Category Archives: kitchen sink

3 wise mind moves

Really working on impulse control and “self management” esp at night.

It’s 11/16 close to midnight and I’m writing which is not the wisest move but I’m just taking a few minutes and then I’ll post and then I’ll be done for tomorrow.

My three wise moves in the last hour were that I resisted the urge to watch another episode of teevee, to have another glass of wine, and to break my promise to Rumor of a nighttime walk. I know that I’m dragging my feet a bit on the walk which fuels staying up later than I want, but it’s really nice to make her so happy and to have more successes with sticking to a routine.

The real test… when it hits midnight, will i resist doing the Wordle…

Can’t commit to that.

messy day

was biking through the beginnings of wet snow to go to a meeting and passed a school with two kids poking their heads out the window screaming for help. And though I suspected they were pranking I called 911 anyway bc of the world we live in and I am haunted by wails of parents who have lost kids to school shootings and my own memories of doing lockdown drills as a teacher. If something was going down and I just kept biking I couldn’t live with myself. But then I was freaking out about having called the police bc if nothing was happening then I was creating a situation and I don’t want to contribute to the over policing of kids. Thankfully the police came, determined all was fine, and no kids got in trouble. But I do hope school sends the message to kids to not mess around with that stuff. To me it’s like making bomb jokes at the airport.

On a postive note, I was able to than our local hero pharmacist, Seth, for all his help recently and through the years. I showed him what I wrote in the logan square community group and how others had spoken to his and the pharmacy’s awesomeness. When I asked about giving kudos to “higher ups” he waved it off. I think it bright him some joy which helped me shake off my unease about having called 911

working out

Not in the physical activity sense. I actually went into the office today. It’s a jumble of boxes and furniture from a move but I have a little room with a clear surface and a view that includes a sliver of the lake. Got plenty done but because I am out of practice of leaving the house, I did not pack a much. I tried to power through but on my way to the train relented and picked up a cheese/egg muffin from Dunkin Donuts. So much for not buying food out!

Was good to have a change of scenery but I hope Rumor held up OK. By the time I get home it will have been 6 1/2 hours. Thankfully did not have to wait long for the train.

eating in

With our child now in private boarding school, Michael and I are needing to seriously cut our spending. In the last few years, and especially the last few months, we have been outsourcing a lot of meals. Going out to dinner to regroup. Ordering in to keep the kitchen clean.

Last night we kicked off our return to cooking with black bean soup, brown rice and salad. Tonight, we dug out frozen pizza and loaded it with onions, garlic, mushrooms, and red peppers. Side of asparagus.

Hmmm i don’t have much else to say. Not feeling inspired today.

OK, I’m going to walk the dog. It’s cold and dark outside but I promised Rumor that I would start doing pre bedtime walks… as much for me as for her. I have not moved my body hardly at all today. Too sucked into work.

Something postive is that I mostly held off on picking today.


(kinda disjointed… will come back to it another day)

Twice this year I have walked by people picking at open wounds.

The first: I was in the pedway, dodging poor weather as I headed to Michigan Avenue from the blue line. I saw a man bent over, investigating large sores on his legs and ankles, rawer than the early spring day raging above us.

I was in a hurry to pick up my kid. I debated buying some gauze and neosporin and offering them to him on the return trip. But that felt presumptuous and we ended up taking a different way home anyway.

The second: Yesterday, Michael and I found ourselves wandering around Las Vegas for a few hours while waiting for our flight home. We walked past a man leaning into a wall for support, poking at the edges of one of the many bloody craters in his arm.

The concern and curiosity parts of my brain fire a few seconds faster than my “mind your own damn business unless someone is clearly in crisis or asking for help” mantra. And so for a second I wondered if these wounds were from needles and then I remembered the man in the pedway and the rawness of my toes.

Regardless of the cause of the wounds, I am nearly certain he was picking. Intentionally or unintentionally, he was keeping them open.

Michael had a nasty bike crash this summer. He was miraculously OK but had so many scrapes, which turned into glorious, taunting scabs. Each day I marveled as he… left. them. alone. The big one on his knee was particularly beguiling. I was desperate to flick it off.

Apparently not everyone gnaws at their skin. But plenty of us do. And because humans have been human-ing for a long time, apparently there are some names for this not uncommon compulsion.

I am forgoing my typical process of choosing the most reputable seeming source to back up something I have figured out from looking at a range of online material that ranges from the anecdotal (thank you reddit), commercial (no I’m not giving you my email to get the results of this diagnostic quiz), and academic (I do give more credence to .edu and .gov websites)

I’m gonna TBC this so I have time to walk the dog and go to sleep at a reasonable hour. Also I have gone 24 hours without picking my toes at all and my hand in any major way. And I am claiming that as an accomplishment. DBT: regardless of whatever has brought me to this habit of tearing at any little flap of skin, I can still control my own behavior.

Even now, I can feel my hand trying to heal. I want to smooth out the roughness necessary to healing. All the more reason to stop writing. Because my urge to pick increases as the night moves on.

passive voice

The decisions that needed to be made were made and the steps that needed to be taken were taken.

Passive voice is incongruous with the emotional and logistical extertion of the last few weeks and especially the last few days. Four hotels in 4 nights. Seventeen hours of driving (all with Michael at the wheel). Six hours in the air.

Passive voice can be a cloak, a smoke bomb, a way for people to shirk responsibility. But it can also be a privacy shield. I don’t want to tell other people’s stories without permission.

I need to focus on my own narrative, not just telling it but investing in it, believing it’s worth investing in. And I believe my life is worth investing in because 1) I spend a lot of time with myself and 2) I want to be a role model and a rock for my child.

Writing, even when no one is reading, is a form of accountability.