of a decade – I don’t know what the future holds, just know I’m wary it’s more of the same comfortable malaise with the proverbial carrot ever dangled in front of me- that for hope of a two-part satisfaction birthed from a partnered life aaand a grander purpose fulfilled. I believe life is what you make it and find it maddening to not fully make of it what I want without requiring others to join in for the ride. Were I to sign up for life, this most certainly would not be the version at the top of the list- to share and share, receiving little in return. My gratitude could use an adjustment.

In FB nonsense, messaging appears to be the equivalence of liquid courage for former school friends of the ALREADY MARRIED male persuasion who feel the need to reveal their once unrequited feelings from long ago only to follow it up with an eluded and/or blatant offer to strike them up again. Are they part of a club, or something? Comfortable in their homes, marriages, friendships, and routines, looking to make me a supplementary boost to their lacking egos cuz they don’t know how to make the chosen one satisfy. Surely doling out the same compliments to others as well. Modus operandi. And were they to find their wives doing the same? Tempted to screenshot their musings and send them along to their significant others. I suffer no fools and demand dignity in such dealings. The same guys post about completing common household chores and once-in-a-blue-moon giftings of generic dial-o-bouquets as though they’re going above and beyond and not just checking off tasks many do without fanfare. Wasting not a word more- I offer up a pic of the towel my dad gifted me yesterday.


Other recent thoughts that are of a jumbled and lighter hearted nature that accompanied the above chatter in my mind:


Watched Body Double recently- towards the end, the main guy was reminiscent of Ralph Fiennes in Strange Days. Something in the slicked hair and/or the outfit selection perhaps. Happen to’ve sported that short haircut ’n’ color shown on Griffith in times past. Twice.


Newish glasses, as my rosy ones need an assist.


I’ve been scruffling through the leaves the last week- so many piled up along the curbs in most places (though not here) that I can’t see where the road begins and the sidewalk ends in order to step up or down. It’s a welcome and discombobulating dilemma.

Politics as spectator sport drives me nuts- action is the only acceptable response- put up or shut up. Trump. The only thing more moronic than Trump, is the number of folks spending time dotingly pointing out each increasingly moronic act. Googled the odds of him passing away at his age- prospects could be better.

Had my first kale salad. It was begrudgingly delicious.

A bunch of the images in my posts are MIA despite showing up when officially checked upon. If it’s not one glitch, it’s another. ♦

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Today’s Errand Findings


Found at Walmart (WHY am I here again, it’s a rare, rare thing, thankfully), an irreparable travesty. They’re tryin’ anything to save on packaging costs these days.


While standing in line (cuz it’s Walmart), I found this on my phone while looking for an image of pinecones. This comparison corroborates my previously shared experience at the Olympic Game Farm. Bad llamas. Look at that poor little alpaca made to stand upon the back of that there llama and painstakingly tongue bathe its bad llama hairs one by one.

ASIDE: I need more letters of the alphabetical variety to fix the following conundrum. I don’t like the informality of “cuz” coupled with the way I most often write, buuut I don’t like the proper way either, that of “‘cause.” When reading it, my mind doesn’t read it as I say it which is most certainly C-U-Z. Oh, well, there are worse things. “Cuz” it is for now.


My Dad was heading out of my place today, and commented on the sorry state of one of my beloved plants. The poor dear hasn’t been responding well no matter what I’ve attempted, ever since following me home in June-ish. Despite its deceptive show of green here, it’s dropped nearly two-thirds of its leaves. “Can’t stay here, too many colors, need sleep,” says my Dad, his best attempt at explaining the plant’s troubles, its suicide, in fact, so says my dad. Struck me kinda funny, and I now see its long lanky leaves reaching for the sky as a neurotic cry for help. Hoping the current regimen will stabilize the thing- it’s fairly ginorm to be staging a death in the middle of my living room. ♦

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Devil Behind the Wheel


This is me. I look like this now.

Not really, but there’s a resemblance, if only for the green fuzzy bits. Miss that hoodie-thingie with the stripes- managed to lose it, as well as my most favorite coat and scarf, all at different times, and all in movie theatres in the last coupla years. I don’t lose things ever, except outerwear, apparently.


Speaking of theatres, I shoulda been a movie set designer. A profession that incorporates research, history, film, design, creation- both a flat representation on paper and its physical form realized.

I was hanging up some birthday signage for a coworker a while back, and needed to measure out the length of monofilament needed and said so aloud. Another coworker whom I was discussing the likes of Jemaine Clement with at the time, mentions that my Pacific Northwest accent’s showing. I stare blankly not yet identifying the telltale word. She says, “You said ‘maysure’, not ‘measure’.” Thought I’d corrected that one, but my default won out in the moment.


Curious as to what new food fads will hit next. I’ve stubbornly never bought into the whole kale as salad thing, cuz, ew. Arugula and spinach, please. Though I’ve fully adopted avocado toast, end of story. (Time is a weirdo, I posted this pic a few years back, but ’05 feels closer than that morning in ’15.)

It finally happened, one of the sweet new lives residing on my balcony came to an end. I was out watering some plants and happened to look down to see a lifeless little downy-feathered body laying still at my feet. Thoughts ran through my mind about how sad it was, had the bird suffered, did the parents care, what exactly happened, and wow, I seemed to be dealing with this rather well. Finished pouring the last of the watering can’s contents and stepped back inside where I promptly burst into tears sobbing for the little life ended too soon. Glad to know I’m still me, with emotions that’ll never quite be fully contained when it comes to matters of the heart.


More car show loveliness. Wish there was some place I could go to drive like a frickin’ maniac without harming a soul and return having given flight to the utter exhilaration I feel when speeding and efficiently maneuvering from point A to B when behind the wheel. I suppose that requires obstacles, AKA, other vehicles and/or somewhat close quarters to maneuver around though, so drat to that. ♦

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Sunday Edition

It’s really encouraging and thrilling to hear something you haven’t heard in a long time.

Heard “my” kitty’s meow recently as well, she’s been distant as of late. This week finds her prowling about the grounds at last, hurrying to greet me once again. Turns out her name is…

It was late and I was nearly up the second flight of stairs the other night when I heard the bobo bell of a certain cat’s collar nearing. Then a door from the bottom floor opens and I hear the guy who lives there call out, “Ashley! Ashley! Hey, Aaashley, here, kitty.”


Uh, no.

I’d imagine her a Hilda before an “Ashley.” She has a toughness about her that I enjoy because it makes the vulnerability she sometimes shows all the sweeter. I prefer to call her Ash. The name must be the doing of the guy’s overbearing mother I sometimes here bellowing from the sidewalk.

Bad-ish dreams- I’ve watched a ridiculous amount of filth in the last almost decade and I’ve always marveled that it doesn’t seep into my dreams. But now, I’ve had more disturbing dreams in the last six months than in six years. Just because it’s on film doesn’t mean I have to watch it. But I’ve wanted to, despite believing garbage in, garbage out, and that we become what we focus on. Must behave. At least I don’t keep it in my home, and the desire to participate in life more so than consume it from a screen grows ever stronger.

I wonder how long once successful social sites will stay online- Myspace, Flickr, etc. I’ve received an excess (!) number of emails concerning my dormant Photobucket account- so I reluctantly deleted all the images and the account itself to shut them up, to no avail. Still receiving an abundance of emails. Grumpola. If they’d just stay in the spam folder, that’d be greeeat.

When I use the same phraseology unintentionally (love to do so with intent) in almost back-to-back posts, it makes me cringe when I only spot it after the fact. “Solid excuse” being one phrase that just popped out at me currently. Others leapt at me too, but I’m not gonna compile a list.

I love when I’m out and about in my car, and I catch people pointing and saying “Slugbug”! Played that game religiously growing up. I wonder if people see my license plate and think I got the name wrong or that “Slugbug” wasn’t available so I just chose a similar name. Nay, nay! When I had my 1974 Super Beetle(s) in the past, I was snug in my Bug, and the name remains.

As with several posts in the past year, here lies some grumpage concerning my fellow inhabitants of earth. Putting it to “paper,” expunging it from my soul. There’s currently a hodge-podge of lovely people in life that act as supplemental acquaintances, but I hunger for a few core friends that really click with me.

People that care about expressing themselves through exterior means, that have style in their appearance and home.
That cook (well) and share it with others.
That know the value of delightful external trappings, but aren’t owned by all their stuff, and instead operate from a core of what really matters in life.
That fight to keep hatred out, and bickering to a minimum.
That know words are important, and don’t casually throw cussing around like salt.
I currently say ”what the f—?” under my breath waaay too much, and I loathe it.
I want those that are for me, not against me, that are happy for me when something good happens.
People that include me, and allow me to include them.
So tired of no-style athletic shoes, sports gear, talk of beer, wine, pot, and the next game. Repeat.
That’s not my life and I don’t wanna hear about it from others.
Where are the well-rounded folks with interests being explored, hearts shared, that value and invest in people rather than in the next collectible (heck, I love collectibles, but they’re not life).

I see examples of people seemingly more in sync with me everyday, but to find them in real life has been problematic. For those I do encounter, I’m not a curiosity to be explored nor an obligation to get to at some point. I’m not here to be their mother or a 24/7 cheerleader- frank truth with a side of tact versus enabling falsehoods are my style. I just want some sort of balance- we’re a spirit in a body with a soul- the mind, will, and emotions. God feeds my spirit, people feed my soul. This quote from the flick 20th Century Women, brings me dismay:

“So, sweetie, I don’t know if we ever figure our lives out, and the people who help you, they might not be who you thought or wanted. They might just be the people who show up.”

And then there’s art. It feels like I can do art OR have a life, but attempting both at the same time leaves me half-arsing both, spinning wheels, negating each other, and I move no farther forward. If one or the other would sort themselves out, systematize already, I could more purely focus on the other.

I’m mad at the world for being takers, not givers, taking and taking and not giving much in return.
For being overly sensitive and complainy instead of shutting up and doing something.
Doing something begins right where they are- being kind to those around them.
In my anger, I become them, a cyclical battle I can recognize, but feel powerless to stop. And yet, only I can stop it. Strength for each new day and no more.

And of course, the not so juicy cherry on top- all my hopes, dreams, wishes and wants, fall flat in the face of this nuclear war crap attempting to cast a surreally dark shadow all too soon. I don’t delve deeply into the news these days- bias, fearmongering, unnecessary repetition- it’s folly, and too many take the bait, feeding a deceptive juggernaut. Despite my current lack though, I’ll continue to enjoy life and help those I can, whether for a day more, or thousands upon thousands. Always at the water’s edge. ♦


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A Monday Night Moment


Just now happened across this meme while searching for something entirely different, my usual mode for finding things. Memes like these are unsightly- the text is crawling off the right side and is all unduly outlined and blocky. Even so, made me laugh. I read it and thought, “What hairy arm?” followed immediately by “How’d that cat get a box seat?” Only then did I see the arm. To my credit (ish), I first viewed it in tiny Google image search mode.

Flipped on the tv for the first time in ages as well (I’ve been in a world of movies and binged programs), and it looks like Freddy vs. Jason is concluding. Rather timely, as I’ve watched Never Sleep Again: The Elm Street Legacy recently, and felt like a whole chunk of teendom (or maybe “teendumb”?) came forth from the depths of a memory in need of a good jolt from time to time. ♦

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