Dust it off, don’t shake it, slap it on the bottom.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” is a thing I say all the time, primarily when I am uncomfortable with my silent thoughts, so that I am that meme with the guy looking at a butterfly, asking, “Is this Tourette’s?”

This space isn’t back except that it is. And it is due to the fact that I clicked the wrong spot on my Feedly, utterly by accident, and was brought back to a blog I used to read in 2008. I have no idea where that person is now, or even why I read her then, how I found her, the whole rigmarole. Blogs are like albums for me now, in that I can no longer remember where I first heard them or why I became enthralled.

Anyway, here is what I wanted to tell you: I have two kids, and I gave birth to both vaginally, and there came a time in both birth processes that I yelled PULL IT OUT PULL IT OUT PULL IT OUT. I was a loud birther (a word that we in the US ought not say now, for its proto-fascist implications, and so I will say, I was a loud woman giving birth). They don’t tell you that babies have a lot in common with splinters, in that you KNOW, in the depths of your brain, that it will feel so much better the second someone just pulls the fucking thing OUT.

And right after you yell PULL IT OUT, someone in the room (a woman, for me, both times, because I only work with male doctors under emergency circumstances, though I’m fine with male nurses, because even if it’s 2020 that life path still takes the courage of one’s convictions, and I appreciate such things in a nurse)–anyway, yes, you yell PULL IT OUT, and a woman will say, “We can’t pull it out, you have to push.”

I tell you this story to say: it’s a pandemic, and we can’t pull it out. We have to push.

Wash this space.

No, really.

Fuuuuuuck, I don’t remember how to do this.

Um.

Years ago (ALMOST A DECADE AGO, FRIENDS) this space brought me into contact with like-minded people who made my life fuller and better. I’m not certain the internet can still do that. If 2007 was like making friends in elementary school, 2017 is like making friends at your part-time work-from-home job. There is no path to a reality that has new friends in it these days.

Or perhaps I’m just getting older.

Trump is the (p)resident of the United States.

Let’s let that sink in. (It still hasn’t sunken in.) It feels, perhaps as it should, like he is not really the person who helms this country. Maybe the cognitive dissonance that those two words, president and Trump, strung next to one another on our sad little macaroni necklace of a country, isn’t dissonance at all. Maybe it feels wrong because it is wrong, because he didn’t win, because hacking or PsyOps or whatever the fuck.

It is June and politics hasn’t faded to the background. And at the same time, writing feels more vital now, to nearly everyone I know, than it did a year ago. I worry that this is so because things really are that bad–like, 1939 Poland bad. I read so much and wrote so much about art and politics for so many years. And then I stopped. And then November happened. And there’s just SO MUCH. Like if I were teaching American Government and National Identity Since November 2016, I’d have to ignore 3/4 of what has been going on. I’d have to strategize in order not to overwhelm the students, so I’d say, Okay, let’s just teach whatever happened every Wednesday (because Tuesdays, for some reason, and always Friday nights, are bonkerbatshitstuffhappening overloads).

Oh, right, so I’m back over here because the blog I migrated to Squarespace no longer exists. I was going to start a new one, but it didn’t happen. So many P.S.’s in the time since I had even that blog, let alone this one.

P.S. I finished school.

P.S. I almost dissolved my marriage.

P.S. I had another kid. (Not to save the marriage, promise.)

P.S. OH GOD SO MUCH STUFF WITH THE KIDS AI YI YIIIIIII.

P.S. I am aimless and directionless.

P.S. Really, mid-30s? Is this how you’re going to play me?

 

 

NaBloPoMo!

Iffin you have this blog in your reader (and wouldn’t that just be lovely?) but you don’t have my other newer blog in your reader, then you don’t know that I’m back-ish. For November. Limited engagement, like a seasonal beverage. Some kind of over-sugared latte, not turkey soda. One hopes.

Herewith: http://perpetualbreadcrumbs.squarespace.com/

You may now update your feed readers.

The new blog is online and functional, here: Our Lady of Perpetual Breadcrumbs

There’s an RSS button on the sidebar, if you’re into that. I hear feed readers are going out of style?  Sad. I like them.

Thanks for putting up with a waaaaaay longer than it should have been migration.

Onward to Squarespace!

We’re Moving!

Okay, not “we” but “I,” and not to a house but to a new blog. I’ve decided to drop the anonymity shenanigans and start over in a new space, with a new (old) identity.  Why is this suddenly starting to feel like a Steinbeck novel? Jeebus, it’s just a blog migration. The content from this space is over there, along with a “long lost” blog of mine, archived for your enjoyment. Read it; it’s funny, if only because the contrast between my work self and my parent self is ridiculous.

It will take a little time to get all of the wordpress content over there, not because the export takes a long time but because I have to screen for some of the old content. Like, er, some of the ex-girlfriend stuff, and some other work-related stuff in which I complain a bit more than a person with a name and a face ought to complain.

So, give it a week or so to get up and running, but in the meantime, check it out, won’t you? The title is the same: Our Lady of Perpetual Breadcrumbs.  You can also get there by clicking the freight cars above.