Giving what I've got

I might call it a cranky romp?

Real life is eating my lunch right now. It looks mostly like this.

1 of the only 2 times I wore this sling before deciding that Ames, now 25 lb, is too heavy and I was going to break my body — or whoops, already had

My ‘material,’ writing-wise, has always been some version of this, the domestic. When I first started blogging TWENTY YEARS AGO!, I did so often over the objections of a voice in my head, a voice who said that my material — food, everyday life, relationships, human meaning-making — was frivolous. I remember it clearly. That was the word it used: frivolous! How rude. It said my material was soft, woman-y, and that soft, woman-y stuff was not the stuff of real writing. At this point in the paragraph I must assure you that I do know the voice is wrong. The voice is a world-class misogynist. I got good at muffling it with a pillow and, eventually, with book contracts.

But the fucker still pipes up from time to time to make sure I don’t forget what what world we are living in. Yesterday it got the better of me. This morning I walked the dog in a wind like vaporized ice and came home with my spine straighter, ready to give what I’ve got.