RIP Ipod


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My husband bought me an ipod in a reality that seems to be millions of years away from where I am today. At the time, I still relied heavily on CD’s for music. The idea of having one for myself made little sense, because I’d just spent forever downloading our entire music library, disc by disc, into what was, at the time, the biggest one I could buy. Laughably, that device is long dead, and, very recently, his brother now joins him.

The ipod held for me, the prospect of podcasts, pandora, and my owned music, the potential for escape. When I had to travel, or move into an office with my impossible colleague, the ability to turn it on and not deal with the supposed humanity around me was vital to my mental health. It had all my playlists for the gym, songs I carefully selected and put in order to maximize my cardio output. It had the songs I was trying to learn to sing. It was my friend.

Then one day, it kept trying to turn itself off and back on again. I watched in dismay as this brilliant piece of electronics, the cornerstone of my mental well being, began to give up on me. It lasted a few days, like this, and I was in denial about it, hoping a hard reboot would solve the problem. But, after doing a factory reset, it was still happening. My dear friend was gone.

So now, I’m left to figure out what to do next. I did pull up my pandora on my work PC, but our network pings every few minutes to be just annoying enough to keep people from sucking up bandwidth for streaming music. Then I switched to podcasts, and having exhausted all the ones I wanted, and not really wanting to spend the time and effort to seek out new ones, I gave up on that too. Today, I recovered my old audible library and have been working my way through audiobooks, hoping that it will sustain me, but I fear that it will only work for so long. Sadly, I’m in desperate need of another iPod. Using my existing device, my iPhone, for music, isn’t feasible since so many other things, like phone calls and texts, come throughout the day, and I don’t want to bother people with those additional noises.

I realize how much of an old person I must sound like, forgoing my one solid device which does all things, for the thing that just did one or two of them without getting into that pesky phone call/communications device thing.  But, it was nice having a thing that just does the thing and not all that other stuff. I preferred going to the gym without my phone, having a few minutes of my life where someone couldn’t reach me. I liked being able to make playlists on it, stuff that was my own, not syncing to the cloud for all to see. And it was a lot smaller and thinner than my phone, mostly because my phone has to be encased in a thick otterbox case since my toddler realized what it can do. (He’s had this habit of stealing it and taking video of himself running away from me, laughing and giggling in that infectious toddler way.)

But, I’m not about to drop a huge wad on a device that I don’t really need. At least not right now. Maybe I’m still in mourning. It might just be too soon. :(

Why I can’t have nice things 


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If you are curious about whether your child gets carsick, have no fear. They will definitely let you know. They will chose a moment when they have your undivided attention, such as two minutes after you leave the house for an important event, like family pictures.

Instead of smiling and laughing for that long sought after idyllic portrait, ugly crying while scrubbing vomit from the car in the gas station parking lot, after you strip them of their now ruined, perfectly adorable ensemble, will ensure that important piece of information about them will never be forgotten.

What cannot be explained is how you manage to repress the urge to douse yourself in gasoline and self immolate for daring to want something nice for yourself ever.

April blows


April really is the cruelest month. We get a taste of warm weather…
But then are quickly bitchslapped by a winter not ready to let go.

I have no idea how to dress most days. And even the nicest weather outside can’t change the fact that my office is always needlessly freezing.

I’m left sitting on top of my space heater in my office, trying to stay warm, but it looks like I’m working.

Today, I’m just marveling at the futility of all of it.

I ask my friends for advice, and most of it’s good stuff. I’m like:

Some of it’s awful:

But really, I just want to mire in my own thoughts until the day is over, so I say whatever I have to, just to end the conversation:


Musical Interlude – Short Skirt/Long Jacket



This song is sort of my power anthem. I’ve been working in the professional office world for nearly all of my adult life. The woman described in Short Skirt/Long Jacket is the exact aesthetic I aspire to be.

She’s fearless, knowledgeable and unfettered by the silly opinions of others. She kicks ass, takes names and doesn’t have time for politics or drama. She is sure of herself, and never afraid to make changes to her life or herself that would improve her situation.

I wish I had that kind of confidence. To have fingernails that shine like justice, or a voice that is dark like tinted glass. Or at least to have someone say such things about me, behind my back or, preferably, to my face.

Some exciting news…

So, I’ve been working with a graphic design artist to reimagine my crudely drawn logo into something a bit more, uh, polished. I’ve just gotten a rough sketch back and I’m so excited to see my vision take shape through someone else’s skilled hands. I can’t share it with you guys yet, but hopefully I’ll have it ready to post soon! Stay tuned! :)



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There are holes inside us
where hope used to be,
where we hid dreams
from those who would take them.

except from Filler – by Bucky Sinister – All  Blacked Out and Nowhere to Go

I’ve been on a poetry kick lately. Something about the time of year, changing of seasons, especially the most recent cold winter into cautious spring. One of my favorite books of poetry is by Bucky Sinister, (check out his amazing works here). This quote from Filler speaks to me so much right now.

As a new mom, I’m learning where the holes in me still are. I’m not perfect mom, not even close, and I feel the depth of that imperfection so much when I’m around other moms who seem to have it all together with their doe-eyed innocents, eating kale and talking about the one hour of screen time their kid gets a month. Meanwhile, I’m trying to make my toddler forget how amazing cupcakes are, or at least convince him that he can’t have three in a row before breakfast.

But his love is perfect. He throws his arms around me and clutches so tight I can barely breathe. His toddler logic is the harder he holds on, the more I know he loves me, and to be honest, it works. I used to love that way once, I think. Back when I thought my love could change someone, could make an unhealthy person better, when I thought I could will the toxicity out of my life if I just loved hard enough. And I could hope my way into happiness.

But with that hope long gone, holes left by the people who would take it, I feel the emptiness when he holds me. And the filling up with new hope, just for him, that takes it’s place.


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