February 12, 2018

Ephemily's Reluctant Timeshare. Living In Your Head, Rent Free

Social experiments are an interest of mine.  I enjoy crawling through data to see what I can get them to tell me.  I'm also a fan of what I like to call, The Long Game.

February 9, 2018

In Search Of A Karmic Travel Agent

Dirk Gently has his Holistic Detective Agency, but what I really want to find is a Karmic Travel Agent.

This last week has been odd.  And that's the short description.  A true breakdown of a string of 5 days where you're sent a pneumatic sex toy by an anonymous admirer deserves more than a single syllable, but that's for another time.

I have had a day from hell.  I started out by considering it a pothole day; the sort where you're derailed for 24 hours, lick your wounds, and start over after a good meal and a night's sleep.  And then, as always, it got weird.

January 31, 2018

From The Heart - Robe Sleeves, Privlidge, And A Week In Mexico.

I need to show you something. I wanted to sit on the balcony on a particularly brisk morning during my vacation last week, and decided to take advantage of the robe hanging in the closet. As I started to untie the belt and remove it from the hanger, I noticed that the right arm was tucked in such a way as to give it the appearance of saluting, with the hand over the heart.  I wrote the following from said balcony as a reflection of the experiences I've had in Mexico and at the Vidanta resort:

January 26, 2018

The Necessity of "Goodbye, Paradise."

The last of my pesos are sitting on the vanity, next to my winter coat which was begrudgingly pulled from the closet. I have utilized katana space, bargained with deities, and conjured my inner Tetris playing 90s kid to close and lock my suitcase. I'm dressed in layers so I can slowly remind myself what it's like to be cold.

January 25, 2018

The Boldest Print

Something I learned from walking around in a bathing suit, half skirt, and sheer, knee length cover up during the day - I'm not the smallest on the resort. I'm not the most ideally proportioned, or conventionally beautiful. I'm thick, jiggly in the middle, and small breasted, to tell the unvarnished truth.

January 23, 2018

Comedic Timing. Or, How I Learned To Love The Pain And Support The Toaster

I need to monetize my dad's sense of comedic timing.  Not the one that he *thinks* he has.  You know, the one that has me apologizing to waiters the world over.  I'm talking the one he doesn't realize he’s got, but would make him the perfect character in a slapstick comedy.

I’ve been on vacation with my folks for 4 or so days now.

Yesterday, I listened to my folks, both in their mid 70s, argue for half an hour over how to use the microwave.  My dad wanted to warm his muffin just enough to melt a pat of butter from the stick left in the fridge overnight.  If he’d have left the butter on the countertop for the same amount of time. . .   But, I digress.  

November 4, 2017

A Protagonist You Like

I spent about two hours delaying the inevitable of having to get out of bed this morning, chewing on thoughts and enjoying the weight of my down comforter.
I used to have this fear of frailty. That I'd be "less than" because I get migraines, that I have a trainwreck of a back and neck thanks to choices in leisure activities, exacerbated by actual injury. I've got a brain that doesn't quite fire right, meaning it spins off on its own path, too fast, too dark, and too anxious. I'm a packrat, and have historically carried around extra body "just in case I came up short", which is the dumbest thing to hoard, ever. I'm well versed in pain, spending weeks a year whispering curses into ice packs, leaking pain inspired tears into pillows, and being pickled by epsom salts and opioids. Part of my identity has historically included the word, "broken" on some level. Empirical evidence and some other bullshit I'd talked myself into.

This morning, with the duvet pulled up to the tip of my frosty little nose, my logic and my emotion stood akimbo over me, and in unison said, "And?"

August 30, 2016

Medicine is bitter. I'm just glad I'm not.

This morning, I took some of my own medicine.  And it’s not that “for medicinal purposes only” booze I keep under the mattress either.  It’s me following my own advice.

August 7, 2016

Ephemily Gets ID'd

Several years ago, when the Walmart Neighborhood Market on Saddlecreek was new, I wanted a beer. I had just turned in the on-call phone on another three day weekend Monday morning, and I decided that I was going to jam all of the lounging and celebrating others' had been given into the piddly amount of hours left to me.  That sliver of rebellion decided, Thunderhead and I hopped in the car and drove the several blocks to the store.  Up and down the isles I lurched, like a Zombie from being under what can best be called house arrest for the previous week.  I added junk food, some necessities and a bag of dog food the the cart along with my precious sixer of beer.