Friday, August 19, 2011



I can hear my mother's dismissive “stupid” directed at people and systems she didn't understand. I censor myself and don't speak it as I watch that word, stupid, move from my mind to my tongue. It's so much easier to blame outside, 'stupid', than to look at my own inability to communicate and be communicated with.

I'm too aware when I send a quick email comment to a friend that the valence of my mood hasn't been heard. I don't want to have to write more and more. I want to be heard! I get angry when the email response detours. I blame myself for having even tried. Sometimes I drag more words out of my brain, resisting, resentful. Sometimes I feel so lonely, want so to dismiss that correspondent from my friends list. My mother's way was easier. Spray discontent. Blame the other. Stupid!

Saturday, August 13, 2011

100% cotton

I saw an online ad for 100% cotton sweatshirts and phoned the 800 number. The answerer fumbled the phone and then a sluggish voice with a New Jersey accent put me on hold. And then disconnected me. I called back. The same east coast young male unconcerned sounding voice answered.

“Did you call before?”
“Yes, we were disconnected. I saw your ad for 100% cotton sweatshirts. I'd like a gray one.”
“We don't have gray.”
“No gray. Why?”
“No gray.”
“It's black that makes the gray and black is polyester.”
“Well then the sage. Long sleeve. Medium.”
“We only have short sleeve.”
“Only short sleeve?
“What about in the fall?”
“Short sleeve. It's a niche.”
“What about when it gets cold.”
“Then we have heavy weight.”
“Are those 100% cotton?”
“No, 95%.”
“Thank you”

I hung up, remembering the website offering 100% cotton sweatshirts and imagining the bodies in the niche market for short sleeve sweatshirts.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011


The upper classes don't fidget.