Kick it!

with Pride

Good afternoon, evening, night.

I haven’t been working on this missive all week, so this is fresh off the press. Enjoy the typos, should they arise. It’s been a strange week; all weather and fog. Churning clouds, both within and without. I’m at Ana Bandeira Chocolates with my nutty espresso. My friend Henry just appeared and we sat together awhile. He asked how the writing is going. It goes in little kicks. Any long walks this week have felt more like trudges than glides.

So I did struggle, too, at Grove House Sewing Studio’s one year anniversary charity class--please donate to the ACLU--but I though I trudged and sweat, I can still trace, pin, and cut a pattern with impressive speed.

I learned a new Irish word this week, Cráite. and that’s the feeling. I can see my present quite clearly in the growing green, the nesting sparrows, the eyes of my nearby loved ones. But also this pervasive grief. A loss that keeps on losing. A wonder if that kind love (but better, but healthier) will find me again. Until then, I write.

Here’s the way of it:

Writing: Revision tracking on my novel, Salt Moon, about which some of you might care, but mostly it’s an accountability booster for me; Submissions, to magazines and awards, if I ever do such a thing; and/or new prose or poetry mostly made during my beloved Northampton Literary Society (Litso) writing meet-ups each Thursday.

Teaching: Something I learned once or recently, that I would like to teach you about now. The advice you never asked for, really.

Community: Observations big and small to help increase connection amongst the unending deluge of tragic events we uncover daily.

Can I kick it?--

Writing

Litso was smallish this week, and lovely. Coco brought us a prompt about the many definitions and phrases involved with the word “Kick.” The dictionary list she provided reminded me of teach ESOL, the phrasal verb books I bought for my ex-husband, which he studied for a time until he didn’t. We had so much fun writing with this prompt. And I felt silly, laughed. It’d been awhile since I softened into joy in our beloved group. It was nice. Here’s what I came up with.

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Gooooool! Why set them? I write the contract to break to just a little, to find what works for me. Decide to kick it with the unknown.

I know I have the right plan kicking around here somewhere,

the thing is--it changes day to day.

I’m still kicking.

Britannia Dictionary defines the phrase as “full of life and energy”

but I thought it just meant surviving.

I’m still kicking--alive. I’ve been alive forever and I’m still aliving.

I’ve been alive this whole time.

Still kicking and screaming.

Kissing and seething.

Crying and buying.

But not drinking and driving.

What if I kick off this mortal coil,

soft and quiet in my bed?

Why kick my own ass in these soft washable sneakers

when doing so has never served before?

Why not kick back and kick off these shoes--footloose

--before I kick the bucket for good?

I feel like I’ll kick myself if I spend all these days so serious.

Teaching

How to do what you said you’d do.

All my life, I’ve been trying to improve. I’ve made google calendar is in perfect color code for workouts, meal prep, study/writing/marketing sessions. None of it sticks for long. Then I wrote three weekly contracts with my therapist about how I wouldn’t drive drunk. Not even the tight mile from downtown to home.

And I haven’t. There was a moment yesterday, after a few hours day-drinking with friends at Pride where folks dropped off, went home, and I found myself talking deeply with a couple lesbians at the Watering Hole. I got a little sad, then sat on the curb around the corner from my car and thought about driving.

But I didn’t, because of the contract. Because it’s between me and one other trusted person, not me alone. So I think maybe the trick to change might be just one person in cahoots. May I highly recommend an accountabilibuddy.

Community

This weekend marked our third Hampshire Pride Brunch at Cam and Fran’s. The hang-parade-marketplace-bar combo, and it was a delight. I was worried I’d be a downer (see moodiness above). But Fran welcomed us and her great new friends, and I brought bagels, and though she thanked us straights for coming over and over, I’m like: no, thank you! It’s so wonderful to be a guest to my queer friends; their joy and struggles and unique humor. The honor is all mine.

Can’t rain on this parade, dudes.

Ben and Zack and me <3

Happy Pride, this day and every day!

KayKay