I am human, I swear, despite a growing propensity to seek out heat, purr and stretch. See, proof:
I didn’t get around to posting this here, but it’s been sweet for the hundred or so people to give a thumbs up or yay about it on FB and instagram. Within a couple days of release date, I sold 8 already. A good sign.
So, the pet radish, shrunken has rolled in. You can get it there, here, everywhere soon.
Cats are teachers. Nap gurus with short-memories for accidental kicks. Lucid waking, able to turn from drowsing to maximum speed leap if need or curiosity pricks.
I have so much to learn about being.
So much to listen to like Philip Levine tribute show that JM did last night.
Death on death. Is the pile high enough yet? Now, Leonard Nimoy, who said he could too?
My wisdom tooth’s filling broke and the dentist filled it yesterday. I’m good for reading, that’s about all so reading I did. Here’s the first 17 books of the year.
Like a toothache.
Back in the early 90s when I got a filling I remember the large grey rubber sheet that isolated the tooth with a round clamp, the plastic over my chin, cheeks, nose, part of my vision. The terrible fumes. Being exterior to the experience, all conversation addressed to the hygienist, all decisions theirs. The dentist joking he should wear thick leather gloves because I keep biting him. The hygienist whose heat of hand came through the latex and who saw my chipped lips and asked if I wanted balm and rubbed a finger of gloss onto my lips with a compassion that brought me into a present.
Now a tiny tooth-sized raincoat and small layers, one added with a slow-release pain killer inside the tooth to soothe the nerve from the jars of drilling. Fewer small stages, no shoving on my jaw as if it is sand to tamp, more layers of magic light to buccal and distil to cure it, let is set and settle. Conversation with both, asking questions, not letting myself passively receive. Realizing how much skill they have. Imagine, rebuilding a tooth.
Otherwise I read, scratched notes. I called all halt yesterday to the usual. I tallied, because tallying is what I do and I read 276 pages in a day. I thought I made a few scratch notes but copying over it added up to 8 poems. The more you read, the more you see, the more there is to process.
And the more for dreams to work on. The delicate balance of not letting perishables perish and yet hoarding what we can before it is stolen. Another night of living in a war-zone, bombed out city, part-buildings, broken infrastructure, communication networks gone, squatter communities in lofts, seeds made illegal except for overpriced sources, furtive scavenged cans in hiding, trying to give them sun and rain enough to live without getting caught growing food.
What does the cat dream of, her small toe motions half running? Does she pursue or is she pursued?
So far as new years resolutions go, I’m on track for work and life shape, but this exercise aspect…let’s just say that going out once a week to walk a couple blocks to eat is not quite up to the task of building rock hard abs.
But it is double-double season, that is double all items of clothes except for the underwear. (Wait, can bras be stacked?)
Doubled socks, two pairs of pants over long johns, two shirts, two sweaters, mitts with gloves inside. Forgot to do nested hats, but two hoods are better than one.
It’s a good city to be a live-in tourist in. There’s always many things going on. It is a great year for Winterlude. The snow and ice sculptures are cut and stay put. None of this melt-right-away business.
As usual, it’s -37 with windchill, -22 without wind. Still, t-shirt weather if you don’t count the 2 or 3 sweaters/long johns, coat, hat, scarf, hood, double mitts, double socks…