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Life in These Parts ::

Life in These Parts ::

Life in These Parts ::

Life in These Parts ::

Life in These Parts ::

This was pre-bath McCoy (so dusty!). I think he knew something was up. Post-bath McCoy is not talking to me, despite being provided with top notch organic lettuce.

The first plant (a Nephthytis, aka Arrowhead Plant) was rescued when somebody donated it at work a couple months ago. Yes, somebody donated a plant to a thrift store. Don’t do that. I wasn’t sure how to go about saving it. Normally a good soak and some time in the sun does wonders, but this particular friend is of the low light, medium water variety. I waited and fretted and watered gently, and then waited some more. Its twin is not recovering quite as quickly, unfortunately, but I have my fingers crossed.

My succulents are looking leggy, I know. I’m waiting until I move to do something about that. I’ve been researching propagating a bit. I’m hoping to give it a go.

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over exposed throw pillow

I have been in a creative rut, lately. The sort of rut that involves turning watercolor paintings into mixed media collages because the image I put to paper is not the image in my mind. In the past, art has been my best way of coping with bouts of anxiety and depression. I could really use the outlet.

And (if you were to ask), nothing is wrong. It’s never anything wrong. This is my life. These feelings come and they go, as they always have, and there is little consistency. That I notice. Maybe someone else would notice. Maybe I am too used to it. Needless to say, I am looking forward to my shiny new health insurance to kick in so I can finally talk to someone about potential solutions. There is some unearthing to do.

Though tomorrow I could feel entirely differently. This is my normal. Today has been sunshine and kindness, so I am feeling less apprehensive. Grey changes everything. The world is a beautiful place, and I am thankful to be here, right now, a collection of stardust and age and light. It is simply that there is always threatening darkness. Some days (some nights), I am debilitated by the thought of it. Some days, I do not get out of bed until late afternoon. Some nights, I stay awake, worrying that I might die in my sleep and miss all the beautiful things that I didn’t even take time to notice (because I stayed in bed all day being afraid of those things).

And then, you know, some days I am a completely ordinary functioning adult who goes to work, runs errands, says hello to people walking their dogs, and remembers to eat dinner.

blank pages

I find my inability to adequately explain these feelings frustrating. The feelings themselves are frustrating. I don’t know how to ask for help, because I honestly don’t know what will help (or if I even need help). I feel weak and I feel vulnerable, and my weakness is …damned embarrassing.

There will be a less darkly introspective post tomorrow. I appreciate the heck out of your eyes.

Please kindly tell me about your day in the comments.  Did you make anything? See anything?


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This collection of photos was donated (perhaps unintentionally) in a white cardboard pencil box. These are my favorites of the lot.found vintage photo

found vintage photo

If you are from the seacoast area and these look familiar, please get in touch with me! I would love for them to get back to you. They were brought to our store around mid-September.

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out of control // pumpkin cheesecake soy candle // sketchbook // organic lettuce

Timothy has been in California for too many days. I miss him.

My window is left open at night, the air conditioner put to rest. My toes are cold. It’s wonderful.

I do not like teenagers. I always make my best effort not to generalize, because it is unfair, but it can be …difficult. My driving class is, obviously, populated by teenagers. I want to shake them and yell at them and tell them that when I was their age, my mother was dead. Is it appropriate to play the dead mother card in this situation? Probably not. Mostly I wish they could just turn their phones off, and possibly sit still and stop sighing dramatically for more than five minutes. I don’t want to share the road with these people.

I am participating in a Color Run on Saturday. I am not very prepared. I have no time to become better prepared. I’m ok.

Shauna and I went a little silly with Halloween decorations for the apartment. We’re mostly excited to have space to decorate. 14 Pierce was cramped and tiny. That’s why I never invited you over, if you were wondering.

The three of us (+Shauna’s boyfriend) played Nintendo, told ghost stories, and got rather drunk on Thursday night. It seems that Hiroshi Yamauchi died that day. We had no idea. We just had a suddenly strong communal urge to play Mario Party, after not having played it for years.

I have experienced an increase in cat-calling/street harassment around Dover. How about we stop that immediately? Hollering out your car window at a lady on the sidewalk in the dead of night is not in particularly good form, gentlemen. If you would like talk to me, feel free to step out of your vehicle. We can have a chat, and I can kick you in the gut, because these words you are yelling are not flattery. They are rude. You are rude. Please stay out of my personal space. Thanks. *

* By the way, the “nice guy” argument will not win you any prizes. Not in my house. I have known plenty of nice guys who, when called out on misogynist behavior and comments, became raging …not nice guys.

This week I would like to possibly, if I have a spare moment, work on a painting of the tortoise. He’s a rather good stand-in muse, and he photographs beautifully.

Have I mentioned that my twenty-ninth birthday is in twelve days?

This post does not follow my usual weekly wishes format, but it seems more natural to me. Some of the things I needed done were done, others still linger. I’m linking up with The Nectar Collective, just the same.

I hope you are well.







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