When I get trolled by a Tr*mp zombie–which is often, as I’m politically outspoken on social media and on TV–I write a blistering response. But I know all too* well that it’s not only unwise but unsafe to expend precious resistance energy on this Agent Orange-infected, poorly articulated hatred. So I breathe deeply, delete the response before posting it, and send love to that person’s highest self. Lately this is not just a daily practice these days. It is an hourly one. Ameriker.
*note correct spelling.
I just realized that today marks my two-year anniversary of quitting sugar and sweeteners of any sort. Sometimes I still drink alcohol–what I call “adult sugar”–and I’ve eased up on restricting white flour. But overall it’s been two years of experiencing my life un-doctored, which has made me fiercer and more motivated to change what needs changing. This is especially useful when your country has been seized by a reality TV madman. I’ve also been overall healthier: I’ve only been sick once, my skin and eyes are clearer, and my energy levels have improved vastly. (Weirdly, my waistline didn’t shrink at all.) The biggest takeaway: Sugar is like nicotine, which I quit at age 30. It doesn’t get you high yet it’s just as addictive as heroin and nearly as lethal in the long run. Next step: quitting gentle, unavailable men….
Venus retrograde approaches; my dreams heat up. I won’t even get into the mixed messages I’m receiving in waking life from those I desire and those I do not. I’ll just ill-advisedly share the dream I was sent last night from my greatest long-lost lover, he whose spirit sends me a postcard in the dream world every four years or so. In real life we’ve not spoken since my thirtieth birthday when he said, I don’t know if I can live without you but I’m going to try, and I didn’t get up from the kitchen floor until long after he’d left the country. Last night’s visit was such a middle-aged fumbling–rusty, desperate, hot.Continue Reading →
When I get trolled by a Tr*mp zombie–which is often, as I’m politically outspoken on social media and on TV–I write a blistering response. But I know all too* well that it’s not only unwise but unsafe to expend precious resistance energy on this Agent Orange-infected, poorly articulated hatred. So I breathe deeply, delete the response before posting it, and send love to that person’s highest self. Lately this is not just a daily practice these days. It is an hourly one. Ameriker.
I just realized that today marks my two-year anniversary of quitting sugar and sweeteners of any sort. Sometimes I still drink alcohol–what I call “adult sugar”–and I’ve eased up on restricting white flour. But overall it’s been two years of experiencing my life un-doctored, which has made me fiercer and more motivated to change what needs changing. This is especially useful when your country has been seized by a reality TV madman. I’ve also been overall healthier: I’ve only been sick once, my skin and eyes are clearer, and my energy levels have improved vastly. (Weirdly, my waistline didn’t shrink at all.) The biggest takeaway: Sugar is like nicotine, which I quit at age 30. It doesn’t get you high yet it’s just as addictive as heroin and nearly as lethal in the long run. Next step: quitting gentle, unavailable men….
Venus retrograde approaches; my dreams heat up. I won’t even get into the mixed messages I’m receiving in waking life from those I desire and those I do not. I’ll just ill-advisedly share the dream I was sent last night from my greatest long-lost lover, he whose spirit sends me a postcard in the dream world every four years or so. In real life we’ve not spoken since my thirtieth birthday when he said, I don’t know if I can live without you but I’m going to try, and I didn’t get up from the kitchen floor until long after he’d left the country. Last night’s visit was such a middle-aged fumbling–rusty, desperate, hot. Continue Reading →