I Can't Let Go or The First Fourteen Hours

I'm taking a break from social media this week. This is a blog. It's not really social. No one gives a random monologue at a pizza place with their (gender neutral, y'all) friends. Blogs are pure narcissism, and curiosity that feeds that dirty, filthy narcissism.

Having said that, allow me to get back to blogging. Not tryina post a bunch of serious projects that I begin and leave nearly finished for longer than most people can keep paying attention. I just want to get back to the fantastic details of my wild and crazy existence.

Well, I'm super hormonal right now, and I'm having some allergy issues that are sucking me dry and having to take these decongestants makes my brain meds all weird, but I gotta keep myself clear so I don't get an infection. Y'all. It's hard being a person.

I currently live in a house in Humbolt Park Chicago with a vegan pedi-cabber, a divorced and angry chef, a super chill and flaky chef, Linus, and Fela (fay-luh), the vegan pedi-cabber's dog...who is also...a vegan.

In a few days, the chefs will both move out to be replaced by a Mexican lady chef (for. real.) and a dude named Charlie who totally lives up to how cool his name is and who used to work at Target. I have a garden in the back yard, and I worry myself with the path of the sun and how my tomatoes are NEVER going to get enough direct light. I will at least have about three, which is FINE. I started late. I'm still going to get lettuce, and radishes, and Zinnias.

My street, despite the mid-summer barrage of fireworks, is rather quiet and comprised of mostly homes, mostly Puerto Ricans, mostly older couples. Everyone speaks spanish, has multiple small dogs, gardens in one way or another, and everyone over 50 sits on the porch for the better part of the day. Sometimes they play cards; sometimes they just watch, and the ice cream man comes around bringing joy and treats (including nachos!) playing the same stupid song over and over again for the entire time I was doing yoga on the back porch yesterday! (I'm so sorry. I know. I know how this looks.)

I sell indoor "plantscaping" designs, for a company that does that sort of thing, as well as build and install botanic art, and this other rad southern girl, ten years younger than I am is teaching me floral design and planter box design....yeah. Planter box design. Thriller. Spiller. Filler. I'll slow down.

I'm mostly well. Despite the usual ups and downs. And the moon. Sometimes it still gets dark, lonely, but way less often than it used to do.

I am working up the courage to take an improv class after quite the hiatus, provided I can keep from getting angry (per my therapist). I have this frustration thing I'm working on.

I'm not writing enough. So. That's why I'm here. I'm writing here, and I'm writing other places. All this week. I need it. I need to get it out of my stuffy head.

There. I feel better. I'll probably see you guys tomorrow. I'm needy.