“The heat pump blew all the fuses.”

house on top of building

I’m preparing to embark on a project with M, soon.  We’re going to design and build a miniature version of our dream house.  We’re still negotiating the materials.  (You know I want to use 3D printers. 😉)  M insists the final design must be as detailed and tactile as possible without spending a small fortune.  My inner hippie jumped forward and suggested (out loud) we use recycled Amazon boxes as a sole source of materials.

Isn’t it weird when your gut reaction is so spot on, it has layers of rightness that slowly and steadily reveal themselves?  And you think to yourself; maybe I’m more complicated than I realize.  🤔  (Then something shiny happens, and you laugh and forget all about it?)  Heh.  I should probably stop believing we’re still in negotiations over which materials to use.  (No-dee-duh.)

colorful painted houses

We’re in the thinking about it stage.  I’ve been watching lots of house shows on Netflix and noting features I appreciate.  I’ve also had a few glue-gun fiasco flashbacks from when I made my custom RGB LED lights.  And that time I cut off the tip of my finger when making my last quilt.  (As far as I can tell, it grew back.  Yay.)  I’m confident I won’t have these issues now that being deliberately present is a habit.  💪🏽

I think it’s cool that I learned it from studying Stevie Nicks interviews on YouTube as the first domino in a series of life lessons from various sources.  From take your time and exist at your natural pace, to full-on hippie status on my journey to enlightenment.  I’m dead chuffed.  (Shup.  Been waiting for ages to use that phrase.) 😂  I didn’t even know music was an epic teaching tool a decade ago.

The Army already taught me novels could only get you so far, but when paired with music, it’s a surprising distance.  I feel like I’m just getting warmed up in my exploration of music that moves me.  I’m embarking on a study of Dolly Parton, now.  No introduction or explanation is necessary;  she’s fabulous.  I strongly suspect she has lots to teach me.  Yay.  (Old school triple-threat; where the third threat is a topic that can easily lead to violence, especially if alcohol is involved.) 🤭

grado headphones

I can listen to Jolene on repeat for hours.  I love that song.  I’m also looking forward to watching Nine to Five, The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, Straight Talk, Steel Magnolias, and Joyful Noise, again.  I’m not really into country music, but some of it jumps out and says, yes you are, at times.  Some artists pull fans from all genre preferences, and Dolly Parton is one of them.  I’m off to watch my shows.  ✌🏽💜

“I figured I could afford a fake house in the Hamptons.”

heart shaped balloons in the clouds

The Unknown Mother

You don’t know me.

We’ve never met.

But we have this connection

of grief and regret.

A progeny of hope,

his life just started,

destroyed in a moment.

A dream departed.

I’m terrified,

never did this before.

Why wasn’t this part

of my training for war?

No time to panic,

no time to cry.

I’m calling you in my mind.

Please understand why.

I’m not a medic,

just the two-week course.

It’s why I’m praying

and trusting in The Force.

The squad is horrified,

their first brush with death.

It seems it’s all up to me,

if I can catch my breath.

I’ve seen death before

when a foster-brother died.

But now I’m a soldier.

I can’t run and hide.

I’ll borrow your perspective

and see through your eyes.

Your love for a son,

help render me wise.

Don’t know if you’ll see him.

Don’t know how it works.

But know if you do,

the mental image will lurk.

I’ll sing to him softly,

wash the blood away.

It’s helping to keep

the hysteria at bay.

Imagining I’m you,

will tend to him gently.

And muster the courage

lovingly, intently.

I loan you my hands,

my determination.

And share in the sorrow

for your lost creation.

Don’t know if you’ll see him,

or just a flag-draped box.

It’s all I can do

to soften the shock.

The tears are escaping.

We’re preparing to go.

I hope what I’ve done

somehow lessens the blow.

You don’t know me.

We’ve never met.

But we have this connection.

I’ll never forget.

by Unabashed Autist

“I’ve driven women to lesbianism before, but never to a mental institution.”

kittens wrapped in a blanket

I’ve draped myself in the comforting blanket of music, of late.  It’s gently healing the many wounds I’ve acquired on my journey so far.  In this pleasant space, I’m building a better survival strategy for when The New and Improved Depression Monster (TNAIDM) ambushes me in the future.  I’ve acknowledged how it affects me; out damn pride.  First to go is my wit.  I cannot rely on my keen mind when stapled to the floor.

woman listening to music

I don’t know how TNAIDM steals my intellect and rationality, but the evidence is overwhelming.  I must plan accordingly.  My inner gamer sees this as a challenge.  There are no walk-through videos to study on YouTube.  No strategy guides on message boards.  Only me, my presently uncompromised wit, and my shelter of music.  Challenge accepted.  Victory awaits.

Today, this blanket consists solely of music by Sheryl Crow.  As I listen and sing along, the lyrics reach me.  My strength and resolve rebuild.  My focus broadens, and my sorrows fade.  I remember who I am and embrace the biggest picture I’m able to perceive.  I’m stardust floating through space.  Soon, my minute of life will end, and what remains will drift on with the expansion of the universe.

All my pain is insignificant from this perspective.  I can breathe.  I can even laugh over the concerns that leveled me yesterday.  They fail to weigh me down when I zoom out and allow myself to float.  Snapshot.  Save.  Remember.  💜

 

“I think we all would have been a lot happier if they hadn’t landed a man on the moon.”

tickets

I know.  (Head suddenly too heavy to hold up)  What the hell, Alison?  I’m sorry.  I’ll get my shit together straight away, and get back in sync with the blogosphere, as soon as I finish this one thing.  For, today is the day M printed out the concert tickets.  (I know I said it weird, but it’s to signify this epic event.)  Yep.  We print out our tickets; we’re so old.  😂

freaking jubilant

Besides, I wanted something I can sleep with hold until it’s time.  So did the young woman we’re chaperoning to the Beyoncè show.  She (17) makes me feel a lot more secure in my reaction, (which consists of me nearly freaking out.)  We keep texting each other reminders that The Carter’s do not tolerate *lickspittles, to stay calm.  (*My new favorite word, isn’t it fabulous?  Thanks, George.)

I’m freaking jubilant.  I decided to give my brain the rest of the day off for good behavior.  I’ll likely spend what remains of it jumping up and down while listening to music.  Yay.  Here I go.  💜