2020-07-15 The End is the Beginning

Spoiler alert. The world ends with a whimper and not a bang.

I traveled into the future yesterday and found that all endings are an open door to the beginning and all beginnings are glasses full of possibility. Drink it down people. Get drunk on it and savor every drop. Realize that when it’s half gone, it’s still half full.

Yesterday was a long string of zoom meetings. Strange how one could be so sick of inviting other human beings into their home yet still crave being with them and hearing what they have to say. Still wanting to be a part of the chaos. It’s the reason I’m back at it today. To try again.

Yesterday when it was all over I met my love in the backyard. We slid into the hot tub together letting that warm water smooth our aching minds. He asked me how my day was and I proceeded to lament. That lasted about 60 seconds at which point he asked, “is the glass really that half empty?”

Then silence fell between us as I thought about his question. I look around. It’s the height of summer. All the flowers I’ve planted in pots around The backyard are in bloom and the ivy is taking over the bricks. I’ve positioned the Mandevilla just so, the tendrils reach up and grab a strand of the ivy. The vines have become intertwined and one uses the other to grow in its preferred direction. One climbs up and the other down. I engineered that on purpose.

The sky grows thick with dense grey clouds and I can feel that relief is imminent. It will rain. My eyes weary and in need of the rain. I think about how fortunate I have been to have met Jim. To be sitting here, at the precipice of a summer storm, contemplating life and our future together. I say “of course it’s not half empty. It’s over half full.”

Later, we are in the theatre room getting ready to watch the series finale of “Dark.” He doesn’t push play right away. Instead he goes into a bit of a monologue about meeting me and how things are how they should be and how he could not imagine a life without me. He believes in fate. His statements are less about the overarching story of our lives and more about how it is to take every day as another chance to make the most of what we’ve been given.

We’ve had choices, but could we look back and say we would have chosen differently? I don’t think so.

We both spend most of our days tending to responsibilities we’ve committed to that don’t have anything to do with each other. Some days we only see each other and really get to talk for an hour or so. But we get to look forward to that time every day. I sometimes forget that.

His words were both poignant and heart felt. I agreed with what he said by squeezing his hand and looking in his eyes. And with a simple ‘thank you’.

Then he pushed play and we watched the show. Together.

The end of the day is just an open door to tomorrow.

The day ends as I slip my weary soul between cool sheets and rest my head on a pillow that quickly forms a nook the shape of my neck. I close my eyes and tell the universe I need rain. The rain has been so elusive lately.


Today I wake to dark skies and rain. I say “thank you.” My glass is full again.

I get up and shuffle to the kitchen. I make Jim breakfast and we sit at the table together talking about the plans we have for this day. A full day of work at the office for him and a full day of zooms for me.

Did I kiss him goodbye as he left? I can’t quite recall.

Peace and Love,
~Miss SugarCookie

2020-06-26 Take Back the City Tour: Day 12.944 – Enjoying the Moment

Today is almost over. The more time my daughter and I spend alone together, the more we come to understand each other better. I mean, we live together but sometimes, we are too busy just getting through each day that we don’t even really talk and that’s a shame. Tonight she told me she was not prepared for this trip because she didn’t think I was serious about going. She thought it was just a passing thought and now here we are, 3rd night of a Colorado road-trip. Guess I was serious. We both wanted this Llama in our respective stories and as day turns into night, we realize we did not just want the Llama—we NEEDED it.

Now that adequate sleep has been had and the restoration is in full swing, we are finally getting to the good conversations. I mean, sometimes I talk and talk and it ends up feeling like a one sided story or a mom lecture, but now, it’s a two way street. She’s talking and coming out of her shell a little bit. I’ve learned some things about her in the past couple days that I did not know before. I think maybe it is because I’ve been open and freely sharing stories from my life so she’s opening up too.

We’ve also veered into some uncomfortable territory today and it’s good to have a dialogue where I can just listen to what she thinks and feels and knows about herself and life in general. It won’t be long until we are packing her up for her college dorm. It won’t be long until she starts to experience some new things and I want to make sure she’s prepared. Or as prepared as one can be for life, since it is often unexpected. I won’t be able to just pop up to her room when she texts “mama, I need you.”

I dunno. I kinda want to memorialize this moment. Her and I sharing a bed at a Holiday Inn Express in North Colorado Springs. Flipping through random cable channels, watching the end of Aquaman and lamenting about what a bad show it is. And deciding to go out in the pouring rain to get dinner in our pajamas. And just a little bit ago, we were huddled together researching potential adventures for tomorrow. It’s just nice to be in this moment.

Of course that moment has passed and now she’s resumed her typical teenage before-bed-screen-time with her peeps and I’m.. well.. doing this. It’s past 10PM now and we did indeed find some cool things to do for tomorrow so I’d better get to sleep.

Peace and Love,
~Miss SugarCookie

2020-06-21 Take Back the City Tour: Days 5 – Summer Solstice Shack Simple

Yesterday I was able to break out of the new normal routine to get a nice balance of holding counsel with the frogs and the butterflies and dragonflies at a “shack simple” experience and also have a lovely catch up session with some friends.

The shack simple day was coordinated by a friend of mine, Michelle, and hosted by the naturalist school out somewhere near Waubonsie in Iowa and the guy who leads that organization/effort, Jack. I honestly don’t know exactly where we were because Michelle drove me and two other MFA friends out around 8:30. It’s somewhere near the Loess Hills scenic byway which is across the Missouri River and about an hour south of the metro area.

I’d never even heard of a “shack simple” before but apparently the concept has been around a while. In my interpretation, it’s kind of an escape from all the havoc of life to live a simple life for for a while. Someplace to get clean and re-connect with nature. Get back to basics and discover what is lost from spending too much time trapped in the gridlock.

This experience was just a taste. Just a lazy morning rolling over like an old hound, into the afternoon. I can see where by itself, one day isn’t quite enough. My mind is often so wound up, it takes a while to settle down and relax. Once we chatted for a bit and the concept and amenities were explained to us, he turned the 5 of us loose to wander around and find our own way.

I personally wandered around a little getting my bearings with the building and the path to the nearby pond. I was emotional and fidgety and restless and had anxiety that I wasn’t going to be able to settle down to get something out of the day. Within the first hour I found two isolated places where I just sat and thought about stuff and let the tears come. It was a nice release.

I’ve been holding so much inside. It just needed out.

When I walked down to the pond Jack was there with the other gal from the Naturalist School that I had not met before. I sat with my notebook poised for brilliance and my water bottle at a picnic table. I was ready and waiting for something to come to me. But sort of distracted by what the other folks were doing.

I engaged Jack in conversation, asking questions about the school and his experience. I got good intel on a few of the butterfly species we were seeing and what his connection is with the MFA program.

Did you know that you can tell a butterfly from a moth by looking at their antennae? Butterflies have a little ball at the end of their antennae and moths have more of a feather like antennae. I never knew that. It feels like something everyone should know.

Jack is a cool guy and I really dig the fact that he had a flip phone and didn’t even assume I had an email address. Technology makes it easier to communicate with people but it was so lovely to daydream for just a second about how life would be without all that. It really would be more simple. There’s a longing inside of me to return to that kind of life and the shack simple just highlighted that.

I truly never did settle down. I wandered back to the shelter and put my yoga mat down in the cool dark basement and did corpse pose for about 20 minutes. Cried again. It wasn’t really crying, though, just letting the emotions leave my body and the path they chose was tears. They gathered on the surface of my eyes and softly ran down the sides of my temples.

I focused on my breathing for a bit but I would hardly call it meditating.

After that I went back to the main level to get a snack from my daypack. Stepha was there and so we chatted for a bit. The last time I saw her it was January and we were at Res together. That was all pre-pandemic and the focus was on the semester ahead. It’s crazy to think about how much was crushed by the virus and how it’s not only changed our daily lives but also had a huge impact on our mental health.

People don’t talk about it much but I’m sure the Covid has put a lot of folks into a depression. I was in denial about that until this past week but now I’m more aware that that is what I’m experiencing. People need people and I miss people. I miss all my people and meetups and conversations. It’s my lifeline, you know, to a better life. It’s a key component and you take that away and it leaves a void.

And Zoom doesn’t cut it. I feel like Zoom actually makes it worse. But that’s probably because we spend all day on Zoom and the last thing we want is to sit on a screen longer looking at ourself or a picture of ourself. I think I’m gonna change my Zoom profile pic to one of my cats this week. I digress.

After that shack simple introduction we packed our belongings back into the car and headed back home. Arriving back at Michelle’s place, we walked to get Tacos and margaritas (water for yours truly cuz I’m still off the sauce for at least the rest of this month). We sat at a table outside in the shade and talked about all sorts of stuff.

That was the bonus plan. It was actually better to have conversations and really connect with people than it was being out alone in nature. I mean, nature is great but the real value is sharing it with people and making memories.


Today is the actual Summer Solstice so there’s a lot of daylight to work with. I’ve got some serious weeding to do in the garden and also some planning to do for my upcoming week. There will be dentist appointments, mammograms, and mini-Road trips— oh my!

I’m keeping a paper calendar to keep track of my ailments and meds. I’m planning to abstain from the alcohol and keep the caffeine to a minimum. I’m feeling the urge to make a to-do list for the remainder of June. That must mean I’m seriously on the mend!.. That’s good news!!

Time now to get on the Sunday Solstice Train.

With Peace and Love and Gratitude,
~Miss SugarCookie

2020-06-13 Rejections, connections, and Strawberry Pie 🍓🥧❤️

I’ve had a few communications with folks lately about rejection. Anytime you take a risk and put yourself out there and pin hopes on someone else’s reaction, you are subjecting yourself to the possibility of rejection. I’ve got two specific instances to share with new insights.

In this not-so-new-anymore world of electronic communications, a person can sit at their computer and submit poem after poem to dozens of different places. I can’t claim to hit this kind of volume, but I have spent a fair bit of my free-time lately doing research, tailoring my bio, writing cover letters, and selecting and editing appropriate pieces.

Most people I’ve talked to about this process say things like “keep going and you’ll be able to paper your walls with those rejections”. However, that’s just not how it is anymore. There’s no paper.

No. Instead those rejections pop into your electronic in-box and end up interrupting your day at very unexpected times. We no longer walk to the mailbox with a measure of anticipation and hope. Nope. We send our babies out into the world and when they cone back, rejected it could be mid-morning in the middle of a work meeting you’ve lost interest in. You toggle over to your personal email and open that electronic rejection.

There’s nothing to do then. No physical evidence of the rejection (I suppose unless you printed it out). If I’m in a rotten mood already, it’s like I just shrug, and say “thanks universe, go ahead and punch a girl whose already down”. Whatever. I didn’t need to win that AWP contest or have my words appear in “32Poems” anyway. (Two very recent rejections).

If I’m having a good day or my dauber is up, it’s kinda like “so what, universe, my life is good and I don’t really like cake anyway, so the jokes on you.”

The lesson I’m working out here for myself, is that I’m doing pretty good not letting it get to me. I’m not hanging my hat on any acceptance or rejection. I’m not judging my self worth based on someone else’s opinions of the fruits of my creative labors. I’m writing these poems for me. Kinda like this blog. It’s just for me and though it feels good to know people are reading it and sometimes click the button to like it, it’s that’s not what gives me satisfaction. It’s the act of writing, documenting, thinking, and those moments where the light bulb goes off and I actually sort out an issue or find some conclusion to a troubling issue. Those moments are priceless!!

The second instance of rejection that’s relevant today, and not as easily dismissed has to do with Father’s Day. I’m certainly not alone in my plight with the “holiday”. It’s a Hallmark holiday that tends to remind me of the rejection I’ve experienced with regard to my relationship with my dad for many years now.

He’s got his family. His wife and her kids, grand kids, and great grandkids and they have the relationship I’ve longed for my whole adult life. They hang out. He babysits his great grandkids. He’s spent countless hours with them and almost none with me or my kids. When we try to participate in family events, we’re made to feel like outcasts. We’re literally the red-headed step children nobody seems to notice. Huddling near each other with nothing to contribute to the conversation. Our lives are so disconnected.

It’s rejection at a deep level. Something I can’t shrug off like a poem some random stranger didn’t care for. These are my real children not having a relationship with their grandfather. Now when I ask if they want to go visit, my kids just say “naw”. I don’t force them.

As their mother, I want to protect them. I’d rather they not feel the rejection I feel. I’d rather have them put their energy into relationships that are positive and supporting.

On my wedding day four months ago, when we were taking pictures during the reception, I requested one with just my siblings. As they came around me, the moment became emotional for me. With an 18 year spread among us, it’s rare to have a moment in life together. I began to cry. I had to regain my composure for the picture.

After that moment, my dad asked me why I was crying. I told him the truth. That it’s not often we get these opportunities to be together as a family. That it’s important to me. It’s part of the reason I wanted to have a wedding instead of just running to city hall or eloping to some exotic destination. I wanted to see my loved ones and come together in celebration.

I honestly don’t think he gets it. Or maybe he gets it but is unwilling to change the situation. Change is tough and it takes effort to maintain positive relationships. You sometimes have to risk rejection.

I did that last Christmas. I tried. I subjected my love to it too. We attended Christmas dinner at my step-nieces house. It was disastrously awful for Jim and I. I’ve never felt so out of place and unwanted in my whole life. On the way home from that event, I cried and promised Jim I would never do that to us again.

But now here I am. The day before Father’s Day, preparing a gift for him and his wife. I’m contemplating setting up a visit to deliver the gift (home made strawberry pie using his moms recipe) I’m considering making my kids go with me. I’m hanging my hat on a positive reception. I’m rejecting the idea of being rejected again. I’m hoping it’s not too late to re-establish some connection. It’s probably foolish.

Why do I feel the need to do this? Where does this need for his approval come from. Has it just been long enough that I need another reminder of how it is, or how it probably will never change? I can bake strawberry pies year after year expecting a different result. It’s not just foolish, it’s also really pathetic and sad.

If anyone ever asked me about my relationship with my father (which people don’t). I would say “it’s kind of a cats in the cradle thing”. I can’t help but think about that song when I think about my dad.

Anyway, that’s enough lamenting about rejection for one Saturday. Time to go cut strawberries and crush graham crackers. Whatever.

Peace and Love,
~Miss SugarCookie

2020-06-01 What other choice do I have?

A friend of mine texted me out of the blue to ask how I was doing. I said I’m OK, but that I think it’s “the end of days” going on right now. I’m not sure if this hellfire of strangeness is biblical, but it sure feels like it.

It would be just like the Universe to send the Earth into an unrecoverable tailspin just when I finally get my life together and good things start happening. I mean I get married and look what happens. Good grief. (Of course I’m not that self centered but how else does one human being approach trying to make sense of madness and chaos).

2020 – The year a deadly virus travels the globe and threatens the health, safety, and well being of every person on the planet. Humanity is tested to the extreme by the global pandemic. Results are pending.

2020 – The year racial tensions escalated in a way I’ve never experienced in my lifetime. Protests erupt into violence and people are hurt and murdered. Curfews are put in place in my city. Human beings are pushed to the edge of what they can tolerate. A test wrapped snug inside the first test. Results still pending.

2020 – The year America launches people into space for the first time in decades in a venture that was privately funded. Proving to the world that not only are we making progress forward again, but are dedicated to continuing on that path, driven by a desire to explore new horizons and fueled by determination. But how on Earth do we celebrate this when any celebration feels dangerous and disrespectful.

The spiral wraps a little tighter. A coil compressed with so much pressure. What’s a girl to do?

Get involved? Volunteer? Wait out the surge in hiding? Engage in conversations? Actions speak louder than words, but actions have consequences.

2020 – The year I was supposed to get married and now that day is a distant daydream. I’d like to rewind the clock 4 months and hug my friends and parents and siblings again. How long will it be before I can hug you again.

2020 – The year my daughter was supposed to have her senior prom, graduate, and celebrate making it 13 years through school. Senior lock-in-night, prom, skip day, grad parties, and graduation all cancelled save for a 1 hour virtual video I sat alone and watched, crying for her and myself and the fact that like most things, this too will just pass and fade.

2020 – The year I was supposed to finish my MFA. Celebrate with my new crew on the back patio, taking turns saying “cheers” as the sun slides into the trees behind us. The vision of that moment dissolved into a perpetual winter with white noise on an 13 inch laptop screen that constantly reminds me that my “internet connection is unstable”. My hope is hanging on a thread I’ll get to see these folks in person in January. My thesis sits in a box on the floor.

2020 – A year that’s already in shreds and yet I push forward for the launch of a new online lit mag. I turn a blind eye and just do the next damn thing on the checklist because it’s all I can do. I mean, I could have put it on pause. Would that have been the right call? No, I don’t think so. I believe in our mission and the power of words. Maybe this is just what Omaha needs. Maybe our mission and lifting up certain voices will help us all inch forward.

2020 – Almost half way through the year and I can’t stop myself from crying and I don’t care. I’m human and I do as the humans do. It’s these private moments when I’m torn between gratitude and self-pity, between helplessness and empowerment. A yo-yo winding and unwinding on some invisible string.

Maybe it’s the end times, but I don’t think so. The only end times I really believe in is the sun going nova and that’s not supposed to happen for millions of years. I wonder if human beings will still be around when that happens? Probably not. Not if we keep going like we are right now.

It’s June 1st. A new day, a new week, and a new month. All we can really do is put pants on and try, once again, to retain our humanity and find something of the good life in the day.

Wishing You Peace My Friends,
~Miss SugarCookie

2020-05-29 “Everything’s cool as long as I’m getting thinner”

That title is a line from the Lily Allen song appropriately titled “The Fear”. Half of the lyrics are about life and mass consumption and the way we seek after fortune and how society is all fucked up. The other half is confessional. It’s Admitting to confusion and not knowing what’s real and feeling taken over by “the fear”.

Every morning for a good long while, the first thing I do after getting out of bed and going pee is strip naked and get on the scale. And each time the number is lower than the day before I say to myself “everything’s cool as long as I’m getting thinner”. I can’t escape that line repeating in my head in the same way that I can’t escape my negative body image or my struggle with having an eating disorder.

I don’t talk about it much and very few people know. You know, anyone who reads this blog (which is like 2 people and about 384 WordPress bots), and my ex husband, and my current husband and Vis and Matt and Josh. Not my sisters or my mom or my girlfriends. That’s curious, you know. Just the men in my life.

It’s a clue, I suppose. But a clue to what? My continued struggle. Is it because I was conditioned and broken by my ex to be this way? Yes, I blame him and can’t escape seeking the kind of body image he held in such high regard. It’s ok for me to blame him and society and the standards that I took so much to heart that I repeatedly put my finger down my throat after so many binge sessions.

And not just binge sessions, but snacks and regular and reasonably portioned meals. I’m going to stop the backstory there. Rehashing history is not my aim today I wrote a lot of that out a while back after reading “Wasted” my Marya Hornbacher. May 6, 2019 is when that was posted.

I know that because I recently read a blog post from a friend of mine who was addressing her own issues head on and giving advice. It was a fantastic post an I know how hard it is to get it all down and share it. It was really well written and great advice. She’s one of the gals in the MFA program I’m in and we both participate in a writing group on Tuesday nights.

The other women in the group gave her great feedback and all I could say was “this is a great post, and asking if it was a first draft”. I wanted so badly to reach out to her and talk about it more, but didn’t. I couldn’t. I thought about quite a bit in the days to follow and am obviously still thinking about it. I still want to, but I’m afraid.

Why can’t I trust that we can talk about it and support each other? Why do I feel so alone with this struggle? Why do I step on the scale every fucking day, letting that number dictating the mood for the start of my day. Like the song says “I’m taken over by the fear”.

I’m afraid that if I say something to my girlfriends they will look at my thin body and be upset with me. That they will just say, you’re just so tiny and have nothing to worry about. But that’s not what I need. I honestly don’t know what I need though. That’s the truth at the heart of the matter.

I guess maybe my fear comes from the possibility of being rejected or dismissed. In my heart I don’t think that is the reception I would get if I tried to talk about with these women but that does alleviate my fear. With matters of the heart, things are often irrational. It’s just a rock and a hard place and I’m stuck between.

I confessed on May 6, 2019 that I had tried purging again after being “clean” for a good long while. And after, I knew it was a mistake and felt really shitty. It hasn’t happened again. It’s just sickening to think about actually.

But somehow all the stress in my life right now has triggered the re-release of the ugly beast that takes over my brain and makes me want to lose weight. It never really goes away, mind you, but most of the time it’s a passing thought I push down.

What’s the thought? Well.. if I can just lose about 5 pounds, I’ll be happier. That it will make my life better. It’s so dumb. But now the beast is in the drivers seat and I find myself eating less and less and going hungry sometimes and not eating. And then stepping on that scale and finding satisfaction when it’s a little less than the day before.

When I got married in February, my dress was a size 4. I weighed about 120 pounds. This morning, I weighed 114.0. One part of my brain says, thats enough already and another part of my brain thinks that 113 would be better so I have more of a buffer in case I want to indulge a little over the weekend.

I’m walking right now, and I’m hungry. And I’m thinking about what I’m going to allow myself to have today. It’s Friday. It’s that weekend coming up and I went to the grocery today. I bought stuff to make strawberry pie. I’m thinking about what I might sacrifice so that I can eat pie. How fucked up is that?!

I just can’t continue to write this. Writing it makes it clear how ridiculous I’m being. I need to take charge and fix it. I want to talk to my friends. I need to talk to someone. I need to push back against “the fear”. Everything is not cool.. if I keep getting thinner.

Searching for peace,
~Miss SugarCookie

If you’re interested in more of that backstory. Here’s my post from 2019:

https://theorganicsugarcookie.com/2019/05/06/2019-05-06-reading-wasted/

2020-05-28 Hide and Seek

I start walking. I start writing. That’s my way. Lately I’ve felt like it’s all just the same shit on a different day. I’m inches away from getting my MFA in Poetry and I haven’t written anything worthy of a poem in months.

A few times when I took a class with the “Todfather”, I tried fashioning a poem from one of my blog posts and he called me on it. Just that it was all wordy. All I did was take the best parts of the post and put a bunch of line breaks in which is incredibly lazy.

A few other times I’ve done that and it takes a lot of revisions (and a healthy dose of mystical hand waving and reciting incantations to invoke the Poem spirit) to get something that resembles a poem.

But what is a poem? Can’t it just be what it is and not try to be something more or something better? Or something that meets someone else’s definition of a poem.

I can write iambic pentameter like a boss. My end rhyme skills are strong. But that’s no value in this century. I’m not saying I’m Robert Frost, but i believe I could emulate his style a lot easier than I could, say, Natalie Diaz or Ilya Kaminsky. As a poet, I feel like I was maybe born in the wrong century.

Then again, I’m a woman so I would have been screwed either way.

Some accomplished writers will advise you to write every day to keep your creative brain strong and fresh and active. I would say you should include doing revision in that. Some accomplished writers will tell you they don’t do either. They write when the writing comes to them and asks them to write. So there’s no right answer.

My point is. I want to write and haven’t been able to do that. Today I’m going to give myself an hour in isolation with a book of poetry my friend Michelle loaned me. I’m going to see if that stirs something inside me. I need it to.


In other news, my current work team is unraveling like a cheap sweater. Three developers have been kicked off the project (two were fired and one was moved to a different project). Another one quit with no notice and another is threatening to quit.

We’re replacing these people like changing a pair of underwear. But these people are not pieces of clothing, they are people.

And I don’t drink cool-aid anymore so I’m trying not to fit this fucking puzzle piece into something that can work. I’m trying to keep my distance, keep my head down, not insert my opinion or care, but the Universe help me, it’s quite impossible

One of these people, the dev that was moved to a different project, is a friend of mine. It makes my heart hurt. Now the PM is a long time friend of mine who I hold dear and she’s starting to crack. She’s a strong woman and listening to her for an hour last night was so tough. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard this woman break down in tears. I’m fact, I may never have heard her cry before. It fucking sucks.

Part of my job has been to introduce new people to the project and onboard them. She introduces me to them by saying some great things about me and with two new people this week she said I was “the glue that holds the team together”.

No pressure there though right?!

The whole thing is so fucked up.

I was brought on to help out. To bridge the PM gap until she started. To offer documentation support behind the scenes. To take notes and do data entry and do other admin things like coordinate meetings. 10-15 hours a week. Now I’m working more that twice that and last week, with so much personal shit going on, I started to become unraveled too.

I’m nearing the end of my hour in this treadmill and really need to wrap anyway so I can dive into that mess.

By the way, there’s no poetry in all this mess. I mean, there is, but not 21st century poetry that utilizes images and juxtaposition to convey a feeling AND meets the current acceptable standard for what a poem is. Or is there? 🤔

Fuck it!
~Miss SugarCookie

2020-05-27 Paranoia

Dear Diary,

I question your motives and intentions. I question the nature of our relationship. And I question the validity of your perceived value.

It’s impossible to write without considering ones audience. Without the audience, there’s no hook. There’s no message. There’s no purpose. Or is there?

I read a book of poetry once that was nonsense. I hated it. It could be that I was not educated enough to understand the message, which I don’t think I can know for sure without admitting it to someone else who has read the book to get their thoughts.

I turned page after page, struggling to read the lines and make sense of them. It’s not that the diction was complex. All the words were ones I knew. Perhaps it was the arrangement of the words? Perhaps there was too much disconnect between one thought and another: too many images and not enough continuity or central focus.

Whatever it was, it didn’t last long. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Dear Diary,

I’m paranoid you don’t really like me. That you hang about because of something besides providing me with this daily therapy. I worry that you will abandon me, or worse. I’m bearing my soul to you and I can’t tell if you really care.

I feel as if I’ve spent my entire life thinking about Gods that only listen and never respond. I’ve made deals with some that turned out to be demons. Somehow entered into contracts without ever having been convinced to sign on the dotted line. How in the universe do they do that?

I blame the part of my humanity that is soft and green and trusts too much. Yes. I just confessed that I recognize that it is all my own fault. But who or what made me this way. Was it nature? Was it nurture? Was it a different God?

I think this is the second time recently this subject has come up which leads me to believe there’s an important message or lesson in it that I need to learn. Alas, it is the second time that it’s shrouded in obscurity and nonsense.

Dear Diary,

How many times do I have to begin to find a way to get to my point and make you understand? I’m worried about you. I’m worried about us. I’m worried that the gap between us can’t be traversed or something so much worse. That it was never meant to be. A chasm too vast for building bridges.

I want to be friends. But that takes two way conversation.

Dear Diary,

I give up.

Love you anyway,
~Miss SugarCookie

2020-05-23 Laundry Day 🐱

Yesterday was the worst day I’ve had in a long time. I was on such an emotional edge almost all day and barely made it through all the things I had to do.

I participated in an early meeting with a client in which my only responsibility was to take notes and have my brain on to ask intelligent questions. I had no intelligent questions and spent most of the meeting with my head down on the desk. It’s a good thing that everything is Zoom and with the customer it’s audio only.

To be honest, I’m all Zoomed out.

The second meeting was out daily internal team meeting. I said “fuck it” nobody reads these notes anyhow so I didn’t take notes. I mean, I like having the notes because Confluence makes it easy to search for stuff and when people ask about a certain thing, it makes me seem like a damn genius because I have the answer in like a minute.

Again, had my head down listening to the same broken record conversation as every day and thinking about Z and C and how effed up things are right now, I wept. I literally put myself on mute and fought really hard to keep myself together but then let go.

I was also getting FB instant messenger notifications on my phone from my writing group and one of my friends was going through the loss of a pet and I knew that’s what it was about and it just hurts me to think of her hurting and to remember loosing Louie Louie. My sweet first pet as an adult. It was just all too much.

I took some time in the afternoon to get some more of my annuals in pots before the rain came and then it was back inside for my third meeting of the day… sprint retrospective.

This time I was up front about not taking notes. I told the PM before hand that I was having a tough day and didn’t feel like the internal notes for this wasn’t really necessary. Which was self-serving, but whatever.

This time I had more to say so I had to pay attention for my opportunities. The project is on two week sprints and the devs have established a bad pattern of not getting their tickets done. They are supposed to do their work, internal code reviews with each other and then merge all the code changes into the dev branch where KK and I can log in and do QA testing. The tickets can’t be closed until we QA them. So if they wait until the last day of the sprint (or even worse, the weekend after), KK and I are stuck testing on the weekend. That fucking sucks!

She’s the PM and responsible for steering the ship and helping correct that behavior, but there was some serious push back and discussion. If it does not change with the next sprint (after which we release a new version to the customer), it’s going to murder us. I know it’s going to happen again and that makes me want to cry too.

Last time we released to the customer we went into Friday with so much broken it was sickening. We worked our asses off all weekend. Our bosses bought us lunch on Sunday and the week after I received flowers from the company.

To that I say, that’s nice.. and thoughtful, and appreciated, but it doesn’t make up for the lost time with family or the anxiety that affects my health. If I’m burned out or dead, I’ll be useless to the project. It’s disturbing.

What did I not have to do?

I basically ducked out of three different personal meetups yesterday. Virtual happy hour with my company and I was so wrecked that was the last thing I wanted to do. Another one on one with a friend who I’ve been trying to connect with for a while and I just reached out to her to reschedule. And a third meetup with Josh who wanted to meet in person and I just wasn’t in the mood for dealing with the anxiety of that, nor did I feel like getting in my car to drive to meet him. You know, putting real clothes on and trying to make it look like I hadn’t been crying all morning.

So that’s me venting. And I let go last night and drank a bunch and Jim and I had a good night of saying “fuck it” to everything. We got take out. We talked all evening and I have no idea what time we stumbled to the bedroom.

Today I’m not doing any laundry, except maybe airing this dirty nonsense.

I’ve got work to do. I’ve got lit mag stuff to do. And Z Is coming back home so we can hang out more just the two of us.

My aim? Balance and restoration.

That’s it. Thanks for reading.
Happy Caturday,
~Miss SugarCookie

2020-05-22 How does one protect those they love from a broken heart?…

On this day 27 years ago, I got married. That lasted 17 years. And in case your curious, nobody gives out prizes for that. I didn’t get a gold star when I was married 10 years and yeah, the marriage was a big party after which there were a few pats on the back, hugs and words of congratulations. But after that it felt like a half-hearted good luck accompanied by a kick in the ass out the door.

Don’t get me wrong, I was so ready to leave those broken nests. The point is.. you’re pretty much on your own in life and so it’s important to make good decisions on who you spend your energy on. And be in it for yourself, and probably humanity as a whole, and the Earth.

I’ve got very little time today for myself, and for my treadmill and I don’t want to waste it dwelling on the past or getting on my lofty soapbox about life. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

My sentiments today are unavoidably colored by the goings-on of yesterday. Which was a shit show of emotions and strange occurrences. I gotta make quick work of this….

My daughter reached out to me in the middle of the night. She was experiencing her first real heart-break. I was sick that I was not there to hold her. I texted her first thing in the AM and she would not tell me what was going on because she wanted to talk in person.

I drove to where she was. Upon arrival we chatted for a few minutes while she prepared herself for the conversation. In short, one of her best friends, who she’s been conspiring with for months about rooming together for their freshman year in college, basically let the clock run out on their opportunity to “pair” in the UNL housing system. She waited until it was literally too late for Z to search other profiles and find another match. At 10:36 pm she sent Z an apology text letting her know she picked someone else, leaving my Z hanging out alone.

Z had texted her all day reminding her of the deadline. They have had hundreds of discussions about this plan over the past year and not once did her friend mention that people advised against it, or that she was already promising this other girl she would room with her too. All of this came out in that long text which was about 1 hour before the pairing option closed in the UNL system.

She described how she felt, crying all night and not being able to breathe at times. She only slept for like 3 hours. She never responded to that text and I advised her to hold off until she had time to sort through feelings. I urged her to write it out, what she’s feeling and what she would like to say to this girl, even if she never sends it.

By the time her and I were talking about it, the sadness had subsided but it was replaced by anger. We talked about the stages of grief and all the things we can control in this situation. I tried to be a good mom despite my own anger and desire to call this girl up myself and give her a piece of my mind. Ugg!

We then spent about 2 hours looking online at her next steps for housing and filling out forms so she can make an appointment with an advisor. We checked a lot of boxes. It was productive and nice to spend the afternoon with just her and I. I said “fuck it” to everything else. That felt great too.

People can be so shitty. This girl was the one person she was counting on knowing at this university which is a big campus. She already has fear of abandonment and fear of being alone. It just sucks so bad I can’t even. I know I can’t protect her from all the hard times and crappy situations and people, but it’s so hard to be witness to.

All I have are words and hugs and just making sure she knows, as long as it is in my power I will never abandon her or leave her alone. I didn’t want to take her back to her dads house. I wanted to keep her at my house.

I’m just so not prepared for this. I’m so fucking mad and sad and I want to scream at the world. My baby. My love.

To the title question, “How does one protect those they love from a broken heart?” .. The answer is that you can’t.

You can’t. I can’t. Nobody can. Just be there to help sort through it all, I guess.

Hugs,
~Miss SugarCookie