what is going to happen when my google or apple cloud finally runs out of space? do all my books and pics disperse onto the internet like so many raindrops? or will it be more of a disaster

like Lisa poking Bart’s new “MOTH” tattoo I feel the annoyance of my small hut of a home as next-door neighbor to a big, empty, two bedroom—you guessed it: Airbnb. owned by the landlords I pay. my unfortunate lil anarchist heart (tattoo). 

Deets goes out in her winter jacket now. I can’t stop giggling when she wanders around in it. the clothes are wearing the kitten.

instead of a “to do” list I pretend I’m at an inclusive resort and this is the menu. I have choices, and if I’m starved I can get multiple from each course. my body demands three square meals. today I’m starting off with an amuse-bouche of exercise followed by a mindfulness appetizer. for my mains I will be tackling designing the curriculum I plan to teach, and homework for the classes I attend. if I have room for dessert I will review my bank accounts and recurring payments. there will be leftovers; I never waste food.

when an emergency vehicle goes down this quiet country road with the lights on and the siren seemingly at low volume, the first thing I want to say is a prayer of sorts for everyone involved. then I wonder if animals stay away because that vehicle was going at quite a clip and there are animals running around all the time. are the lights and siren enough or do they have a cattle thingy. the word “everyone”, to me, encompasses. I say my sort of prayer again.

remake of The Fast and The Furious original with queer, trans, female characters in the main male roles. everything else should be an exact replica with the sole exception being pronouns in the dialogue. only the actors change.

content promise: I don’t do gore.

after 9PM Deets discovers a dead mouse in the humane (ha) trap. the trap was in a place that shouldn’t have gotten a mouse—of a height, exposed, no bait of any kind, dead ends in every direction because it’s a ledge that drops off to the patio on three sides—so I don’t expect my kitten has found anything but turds when I open it up. after watching Deets discover and get absolutely thrilled to have her paws on a little body, I wondered about how long it might have been there. this poor wee furball lost it’s life on a ledge in a metal container under continuous shade during winter temperatures the high of which is continuously below the maximum my refrigerator can reach. so the mouse was refrigerated. I then realized Deets would find a small animal immediately, for all that. now she was just enamored with throwing her new toy around only to bat or bite it right up into the air again. because love, I would have to wait as Deets played. hopping and writhing in the air, swatting and grabbing, mouthing and tossing. play hard, waste not. Deets wore herself out in about fifteen minutes before eating up the whole cat-sized meal. my kitten cruised back into our home with a satisfied mrrrow and no signs of mouse anywhere outside the trap, which still contains turds. 

in the receding of those delights shared lovingly, cared for, treasured. the glory of sunset at the end of a day perfectly spent. as this joy becomes a history you could easily settle into sleep. roll your back that quakes with quiet sobbing toward these shared beauties, their accompanying hope. your recurrent struggle to keep it all in sight, alive, possible; how often you have rested your very existence on potential. have you learned anything? perhaps not how, but what to keep—the parts of the missing that must stay conscious. the hope that kills you; the practices that keep you alive. the reminiscences and desires; these delights need tending, now. as the moments become memories among the tears of gratitude and departure, as sleep beckons cold comfort, you seek a how for staying wakeful.

when you got too tired to be chameleon and your colors wouldn’t turn. you can’t bend in the ways you did when you were young. this year’s in like a lion; they’re out hunting lambs. he played a joke song when the app asked, “join a jam?” if you’re looking for flowers you’ll have to be patient. this closeness awakening powers long latent. she’s speckled with chowder; his jacket filmed in dry mud. the laughter’s incessant, just a loud mess of love. 

the closer you get to truth the further you get from luck. he coulda been a cowboy if he ain’t cared so damn much. when I’m on my own I’m perfect. when I love you, I’m a mess. uncertainty is everywhere, everyone doing their best. the bad habits are all mutual, no doubt the care as well. things wouldn’t need to be so spiritual if we weren’t so often facing hell. their repertoire impresses and they play with their whole hearts. if you think that joke’s regressive wait til you hear about my farts.