June has danced into the danger zone, when the dancer becomes the dance.

I know you wish I’d refer to this more often, but oh my god, I’m Ashley Wilkes right now, returning from war. I’ve limped in, all tattered and worn out and possibly lousy. At least I don’t have that anemic Melanie hanging on me. There’s that. Continue reading “June has danced into the danger zone, when the dancer becomes the dance.”

Cream. Get on top. Cream.

Three entire days of a holiday weekend. Twenty thousand climbs up m’stepstool. Five trips to the paint store. Nineteen inappropriate advances made on young paint salesboy.

And? Continue reading “Cream. Get on top. Cream.”

Brass-n-beige

It’s official: Ned owns our house. Fmr. His house. Crnt. It took months of dickering with his gaylord, who is a lawyer and was therefore a dick every step of the way. He used to like that guy. Continue reading “Brass-n-beige”

June’s stay-at-home vacation. Annoying morning readers, since Monday.

It’s the last day of my expansive vacation, in which I saw many exotic things, such as Chapel Hill. Continue reading “June’s stay-at-home vacation. Annoying morning readers, since Monday.”

I love things in my own way

Good gravy, I had that migraine all day yesterday. From the moment I woke up till I finally gave up and fell asleep at 9 p.m.

That second sentence was a clarification, in case you were unclear what I meant by “all day.” Me and my big words. Continue reading “I love things in my own way”

You’re never too old for a fur ball.

I’m trying to think of what happened this weekend, but it’s such a haze, what with the heroin and all. Or, alternatively, 18 bottles of fizzy strawberry water.

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I’m OBSESSED.

Continue reading “You’re never too old for a fur ball.”

At 52, June finally plays with a full deck

“I have to blog,” I just told my mother. Not that I have a blog.

When I’m visiting her, I always emphasize how, if I’m writing, I don’t like to be interrupted. Ruins m’flow.

“I know you have you write, you’ve told me and told me,” she said from her perch in the living room. I have. I’ve tried to write all the other days she’s been here and as soon as I sit down, she’ll be all, “Where are your spoons?”

So, I said, “Okay, here I go. Really writing now.” I sat down. Stretched my claws. Poised over the keyboard.

“Did you feed Edsel?” Continue reading “At 52, June finally plays with a full deck”

In real life, vowels are free

Even though I have allegedly set it up so that when I plug my phone into my computer–and there’s something anyone said, ever, in 1947–my photos should pop right up, they never do. They USED to. I’ve no idea what’s gone wrong. Continue reading “In real life, vowels are free”