sick day

i have been losing the fight against gravity for several days now,
magnetized to the iron in my bed frame
chasing sleep, who wants nothing to do with me.
words circle my head
recycled, repetitive, a fountain of unoriginal thought,
a special kind of hell

a friend told me i should be moving on
where "moving on" = dating again
i fail to see the forward motion implied in
entering another binding relationship
when it was specifically the bondage that drove me from my previous one

why is coupling considered progress?
what is progress in life, anyway?
we talk as if there are correct, known vectors, when really there is only
aging, which happens no matter what i choose to do.

i seem to be moving side to side
not aiming towards any direction, but paddling furiously to simply stay
afloat.

OOJ: South Broadway Cultural Center

"Freedom Flush" by Eric J. Garcia

South Broadway Cultural Center never fails to supply me with OOJs. This month's free exhibit, "The Bomb", features local ABQ art from the past 10 years (runs through 2/28/15), such as this one. "Freedom Flush" is painted on a Kohler toilet specifically made for the prison system.

SBCC is also dear to me because it houses my nearest public library. Today I went to pick up one book on hold and ended up bringing these titles home as well:

Sobriety: A Graphic Novel

Lonely Planet's Instant Expert: A Visual Guide to the Skills You've Always Wanted (includes chapters like "How to Be An Emergency Dentist")

The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression

The Elements of Resume Style: Essential Rules for Writing Resumes and Cover Letters That Work

Susan Point: Works on Paper (see image below)

from www.burkemuseum.org

OOJ: Full Moon Rising

view from CVS parking lot on Coors, ABQ

Nativity Scenes

Normally, I have zero interest in nativity displays; who needs more glorified white faces? But leave it to fair trade gift store Ten Thousand Villages to carry nativity sets that actually caught my eye. Post-holiday sale going on now, 50% off, locations nationwide.

NFF: Central Ave Post Office

Location: Post office on Central Ave, ABQ, 2 weeks before Christmas

There were eleven people waiting for one clerk when I walked through the doors of the post office one late afternoon. They all seemed to have agreeably accepted the fact that they'd be waiting for a while. "It's like Black Friday," joked an older woman wrapped in numerous dark-colored layers to the man in front of her. A second woman, farther back in line, complained in return, "Those Walmart employees, they don't know where anything is."

A man wondered aloud, "What do I get as gifts for spoiled, yuppie grandchildren?" "Athletic equipment," suggested the Walmart-aggrieved woman. "iTunes gift cards," I offered. "Yeah, but then they'll want newer devices to play their music on," grumbled the grandfather. 

We fell momentarily silent, perhaps thinking about people in our own lives for whom it is hard to choose gifts. I got my turn at the window and was told I needed a different form than the one I'd filled out because my package was 6 ounces over a designated limit. I headed back to the end of the line to work on my new form.

Suddenly, the grandfather was yelling at the postal clerk. "How about if I write to the Postmaster General and tell him about how you refused to help me with my problem?" 

I looked up, startled at the sudden change in mood. I didn't understand what the grandfather wanted. He'd shaken several sheets of stamps out of a large envelope onto the counter and continued to talk loudly over the clerk, who was patiently attempting to give the man an explanation. Finally the grandfather scooped up his stamps, threw out his last indignant words, and exited the room.

I approached the clerk for the second time. "Sorry about all that," I said.

"It's ok," he replied. "That guy had a problem when he came in, and he had a problem when he left."

The grandfather started yelling again, just outside the door. "So now he's talking about customers behind their backs!"

"He wasn't talking about you behind your back," a woman yelled back at him.

"Hope your day gets better," I told the clerk, as he stamped my forms. 

"It already is," he said. "You can't let that stuff get to you, or else it'll drag you down. That guy already has problems, but I don't have to let his problems become my problems."

Shit gets real deep at the post office. 

12.5.2001

Suo Gan, a Welsh lullaby

Chanticleer singing it in Welsh: "Suo Gan"

English lyrics:

Hush, my dear one,
Sleep serenely,
Now, my lovely,
Slumber deep.

Mother rocks you,
Humming lowly,
Close your eyes now,
Go to sleep.

Angels hover, 
Ever nearer,
Looking on your
Smiling Face

I will hold you,
Close enfold you,
Close your eyes now,
Go to sleep.

We Love You, Ms. Watson

luminarias in honor of Melissa Watson,
teacher, Valle Vista Elementary, ABQ, NM

we entered the school gates bearing the necessities for mourning: kleenex, candles, crock pots, krispy kreme donuts. the sun set and we huddled around a candle-lit heart shape outlined on the ground outside of the fifth grade classrooms. the candle in my hand burned steadily, an outrageously obscene contrast to the hope in my heart that had been so recently extinguished, that was now no more than a thread of smoke drifting towards the sky. most of us stayed quiet, subdued in our shock, though a woman sang "this little light of mine" in an irritatingly forceful, raspy voice that maybe was comforting to her. outside of our cluster, small children hopped, stabbing the gravel with their rubber-clad toes, their spirited, squeaky high voices clashing with our general hush. i felt jealous of how lightly they moved, free of grief's weight; i envied the bliss of their ignorance of our monumental loss- of a compassionate educator, a beloved colleague, a supportive friend, a committed mother.