In case anyone is wondering

Being thin is the only way I can make my boobs look proportional.

Informed voter, age 10

D, apropos nothing at 9am, explaining the election using Lego Angry Birds and Jenga blocks:
"Let's say these 2 towers represent Obama and Romney.
And the height, and...and the height and... and complexity of each tower represents what they will do for America.
And these three blue birds are the voters --"

"See? The voters knocked down the Romney tower because it wasn't strong".

raw exposition of dream,330 am, unedited

I don't even want to write this down but I think I HAVE to do so.
In this nightmare D had another family. No - that's not the bad part. D had another MOM.
And she was perfect.
She drew pictures he admired and wanted to emulate. He showed me drawings he had done. I told him they were wonderful. He said "the real genius here is HER"
(She doesn't have a name. I wish she did so i could hang my hurt somewhere.)
She is blonde and athletic. She has 3 other kids, Declan's brothers now, I guess. When I go to visit (the house is beautiful, bright, big) the first time they are sitting at a table making paper houses. On the houses are charts of responsibilities for everyone in the family; you get stars for the successfully completing things.
It's time for school - she, pretty blonde she, dressed in fancy yoga clothes -brings out lunches for them to take to school. they are in charming little boxes, like bento boxes a bit. Everything is carefully and artfully wrapped. D's had a salad, perky greens arrayed like a small terrarium. There was curly, frisee lettuce sprouting from it like Dr Seuss trees. All I can think of is the triscuits I (used to - used to - not anymore because D has ANOTHER MOM NOW ) stuff into a sandwich bag, next to some cereal bars and cookies. I ask him "do you actually EAT that?" He opens the box and plucks out a cucumber dripping with vinaigrette. Takes a bite. "It's really good, and i dont have a choice." She kisses his head.
I startle awake.

Grip

Gripping onto the chair rail
Staring at the plaster nubs on the ceiling
blurry,
Unflattering, snot wiped on the inside of my t-shirt
How is this beautiful, except thin?

Any other thing

Someday I will get to the point where my first impulse, when hungry, will not be to think "how can I put this off? How can I distract myself?".

I delay gratification so poorly in every other way.

Oakland Park Boulevard, 6/12/12

While I often think about mortality, and will willingly talk about it, I balk at writing about it. Printed words on death seem either too glib, or too fraught, or too sentimental. (Discworld's DEATH being one notable exception).
Committing the words to paper feels like tempting fate.
Tonight I had (as I often do on the way home in traffic) a mortal moment. Not due to any near-collision or car malfunction -  but the proximity and the possibility put me in a reflective mood.

No thanatological revelation.
No poetry.
No resignation, and no real fear.
Just this one sentence: I will always want more life. I will always want more life. I will always want more life.

Saturday, bored. A quickie:

Two-cent persuasion
such a breath-sized snip,
A pinch -
I love this trinket; my finger flaunts it