Daily Diary - Blog Posts

May 12, 2025

The weekend was good to me.

My mother and I celebrated Mother's Day at our favorite Spanish restaurant, over garlicky grilled octopus, glasses of crisp Cava, and a flurry of Formula 1 yapping. She's been brave enough to watch the 2021 season (I refuse) and couldn't stop marveling over Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton nearly killing each other several times over on track.

We've had our ups and downs. As she nears retirement age, I can accept that she's a great mother now for whatever she lacked in my childhood. It doesn't erase the bad, or make up for it really. But I have to give her the chance to be good to me now, so should I have to care for her at some point in the future, I can do so out of love. Not bitter obligation.

Saturday was spent out and about in my neighborhood. In the morning, I took my cheap Vivatar digicam to the Farmer's Market while I sipped coffee and people watched.

It reminded me of sitting on the porch as a kid. Hearing loud music from cars thumping up and down the block, watching neighbors tend to their yards.

Stopped home for lunch then headed back out for a quick glass at my Neighborhood Wine Bar. As Mike (the grumpy owner who's become an adopted uncle of sorts) poured the last of a Sancerre he’d sampled with other customers that afternoon, he remembered the name of a woman who accompanied him last time he went to Croatia. “It was Kathleen,” he said. Apparently, one of his other frequent travel companions had to refresh his memory.

(Michael and his travel companions are a long story. For now, just know this man is a 71 year-old Gemini who, up until recently, had a solid roster of eight to nine women, all at least 15 years younger than him. And I know this to be true because I saw them all at his 70th birthday party, hanging out like sister wives.)

Seeing that Mike was kind of over it for the day, I jaunted over to a new Italian spot I've been meaning to try out. And had — hands down — the best mussels I've ever had in my life. The broth was... good lord. I had to order some Focaccia on the side to make sure I didn't waste a drop. The bartender was so amused by my theatrics (listen, I love good food and am not shy about it), she comped one of my two glasses of wine.

I will definitely be back.

Next month. For the rest of May, we have food at home.

May 11, 2025

The Self is just a story your mind tells you. At any moment you can decide to tell a new one

May 10, 2025

Being quite rational and into metaphysics means someone always takes it too far. I can do Human Design right up until they start talking about "The New Paradigm" and I have to check out. My favorite YouTube tarot reader is so on point (she called what I'm experiencing right now with Mars in Leo – the drive to be out and seen again) and is an anarchist.

(It's always funny how these "radicals" are people of privilege who won't feel the real consequences of their predictions. Meanwhile, my black ass – a daughter of addicts who fought tooth and nail for the structure and stability they all deride – has a real life and a 70 year old mother about to retire who may or may not have access to social security or health care but please. Continue to regale us about how "failing institutions are actually good for us").

Where was I going with this? Oh, yeah. The problem is they nail the personal shit so I can't quit them. Just take what works, leave the rest, and trust myself to handle whatever fuckery the world throws my way.

But the being lit up again? That shit is real. I can't stay inside or off the phone. I'm thinking at the speed of the light, craving movement and stimulation. What I thought was living was only resting and preparation for my next era. The Back Outside, Doing, and Making Era. The Go Time, Ready or Not Era.

It's wild, heady shit.

May 9, 2025

I'm easily inspired. I'm learning to accept it.

I spent most of 1992 wanting to be Catwoman after seeing Michelle Pfeiffer in Batman Returns (look it up kids). My notebooks from the 2000s echoed the metaphors and similes I absorbed via Big, Jay, Nas, and the like. I spent three days with my sister-in-law last year and heard her Southeastern Ohio/West Virginia twang in my voice the week after.

I don't even do it on purpose. I have a clear sense of self and yet, at the big age of 41, I'm as impressionable as I was in 1992. 'Tis what it is.

Why did I feel the need to say that?

Oh. Because thanks to Human Design, I see that's just how I am. I can fight it or I can learn to ride the waves that flow out of me without shame.

The latter sounds more fun.

That's a lot of preamble, but I needed to clear my throat for what I really want to do today: dispense some age-old wisdom like the elder millennial auntie I am.

(incoming....)

May 8, 2025

Thanks to the Motrin cocktail required to sleep through my cramps last night, yesterday feels like a hazy blur.

I sent the link for my new (private) Substack to four friends. Each was excited to see me writing again, but will they read it? Time will tell. Either way, putting work into the world felt good.

Caught a lecture about the origins of my local art museum last night. As I'm prone to do, I had a friendly chat with a stranger at the bar while I waited for the lecture to begin. Coincidentally, she works in an industry adjacent to my own. We had a few common acquaintances. We also shared deep pride in our city as a cultural hub (Top 10 art museum, Top 8 orchestra, second (or third) largest theater district in the nation — put some respect on our name) and perfect food city. #ClevelandRocks.

The lecture was interesting and informative. A perfectly fine way to spend an evening. By the time I got home, PMS fatigue had your girl down bad. I ended the night with repeat watchings of Lewis Hamilton and Charles Leclerc doing a logistics-themed escape challenge and if I thought they couldn't get hotter, I was wrong. Fine ass race car drivers doing math and problem-solving...

Good lord.

My boss is back from out of town today, ending my emotional reprieve (last week was a week — I needed space). I'm soaking up the silence until he arrives.

Until next time.

May 6, 2025

The last two days? Much better.

Figured out how to start a private Substack that requires subscription approvals (score one for utilizing the benefits of that platform without its non-sense). Made sure I got in my requisite movement yesterday (a 30 minute walk). Politely told the friend who flaked on hanging out over the weekend not to ask me anywhere else unless she plans to actually show up.

Re: the Substack. I popped open a blank page and the words showed up. Liked I turned on a fucking faucet. It was incredible. Shout out to Neptune in Aries opposite my Mercury. I told a friend it feels like my mind is drowning in fire.

And so's my body. Spent an extra few minutes in bed this morning for some self-care, because shit. I felt good. Took longer than usual to put on my clothes because I couldn't stop looking at myself. I graduated college 19 years ago today. This is the finest I've ever felt.

Apparently, I just needed some movement.

May 4, 2025

Daily writing is back. One: I can feel the gray clouds of void (shouts to The Thunderbolts*) rolling over the horizon which means your girl needs habits. Daily assignments that get me moving when my mind tells my body to retreat. Two: this also helps with cultivating gratitude because when I don't know what to write, "What are you grateful for?" is a solid prompt. Three: actively working with Human Design means doubling-down on what I love to align with my Strategy. Even when I don't know what to say, my body lights up over a keyboard with an empty screen. Authority doesn't get more sacral than that.

So, here I am. May the Fourth be with me or whatever.

I knew something was off yesterday when a friend canceling our plans to hang out at the art museum (mere hours before we were scheduled to meet up) sent me on a spiral. I was already planning my outfit. I was looking forward to catching up, seeing where she is in life, and if I'm honest, performing my personality a bit. I have Leo Rising with a Sun in the 3H – conversation is my stage du jour. Being robbed of the spotlight for an afternoon not only had me ready to rage but activated a "Hey. What if your perfect Solo lifestyle isn't so perfect after all? You wouldn't cling to plans to get attention if you didn't live alone" thought whirlpool. I won't tell you who that voice in my head sounds like because he is a politician, but let's just say he may or may not have had a dalliance with a couch.

Thankfully, The Thunderbolts* was showing at my neighborhood movie theater at the same time I would have gone to the museum. So I had something to get up and get dressed for. The movie not only hit (good for Marvel), but hit a little too hard. Then, my mother texting "Well, that sucked," in reaction to Miami Grand Prix Qualifying put a literal pit in my stomach on the drive home. And I had to concede that the Sunken Place was, indeed, calling because no way should a man I've never met driving too slow around a race track trigger that kind of physical reaction.

The outlook isn't great. Not alarming. But definitely giving "Meh. What's the point?"

I know from experience. There is no point. You put one foot in front of the other until a point finds you.

Step one: daily writing.

What has made me speak less with each passing day? I watch the dragonfly escape the lizard by inches and I decide to stay. I want my words and my life to escape death. So every time I try exaggerating my empathy , the insouciance, and the ability to extract only the bad side of my words and my life makes me edge closer to silence. I do not want to throttle my words to death.

Letter #19

I tried to find your love At the bottom of my bag But all I found was hairties And receipts of our outings Forgotten about months ago I tried to find your love At the bottom of a liquor bottle But I got lost between regrets And memories of our laughter In a call that no longer exists I tried to find your love At the bottom of your shoes But their spot by my door was empty And the footprints I once followed Now covered in snow, invisible I tried to find your love At the bottom of this denial But deep down I know it's gone And your words have become relics Time didn't stop for us

Date Written: 8th of September, 2023

Letter #18

Strings intertwined cause friction Somehow prized as this winning affliction So eager to tie our own ropes Yet all I can think of are the breaks and bends They're burning the candle from both ends Cascading wax leaks through my fingertips Is a string meant to melt? To dissipate? Sparks without a pulse to accommodate What a reward to be drenched in oil Awaiting the next pretty flicker of flame To set ablaze every notion of it's fame The tale of a red knot tangled

Date Written: 2nd of September, 2023

Letter #17

Make me talk, make me sing Wash away everything Teeth on skin is the answer Meld me into flickering amber Design my body, change it's shape Run your fingers by my nape Melted through this simple touch Have my knees return to mush Break me, remake me Swear an oath, a loyal devotee As long as morning never comes Let us exist amongst loving hums

Date Written: 2nd of September, 2023

Letter #16

You tempt and toy with my mind as your playground Never settling, never quenched My emotions are your strings As you move you play melodies You ask me to tell you about all the ways one can be bad I felt my stomach retreat upon it's mention Unassuming expectations for the storm you lit within Rather than words I would show you Slowly, fervently Lacing each second of your intrigue with worship But these requests from your lips I can never accept Saving tongue-tied advances for strangers beds instead Self reflection set a boundary around your sneakers "A line where no love may land" And through tangled heat I know we'd cross it My heart unfit already shivering at your voice so sweet The game you're playing caught all my thoughts off guard Begging me as I remind you of the rules you made My muse your words are cruel Feigned innocence far crueler With each bated breath my morals are in agony Truly you bring out the worst in me

Date Written: 29th of August, 2023

Letter #15

I still think about you some days - Most days. It's been hard not to when the home you made for yourself in my heart was left to ache without any remedy or closure to sooth it. I wonder what you're doing now days, and who you're doing it with. The thought doesn't fuel jealousy through my veins so much as it does a sense of melancholic acceptance, as I know no matter where you found yourself, it wasn't somewhere I belonged. I hope you're going well, that your same bad jokes and unjustified confidence still annoy yet endear you into the lives of everyone you meet. Getting over you has been hard, impossible maybe, I'm unsure. Years in and my journey still isn't over. But, I know I'm glad that you left. Maybe I didn't accept it at the time, but this space has been healthy. You were a good chapter of my life, a fanciful page I needed to turn to feel satisfied by the storyline ahead. The fan favourite, re-read lovingly on special nights where the comfort of slipping into something safe is needed. I still think about you some days, most days, but it's less than I used to and I'm proud of myself for that. I'd like to think if we ever met one another again, it'd be in passing with awkward small talk and half-hearted goodbyes as our only exchanges - because as much as I cherish you still dearly, some things belong in the past as memories. Perfectly and sweetly, with love.

Date Written: 25th of August, 2023

Letter #14

Hands sinking from this intrinsic weightlessness These contradictions spill out of me With every rhythmic throbbing of the arteries As though it were inherently innate to lose reason Reluctancy claimed it's vested right to my chest The thought bringing it all into perpetual deliberation An impending consequential end to touch Like a clock continuously thrust into resetting Hands disheveled, scraping, tired Sinking.

Date Written: 20th of August, 2023

Letter #13

I picked up a packet of cigarettes again I needed something that would keep me sane Same old one with the ultra slim filter, fresh burst blue I guess because somehow it still reminds me of you My mind wanders with each deepened breath Thoughts I'd share, if not for your death Would you be proud of me for just being around? Or wished I had done something more profound? With each swift flick to turn on my lighter I enter a strangers bed for another all-nighter I'd love to talk about him with you some day How this love left me a messy bundle of disarray For now though, all that remains is ash Memories torn, our photos left by the trash I picked up a packet of cigarettes again I wanted to feel like I did when I was ten At least I could talk to you back then

Date Written: 18th of August, 2023

Letter #12

"You deserve better." Cowardness trickling through each word A lie is laced in fickle venom An attempt at some redemption As if you weren't deflecting Off a heart you didn't desire "You deserve better." It did not hurt me because it's untrue It did not hurt me because I wanted you It was accepting what had been left to die When you just couldn't think up an excuse That would make for a better goodbye "You deserve better." How hard did you try to make yourself believe it? Would it have been that hard to admit? I thought with me you'd show your real colour But the choices were grey Turning simple and duller "You deserve better." Did you expect me to shed a tear? Yes, maybe it's true My forwardness might cast a shadow But at least I know how to be more honest Than this a lie on which you insist

Date Written: 13th of August, 2023

Letter #11

I will fade away from your life Just like the petals That have outgrown their bloom Softly, quietly Leaving only gentle traces My dear sunflower Thank you for the light Though my spring cannot last forever Your resounding presence Shall never come to wilt As I return to the earth I hope the breeze is kind I hope it carries me caringly across the sea To a land where soils can nurture The dust that has become me May my stem descend to the ground Away from your gazes Beyond the reach of your touch With only one last apology to be given I fear for me this world was simply too much

Date Written: 14th of August, 2023

Letter #10

You are my apple seed Daily dose of poison Your world promises wellness "It only costs a bite" But beneath the flesh you hide Delicious seeds of cyanide Sweet almond tart delight "What a wonderful morning meal" If only it wasn't for the chemicals You so covertly conseal Such a painless little portion "There's no harm in one or two" I indulge and think no more About what a tiny seed could do But they add up one by four Trickled rain turns pouring fall All because of the innocuous Your hidden apple core

Date Written: 14th of August, 2023

Note #9

Experiences may have lended their wisdom, Taught me how not to be like that monster. It's true I have gained new vision, however; My trauma did not make me stronger. The lessons it taught were too strict, Turned me afraid of being a bother. Yet you will not hear me faulter as I say; My trauma did not make me stronger. It left me beaten, battered and bruised, Now left to walk with poor posture. Please stop telling me time will fix things; My trauma did not make me stronger.

Date Written: 13th of August, 2023

Letter #8

My little daffodil, Resting all alone without any sunlight. What's given you that might? How many demons were you made to fight? Do you know there's no end to what I'd give In the mere hope that it'd help you feel alright? Because I'm sat here, chest clenched tight Pleading with the harshness of the night. "If only the stars would give some heed to this weary plight" "If only my warmth through unconditional love you'd requite" Your petals shine so bright, Resting all alone with the moonlight. Always so close to that beautiful, unifying sight But never quite.

Date Written: 12th of August, 2023

Letter #7

Seeing you happy still means the world to me But that joy has grown a contradiction "What is a love without it's strength?" "What is a heart without it's flaws?" My love once so unconditionally sweet Gained a rancid taste, bitter and overripe A fruit left neglected for years Such sharp textures for something so contrite I once promised you the universe To this day I would still serve it to you Only my hands are tainted with soil No longer clean enough to use If I love you, I should let you free A true effort to prove my loyalty Yet the temptation of a bird cage Now sounds the kindest to me

Date Written: 11th of August, 2023

Letter #6

"You really hurt me." Fuck, I wish I could say that to you. I want to tell you "I wished you were better" And hear you say "I'm sorry." like you mean it. My love of you is a laceration across my chest Visible to everyone who meets me, Stinging at every change of the winds. It likes to bleed out at night. The kitchen sink is stacking higher, Soon the laundry pile will join. Sometimes I still see your ghost in the mirror, Staring back at me with empty eyes. I guess I'm in another one of my rutts again It just all feels so pretentious and aimless "You really hurt me, but I hurt me more." The truth is a harder pill to swallow.

Date Written: 10th of August, 2023

Letter #5

The sharpness traces Gentle and cold Pressure brings warmth, a gasp Purely pleasurable relief Muscles forced into stiffening All while melting to belief "Red is the colour of passion" I tell myself as it trickles down my side Where engravings sing of promises Living life, finally feeling satisfied Guilty yet remorseless "What petal has yet to fall?" So sickly sweet, but is no treat Just a sucker left to crawl

Date Written: 7th of August, 2023

Letter #4

It rained in my head for years But look at all the flowers that bloomed from it As they grew I thought of us Our resilience created such beauty Now, as they come to wilt I find myself thinking solely of you

Date Written: 7th of August, 2023

Letter #3

You're a toxin, a poison built to dissolve the lives of everyone you touch with that deformity of an organ you call a heart. Avert your gaze and ignore your texts, decline any sense of desperation you use to cling to those who're above your station. A lowly imperfection so intent on infecting any mercy you're shown, what wilting flower wouldn't weep given the chance to witness such a pathetic display of insecurities. Be grateful you are not yet eradicated, For time and the likes of you do not cross kindly. A childish fool, you were never worthy of humanity. To: Myself "With love - whatever that means."

Date Written: 6th of August, 2023 Words I had written to myself after a mental lapse.

Self-inflicted guilt laces my lungs with tar, it gets so hard to breathe. Sometimes I wonder if everyone feels this weight in their chests all the time, heavy with doubts and hesitations. I'm sure even the most put together people have things that bring them down when it gets quiet, which is sad to think about. All beauty needs to be broken before it blooms, but wouldn't it be lovely to simply indulge in peace for once? To quell the heartbreak inside is something special, I can only hope I may one day join the people who have found their rest from all of the emotional aches. Idk, i'm tired. it's all a lot.