I have blisters.


I made calamari for Peyton last night and the oil popped and sizzled on my wrist as I held the pan.  It hurt that hot-oil-hurt, long, low and seething, but I didn’t miss a beat.  Shit had to be done.

I fed the kids (mine and the neighbor girl) and was in bed by 10.  The week had been long and full.  I also hadn’t heard from Rex.

After our misbegotten pot roast date things slowed to a whimper.  We texted Sunday when he got back into town and a little bit each morning throughout the week, but by Friday that disappeared and I almost hadn’t noticed.

Today, Saturday, I woke up naturally to a soft blue light and a purring cat.  Sometime in the late afternoon a blister popped.  It was some hours after that I relalized I’d heard nothing from Rex since Thursday morning.

Such a shame I had to get burned at all, but so be it.  

Febraury Photofest

Everything.

Patience isn’t something I’m very good at.  I have so little control over much of what happens to me that I compensate with the hunt for instant gratification.  At least then I feel activated, in charge.

Immediately checking my phone when I hear it ding.

Uncorking the bottle.

Unbuckling his pants.

His hot, hard flesh in my hand.

My body wrapped around his.

I can saunter and seduce and feel powerful when in reality I have absolutely none.  I’m just a passenger on this rock like everyone else, circling a bright little star.

A recent-ish Sinful Sunday submission.
Febraury Photofest

I’m not sure what you see.

I often wonder how others see me.  I present myself so clearly here.  I’m naked, raw, vulnerable, available.  But what does everyone else see?  How would people who know me describe me?  What do they see?

I see a slightly plump middle aged woman who’s horrible at picking men, stellar at her job, passionate about her child, and invested in her art.  She’s deeply private and can’t rely on most of her friends and so has turned to the internet for a richer, more supportive community.

She drinks too much on occasion, occasionally forgets birthdays, and frequently yells at her spastic dog.  

She also catches and releases everything not deadly or a cockroach and will move mountains to be there for you in your time of need even if you can’t move a speed bump for her.

I have days where I think I’m hot and wonderful and days where I’d like to slice the fat off my body — though thankfully with age those days number in the less than 5.

I wish I read more.  Can you tell I don’t?

I hope I seem honest here; I really aim to be.  But sometimes I just can’t believe my eyes.  Is this even really me??  

I’m at once proud and ashamed of my life; I’ve done so much.  It’s overwhelming and humbling and frustrating.  

I’m still trying to figure out the balance between what you and I see of me.  Are we the same coin, but different sides?  Or two completely different currencies?  Which is more valid?

What do people really see in me??

Febraury Photofest