A Minute, Like an Hour

I've been happily camping out alone in downtown Healdsburg since monday. And by camping I mean living in a moderately overly designed guest cottage with on-demand hot water and a programable skylight. By alone, I mean my mother showed up (typical!) on thursday evening because she has satsang weekend in Petaluma, which is about 45 minutes south of me, as we all know my mom wouldn't make a trip specifically for me mostly because I wouldn't invite her.

She asked if she could stay all weekend (just in the evenings, nights, and mornings as her days are occupied with satsang, so it wouldn't be all that much trouble for me.)

I said, No.

Because I like to walk around nude, or in short shorts and boots, smoking weed and trying on new lipsticks while dancing to Ella Fritzgerald. I like to go out for a quick cocktail at ten, just because I can. I like to sleep with the windows thrown open and listen to music in the morning as I ready myself for the day ahead.

Not against her, not really. Instead, the action was Pro-Chaya. I am cherishing moments alone, the solitude of the stars and the whisper of fresh sheets. It's been six years since I've had a house to myself and I am up for some overdue recalibration of how I operate when left to my own devices.

I have a plan to float me through summer and fall.

Nail Me Down

Things are not going as planned
I am losing a battle against myself
the things that I never thought to think
are being brought to the front of my mind

pried apart
and hung out to dry
in the hot california sun,
I bake myself brown.

And I take all that I can in one inhale
before I sip in
just a little more
laying back on my pillow I drift across dreams

And the screams in my head are all in my mind
and the times in my heart are all out of line
and the ring in my ears is the curse of my fears

Nail me down
I fear so little but love

Silent Across

I am not very nice these days and my ADD when it works, keeps me high functioning.

I've been sharing my room since the beginning of february and now finally four months later, I start to lose my nerve. I miss solitude and the quiet hour before dawn when I can sit alone with hot coffee and a blank screen ahead of me and craft out the rising dawn.

Finding that I have too much in my mouth to chew I begin spitting responsibilities onto the dirt. Especially the unchosen, unelected ones.

I was informed recently that I am too old to be such a bitch and that if I never ever have any intention of fucking a man, then I best tell him tout suite.