#uncoffeed...

I've lived in Texas twice: once in San Antonio, and once in what we call Deep East Texas. That's part one of this story. Part two started in 1997 on AOL. There I met my poet-guru, who gives away guy-secrets for free, and also Linda,who made magic out of my attempts at poetry. She squeezed my hand through the ether when life got weird, and reminded me how we'll survive it. Texas women are matriarchal by necessity, says the guru.  In one of life's best surprises, the two of them fell in love while I was away from the internet. My guru, known to some as Doc Blossom, eventually moved to Texas and made it bloom, too, for Linda. Literally and in all ways. I've been trying for the longest to go visit them in person, but logistics have been complicated. I finally went all-in and set a date, and that's when part three happened. Maz is gonna road-trip with me. I also know Maz via internet, through our mutual friend Rolb Coepmann . We talk a Venn diagram of art,...

My day-job has been insanely busy for several weeks now - not just in sheer volume, but with complex challenges. I like that; I do. And it was planned so I was able to allocate mental and spatial resources. In the coming days I have to prep for Texas . Now we're in the eye of the storm, and all my projects are still waiting. But there's no toggle switch - I can't just move over and pick up what's been tabled. Downtime is weird, especially when there isn't much of it. There's some decompression happening, some unfolding of what was packed under pressure. It makes sense, of course, but I'd forgotten to plan for the unfolding when plotting out my life.  And I should have known better:  I've been unfolding for a year and a half out here in Annandale.  I'd smoothed out some wrinkles and was cutting into the fabric to make something new, but I had to put it aside for the paycheck that keeps me free and legal. I need to not start admonishing myself...

Today is the anniversary of my (to-date) only legal marriage. I feel like I should give an official statement. I'm not angry. I'm not sorry. I made my peace before proceeding with divorce. There was some awkwardness, mostly outside the marriage, while I tried to maintain calm in the household during the steps leading to the divorce. It was important to me that there not be a messy blow-up, and there wasn't; apparently that was important to my former husband, too, if predictably so. We arrived at the court successfully in a state of calm. The judge seemed confused, possibly relieved. I'm sure the rest of his day didn't go so smoothly. My counterpart shed a few tears when I gave back the wedding rings; I wanted to dissociate myself from them and leave him to decide their fate. That was my only bit of meanness, because I knew deciding what to do would be harder for him than for me. My first year of divorce was a sea-storm. The surges and doldrums were to b...

So it annoys the [ expletive ] out of me when I pull one of my typical shenanigans, which of course was not a shenanigan when I did it but just a fact of nature, and someone says (inevitably): "Only you, Deb..." and laughs. ...because No. It's not only me. There are other people in the world who are willing to go outside the box, to eclipse convention, to take the risk. Dare to follow possibility. We do that; it's not only me. But then... Every year I go with my friend Liz to Markoff's Haunted Forest .  Please disavow any other scary thing you've been visiting in the DMV ; this is what you wanted all along. My favorite bits are the pirate ship, the Viking encampment, the dragon graveyard and the hardcore bus (it's like being in a Mad Max movie.)  I love the giant Krampus, which this year was wearing the LED counter telling you when it's your turn to enter the forest. I hope I'm not giving away too much here.  The sets are really ama...

Is anyone else suspicious of the phrase "I wish nothing but the best for you" - like there's something the speaker is repressing, denying himself the right to feel something that conflicts with what he wishes to convey?  - @debsvalidation . .. but is inferred, isn't it? But I can't deal with you. But I have to choose my own path. But I...  It's valid, but know that something else is there. There are things unsaid that are as important, if not more, than the best you are wishing. You're setting someone sail, but this is really about you. Best isn't a real thing; it's a glittering, undefinable, ideal. There are piles of n yet unnamed, and you can't claim to know where they will be categorised and whether you should be wishing them.  Time and space are not clearly identified; choose a word with more useful connotation, like  room .  Give all of you room, and leave the boundaries fuzzy. Give your disappointment room to unfold - it...

I was tired. I pulled awkwardly into a parking spot in front of my bank's ATM; when I realised it was a handicap spot I weighed whether to do my business instead of taking the time to re-park squarely and in a non-designated spot. Yeah, I was that guy. What's 3 feet, right? As I approached the machine, I got called out on it. "You have a handicapped parking tag?" I do not, I said. I weighed again, considering whether I should just get my business done, or do the right thing. "Why are you parking there, then?" the lady demanded. Have you met me?  Of course I was going to do the right thing, but my tired self took a bit too long to respond. Also apparently I shrugged, because the lady yelling at me mimicked my shrug, and demanded again to know why I was parked there. I told the truth. "Well, because I'm lazy and rude,"I said sincerely. "Would you like to go first while I park properly?" So I got back in my car and parked al...

Here's me having no concept of time, at work four hours early. I didn't mentally note when I'm to show up because we always start extra office coverage at 10 AM. Except when we don't. Thinking like this is how people die. Starbucks ground coffee was on sale at my local market, so I bought Espresso Roast for the office. There's crack in it - I never actually want Starbucks coffee until I drink it and then I think it's so great. Starbucks tastes like nostalgia*. Upon first sip I remember sitting under the palm tree outside my Palm Springs apartment with my friend, or at a table outside the Starbucks on the strip, or in my car at the drive-up window with two poodles and a dalmatian in the back seat. The SBUX employees crowded around the window; they knew the poodles and wanted to know my name. They were hard times, very real times. I love real so much. The brain is a funny thing; I can drink this coffee and conjure up the feel of sun on my skin at 7 AM i...

How can I eat fortitude digest and become what I eat ready to battle won't I wither at first sight  mountain that's mine to conquer?  What for breakfast stops me dreaming back to bed safe under cover?

See the Mongolian Sheep Knee?  I just dropped an earring back on the floor. I need to go in to work, but I can't just let it fall. I'm worried about losing my favourite earring, and also I can't afford to let this thing nag me all day. Tim taught me to follow through before moving on to the next task. "It only takes a minute," he said. He told me this even though he knew me. So many things fall, and follow-through means decisions need to be made. I sometimes really, earnestly, need to let them fall or I will never get where I'm going. I heard a tick as the round rubber earring back collided with something in its descent, just a ping of rubber hitting metal and nothing more. That means it bounced off the metal file cabinet, and then rolled across the floor. Not much resonance to the ping so I can assume it hit fairly low to the ground, and so didn't roll very far - the rubber will grip the stoneware tile and slow its roll. I turn on the overhead ...

I watch all the foreign detective shows on Netflix (foreign here means with subtitles and not filmed in the U.S.) Since I was old enough to stay up and watch The NBC Mystery Movie I've been enthralled by the idea of resolution - questions answered, circle completed. I learned from TV detectives that it's a thing to make observations and calculate. My young brain was so happy. Columbo, Quincy M.E., and MacMillan and Wife were my childhood role models. I make assumptions that the host culture's authentic nature is reflected in the narrative of my foreign detective shows. Right now I'm watching The Method , which is set in Moscow. I compare it to my Russian archetype which is mostly built from Stalinist-era l iterature and Ukrainian lifeguards - agreed that this is not a very stable archetype, but the TV show is fitting well enough within it. Long ago I sought to identify White People culture in America. My friends who are not white people often use the pronoun ...

Sasha is furiously washing the dishes in the kitchen sink. The sun is rising, and Jacob is sitting quietly at the computer with his game. She's furious because he's been there since midnight, when Sasha went to bed, watched an episode and a half of House, hoping for company, eventually falling asleep; still there when she awoke unsettled because there was no-one beside her. Because Sasha thought she'd have a glass of warm milk and go back to bed, but found all the dishes still dirty in the sink like they were two days ago when she challenged Jacob to wash them. He would, he'd said, after his game. In fact, there wasn't a clean cup for the milk. And here is Sasha, hands in the sink, washing. "Why do I even believe you?" she mutters as she furiously scrubs. "Huh?" Jacob more grunts than questions, and his back is still toward the kitchen. Were there any other living thing in the room, the grunt would not have been credited to Jacob, becaus...

So here's what happened:  I just wanted roti canai . But on my way out of work I saw a car on the parkway, driver door open and person standing outside the car.  It's a dark curve with no shoulder - not a safe place to stop.  I slowed and rolled down my window to see if I could be of assistance; the person said everything was fine, so I kept going. I went to the Asian market to get some frozen roti, and I left my purse in the car, which I never do. I put my wallet in my pocket and congratulated myself for being lighter. I got really excited when I found a sign for Peshwari Naan , and then I got really tetchy when I dug through several rows of frozen bread and found none. You don't falsely claim to have Peshwari naan when there isn't any. That's just rude. So I got the plain roti I'd come for. I went back to the car - my big ugly pink purse was gone.  The passenger window was still open, which is also something I never do. I could see it so clearly: wh...

"You want to go to the beach tonight?" Vickie's Texas drawl was hopeful; we were finally meeting in person after knowing each other through the hotel system for years. The beach south of Port Arthur was suggested by Vickie's friend, her guy friend, the one who (you could tell by the wistfulness in her voice) currently held her heart; the one she said was her best friend. I wouldn't have to drive, she said, because I'd been driving since California. "Sure," I replied.  I'd just left the desert and hadn't seen the Gulf Coast, which holds a piece of my heart, in over a decade. Of course I wanted to go to the beach. The problem was this: I was too old to innately know this was Spring Break, and there would be no beach to be seen. It was joyous mayhem. There were jeeps and Beetles driving up and down the sandy shore, campfires burning, hippies dancing... Around the other side of  Vickie's car a particularly greasy young man was sittin...

Abbey the Cockatiel* eyeballs me from her cage - a weird game of hide-and-seek because she wants to be afraid, label me the Debbil, but can't stand to be ignored. We know this game, yeah? Funny that non-humans play it too, or maybe no surprise. While I watch TV she navigates through the open door of her cage onto the floor, but when I acknowledge her she retreats into her safe space. I get it, Abbey; do your bird thing. Abbey's momma, Chantelle, asked how much I charged to birb-visit and whether I was willing to barter. I love barter, but I can use cash. I said I wanted a Cuban; I should have known she'd have one already. It was on the counter with the cash and a box of matches next to a list of Abbey-care instructions. I call Abbey's name and whistle as instructed; she whistles back in response. I take a risk and put my hand in the cage, knowing she might bite me. I'm surprised when she steps calmly onto my wrist like it was what she wanted all along. ...