Mee grain

The migraine is creeping around the aura of my body, which sounds wanky but that is where it is at. And I can feel its energy source. The locked in tension in my neck and back.

Weird poem below though. . .I just liked that it ended on the word tonic. Some people will read in some other stuff as well but. . .it's from a great word space. I have a theory of textual addiction. Whether it is a daily horoscope or a daily poem, some of us seek out text to hang our coats on. Rely on the hints/quelle coincidence/ideas that will, or will not, resonate or gesture us towards where we are at present.

More Tonic

Wine Water

I shared a bed. Some man came and said

he hadn't slept all his life. I gave him some of my night

hours without

even thinking. Wish someone would have warned me.

Now I dream a man's blue-

shaven visions. I can't tell if I'm a woman

or a man in the dreams, but it doesn't matter.

What happens when they mix:

soil, Sister. That's all we've

become. Man plus Woman equals

Ditch Dirt. And this is supposed to be beautiful,

the strongest tonic.

Stephanie N. Johnson

/Beloit Poetry Journal/

Volume 57, Number 1

Fall 2006

Bikes Are Tonic

Have just been sitting on my front step again. This time with my dog and a glass of G&T and in the dusk. . bliss. It's been an interesting day: a mammoth, bouyant rally and all the people bouncing off each other with that rare familiarity that can be bred at such things. But I feel a little guilty; the writing I was meant to do today didn't occur much. Is it self-indulgent to need an afternoon to absorb the synchronisities, the conversations, people glances, that the universe throws at you: the stars throw at you?

Q got a bike for his birthday which is hardly original but damn it is loved. And it was via this bike that I learnt, again, how becoming a parent has made me uberfrenetic. And, it was via this parental gift that I was reminded as to the art of lolling about in the sun in a park. It takes patience! After ten minutes I am bored, I could contentedly leave; after twenty, I'm finding a more comfy body position; after thirty, when I next look at my watch we've been in the park for over an hour and Q is proudly noting how sweaty his hair is.

Isn't tonic a lovely word?

Today

Today I bought prosciutto and whilst I bought fruit and salad my dog ate it (the ham! Not the, ah whatever) in the car, I wrote at my new little desk that stares out my bedroom window, I wrote at my computer in complete silence, I wrote at my computer with the Beasties blaring, I weeded a small segment of the back vegetable bed and dreamed up zuchinni, beans and basil hedge, I walked my son in the sun up to creche, I made osso bucco and did the dishes twice, I declared to myself that I had to cut down my sugar intake, I built lego houses with my son and enjoyed it, I sat on the front step with my ex mother-in-law and smoked a rollie and just chatted. That's about all.

PS. I think this gal is worth reading: it took me a few reads to get her (a trawl through her archive) but she is great fun and clever clever.

PPS. Self congratulatory moment at first implant of link into blog!

Sharon Stone and I. . .

Did you know that Sharon Stone and I have the same taste in children's names? I know, who would have thought. . .

Both her children are named from 'my list'
as in within the top 2. . .bizarre.

Secret Tags

and I just remembered that I've been tagged by dear fuffenscheit. . .to tell a secret. . .but the funny thing is that I'm struggling. . .there's either the things that are way too secret or not secret enough. . .quite a dilemma. . . so I'll hang it in suspense, just like on Home & Away. I'll be back.

Ode to the Afternoon Nap

Ode to the afternoon nap: splendid treats if you can luxuriate the time enough to foetal beneath the doona. Afternoon noises of the street sway, the dog snores. Loyal dog.

Have just eaten curry treats and am enjoying a cordial glass of beer.

In the Indian restaurant I bumped into some friends; a couple who were washed out with some unnamed trial of the day. They've given up alchohol, they haven't time for the pub anymore, perhaps if she was single still. . .we drift back off into our respective lives. I think about such declarations, so hard and fast. . .

Still, I've been similiar of late. Knocked back into a world of study, illness, recovery, study. But I am so contented in my bubble; my house and the figures within. Child, dog, garden, treasured food, word games over tea. It sounds revoltingly idyllic and sometimes my independence scares me: how much longer until the control freakery is cemented?

I am currently loving Vika and Linda. Ventured into the spectacle of the casino with my friends and we sat up like contestants on some obscure game show, or the muppets, and watched these incredible musicians effortlessly gift us with the best live entertainment I've seen in . . .a damn long time.

My current inability to frame text is freaking me out. Lots of paragraphs left isolated in white space. . .I will not panic.