72

City Keds washed. Walking into town for an ice cream wearing three different shades of what's technically still white. No undies on to dare my late cycle to come. I wear anything around here. That's how I know I'm Home. Within me. Out here. And then there’s my teeth. Shade four. Missed my cleaning on Wilshire, a short walk from Los Angeles home #4: Nest. Boy was the receptionist saucy about it all. Sorry I live in Maryland man. Have referred so many patients to you and it's okay, I’ll find a cleaning over on this coast. Take a big bite. HQ in all the ways. First mammogram in October. Umpteenth pap. Saw a dermatologist today. Systems. Gotta mix in a pedicure. Veggies for the juicer when I pick up a rare Rx. Eggs and english muffins, my staples. Get up and work and then that 11am breakfast sandwich hits the spot. I’ll eat and drink anything but don’t often do prescriptions. Messy violent doctor and nurse ruled the roost but honestly I am over all of that. This year was the year. My year of feeling all my feelings. There will be more and they will be new. Mom and Dad are moving a town over from Easton. New construction on the water. Dad asked me to go take a look at the place, give him my read. I like it. Have ideas. A good house for a dog and a nice neighborhood to start biking again. Work on his gut. Dad's getting a bike and a dog. We'll have this talk, but if he ever hurts that dog, I'll raise a ruckus. Forgive and forget, forgetting just enough not to be an idiot. Our poor dog growing up. All of us, but me and that dog took it hard. Terrified me when I had to take Adley on his walk, b a d Adley, short for Adirondack. He grew more unhinged over the years, and of course he did. When Dad had to put him down, he buried his ashes under a tree in the backyard and drank a bottle of vodka sobbing. Wouldn't come in for dinner. Love is a confounding force of nature that I'll never stop wanting to know more about. An engineer wants to know how everything works. So here. My left hip* has been sore for quite some time. During what’s left of this alchemical sabbatical, I’m aiming to reverse all bodily habits to the other side. The patterns I catch. Hold the phone in my right hand, so holding it in my left. Put the phone in my right back pocket, so in my left. Cross one leg over the other. Wait, no, the other. Things like that. Criss cross apple sauce reversed for eyes closed. That’s how it goes but balance isn’t harmony even though seeking said balance promotes harmonic calibration. Until I loose it days back into the Los Angeles school year. Or I won't. Hand rolls and new ideas. The radio<3 Art theaters with cocktails<3 Spiritual rewrites.

In town to order one scoop of Mocha Toffee Crunch in a cup. Not what I thought I would get. Tricky to not pick the yet unscooped flavor, such a freak like that. Try to look away when they shake the water off the scooper. Sit in the square and write the above. Stroll home to edit my world’s longest manuscript. Class ended a few weeks ago. I was a good gIRL mess and transcribed 19 lectures (2 x 9 + 1 bonus car class) + other odds and ends that I have to deal with now. I’m not awesome at finishing, anything. AND change promotes, provokes, devotes change! This blog made it thru a whole year, most deserving of an imaginary holiday. I roasted beets this afternoon, red and golden with four cloves of smashed garlic and tonight had some of them over good pasta with lots of parsley and a little bit of grated honey gouda. The local grocery store put out all these little tastes of cheese, packaged for sale, portioned for single shoppers. Nice cheeses, imported slivers wrapped for a dollar or two. Precious, so a bit of a random dinner with that cheese, or better yet, cheese with that dinner, but worked. But. I bit the inside of my lip bad. Left some crunch in those roasted beets and walking home I keep sucking on the bite mark. The cold ice cream made it feel better and now I'm sucking the salty blood in my sticky mouth. Makes me conjure dirty thoughts 2. and others, like how honestly amazing it is that anything heals. You’ll have this persistent ache or pain and 1. day you forget about it because it’s not there anymore. The forgetting — or the gone? Chicken or the egg SANDWICH? I'm not yet famous for my breakfast sandwiches. This not yet patented technique of melting salted butter in the cast iron skillet. Split the muffin and crack an egg in between. Cooking create an accordion primed for inserts. Leftover roasted beets, still with some crunch, chew careful. Parsley, avocado, and carrot kimchi. No sheep's milk honey gouda this morning after milk in my twin cappuccinos. And ice cream tonight. I'm a farmer.

Home. Bins in. Hands washed. Pitcher of lemon water. I’m bleeding so it worked. Mom, I'm so sorry, but magic is real. It's hard to be a human and impossible to be a woman (proof: watch Barbie) but I do like my cycle. I like the compassion circles create. I hang up all the clothes that are down after the coming and going from the city. I gambled, washing a dry clean only piece only to loose the bet. I'll still wear it. It being a jacket covered with fish with button eyes. The hot pink trim was the red herring. Scoop of magnesium into the bottom of a fresh glass, pour over the lemon water and chug. Refill. Chug. Refill 4. bedside. Shitter. Have the second tv perched in my bedroom for summer movie nights with the boys and right now realize my go-to hang out position is semi-reclined with my left hip splayed. Jupiter's expansion, legs making the number 4, but shit that's the source of the pain. Le Pendu. Gotta knock that off because this left hip needs a breather or it shall keep shooting pain waves down my left leg. A nuisance on trains and planes. I wake up throughout the night realizing I sleep all left hip open. Have I done this since I was a baby? A declared intent of mine is to partner with a badass body worker when back in Los Angeles. Survival vs. HQ. My body needs way more body work than I give to her. I've been keeping her juiced up though. Another hot party trick is to buy a real watermelon and scoop all the flesh from the rind and blend it with a few ice cubes. Pretty, tasty. sets you right. 

Los Angeles is my faithful friend.

Los Angeles is my faithful friend.

Los Angeles is my faithful friend.

Los Angeles is my faithful friend.

Los Angeles is my faithful friend.

Los Angeles is my faithful friend.

Los Angeles is my faithful friend.

Los Angeles is my faithful friend.

Los Angeles is my faithful friend.

My body luvs life in Los Angeles!

My body luvs life in Los Angeles!

My body luvs life in Los Angeles!

My body luvs life in Los Angeles!

My body luvs life in Los Angeles!

My body luvs life in Los Angeles!

My body luvs life in Los Angeles!

My body luvs life in Los Angeles!

My body luvs life in Los Angeles!

Serious Synchronicity Smoothes

Shit. I write with my left foot perched up on the chair. Learning to write during pandemic homeschooling all my jeans split under the left cheek and I wasn't sure why just that side when both sides of my bum look proportionate in the mirror. It's so not the same on the other side.

68 ~ > * ) ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

     🍯 ~ > * ) ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We managed to turn the drive to Annapolis for a colonic into a philosophical family discussion. That Bay Bridge taking us higher. Well-mannered kids in the waiting room while Mom gets it done. I love it. The afterwards, cool and pulsing inside stays with me for hours. Nothing's too deep if it's true. Belly of my beasts. I could feel the water travel around to the end. Over and over. Cleaning house gets me off so you can imagine these five feet rinsed out and out again. You. Inspired by the allure of clean endings. Me. Going back for more, colonic. Anal loving ex-orcism right as the heart gets pumping again with a two-week fitness jump-start thanks to the generative energy of boys. Realizing how much I've worked out (of) my heart this past year. I thought I was holding still but I was growing stronger dissolving from one thing into a whole other™ Pump the wings out and up. Expanding into who we are. Or at least enough so to stay to stay the course. Endurance when growing is hott. I want to have my hottest body. These changes are taking physical shape.

Y

M

C

A one-year-old blog doesn't even capture half of It, but I have been faithfully digesting crap that comes from before this lifetime and this one to date. Getting all caught up *enough* and finally filed my taxes and dissolved Front Room Gallery, paid off the grifters and am slowly designing my studio barn / home-sex-gym-spa. I understand energetic imprints.

I believe the key hims involved with all of this will realize he's been awful in ways he always shoved to my side of the street. gIRL mess is a wrap and I will work to see what comes from the transcribed lectures in addition to my hope spark, fresh and new. The masculine cannot deflect all his garbage and pretend like he doesn't see It glowing back at him. Radio / Active / Beacon in the night sky, a pace setter for the hers. We're different in our sameness. Everybody needs love. Find where the love fits. Be accountable. Do your own work. Henceforth I  admit how hurt I was because I was brave enough to feel sharp fragments crack open, off, return to Mother Earth. Closets are gardens, perhaps fermenting heaps of What Has, or What Will. Fulcrum points of energy loops snapping shut Click a strong jawed bite as the snake eats his own tail, snakes it up his own gutt→butt. Take Itt honey.

 1" of fluff off the ends 

 callus eating booties 

 dust the baseboards 

64

from
The Ashes of Drafts
exactly 1 month ago
👣

Old Sole Sandwich of Emotional Sobriety

b-read

meet

le pain

Ro is ten and about to graduate from the 5th grade. Our feet are the same size. I looked it up, and a youth size 5 is the same length as a women's size 7. I have worn a size 7 shoe since the 7th grade. Seventh grade is the last time I grew in height as well. I was and am 5 foot, 4 and a half inches tall, although I say five-five 4 ease. Ro is 4 foot 11.

Ro is a tense, in many ways, young man. I have rubbed his feet and body since he was small; his brother's too. Ro is loudly dramatic, emotes all sorts of sounds during, then after curls in my lap where I stroke his ears like he's a kitten-boy. He's my baby. And he has always been a serious guy.

On the rub above ⌃ I used a little jar of Dragon Balm, picked up when I last saw my NYC herbalist. The packaging is way chic. Ro said his heels were what really hurt, and they often do, he'll walk on tippy toes, though I felt the knot stemming from the ball of his foot. Up and under the ball, most inside there. I massaged with icy-hot as much as he would allow before tucking him into his makeshift bed on the floor. No cots available here. Shea will do anything to sleep beside me whereas his brother likes his space. So I washed my hands to play with Ro's hair and be gentle-gentle on his ears before a night next to Shea, super kitten-like.

FOOT PROBLEMS

Fear of the future
and of not stepping forward in life.

"I move forward in life,
with joy and with ease."

You Can Heal Your Life

by Louise Hay

The night I snapped these shots ⌃ we were in Los Angeles, at a SureStayⓇ close to the boys' baseball practice park. Ro said it's called SureStayⓇ because people leave the park and say, with some sense of defeat, "Sure, I'll stay here." We stayed there to test locational convenience > all else — testing a theory for my inevitable (part-time?) return. Would-We-Could-We rent a dumpy Dingbat Apartment within walking distance of their private school in The Valley? Morning smoothies 2go and A Regular Mom wearing stretch pants? This Mom would meditate at the school chapel before the student (parents welcome) morning service. A quick power walk home carrying three dirty 2go cups. The Dingbat would have to have a pool to combat roasting alive. One thing might lead to another and maybe I would submit to being who their father thinks he wants me to be when I am being A Los Angeles Mom. Antidepressants and a desk job is doable, or it's not. I could spend my entire salary on childcare thanks to asinine school and baseball schedules.
C☸G-M☸M-I-Am.

The writer's strike was and is still going on. A group of striking writers marched outside of Television CityⓇ holding signs asking all the cars to "HONK IN SUPPORT". Much honking, next to the park and across from the SureStayⓇ, ceasing at 5:00 PM on the ⏺

HooooonK H00000nK just like the geese I saw as my first heroic dose of mushrooms kicked in. I heard these geese before I saw them in the sky. I prayed, show me you, please let me see you, as some sign "I GOT THIS". Yes, spied in a clearing through the trees, thank you. And when I looked down again I spotted a real marigold who had sprouted up inside the enclosed garden. The ⁕ had not been there in the morning. A day of the dead converging with a night flight home is pretty cool stuff.

I share energy karma with Ro. Hypervigilance like a crazy person that I forget about until it stares back at me. This is how your son feels. This is his tightness. You must work harder to absolve the root pain. The shape-shifting fire seems to jump onto the Eastern European thrifted (long) frock I wore as ceremonial garb. Real ticks climbed aboard my sinking ship (pooling).


"Am I on fire?"

"Only on the inside," answered Luar. He was night flight tripping with me as a guide. Gunshots and dog barks freaking as the light faded in the country.

We sat in a circle on his partner Lydia's land. Daughter & Father & Mother per design of the set & setting. "Lydia, do you have a fire extinguisher?" She laughs, "I'm a run with scissors gal." Grip less and surrender more to the apocalypse only after Spirit reminds me I bought menopausal Iris her first automobile fire extinguisher for any please-no hot flashes — and Iris is dutifully parked close by, at my back. "Go off," she nudges. Chemical-glazed, bug-laden. All of me and everywhere putrid. All the bugs killed from pesticides. My embroidered hemline smoking. They said I held myself as still and quiet as anything.


I scheduled 🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄 before my last boy-time visit in Los Angeles and imbibed after, a weepy heap exhausted with carrying panic everywhere I go and back and forth all year. Feeling poisoned by 1 place and seeking the antidote in the other, but that cannot be right or is it? Put it down, for Ro. Sabbatical midterms in the Virginian backwoods. I passed and get to go for 126 more days.

2 Sandwiches I Enjoyed A Lot

On My Latest Boy-Time Visit in Los Angeles

despite the heavy backpack labeled PANIC

1.

Cold Meatloaf Sandwich

@ Clementine

cheesy meatloaf

sliced and topped with caramelized onions

iceberg lettuce

and our special 10,000 lakes dressing

on country white bread

$17.25

2.

Spiced Tofu Banh Oui

@ BANH OUI

crispy marinated tofu

chickpea spread

pickled carrot

daikon

cucumber

cilantro

mint

scallion

kewpie

pickled Fresno chili

served on a French roll

$13.00

P.S. Ro graduated wearing a beautiful medium blue suit with a pale blue shirt that we picked out together, and navy Vans size 6! purchased with dad. He said Vans run small, so they're the size equivalent to Nike's size 5 1/2, and his dad got him a fresh pair of those too. Ro has already packed them for his summer with me and Shea in Maryland. Gorgeous barn cat-boys.

u can heel ur life

63

Ro is

<3

HQ wipe ⏷

🌬You can hear the dryer in the background and a small desk fan I have positioned in the middle of the house, circulating air.

I'm such a believer in having a home that fuels you and a home that is so systematized that you can come and go with relative ease —     to the point where you're bringing in the mail, sorting the mail, opening the windows, circulating the air, and unpacking. And I unpack right in my laundry / mud room. And what I'm doing right now is I took everything that was in my Dopp kits, I had a couple — toiletries, cosmetics — and I laid out a towel, dumped everything out, took a kitchen towel out of the washing machine, and instead of putting it in the dryer, I used that damp towel to wipe everything down.

I have a tray that I'm putting things on. Then I'll take that tray and I'll either put things in the medicine cabinet or back into a travel bag or in the first aid kit in the guest bathroom, just wherever stuff needs to go. And then there's a handful of things I'm going to wash, like my tongue scraper and my tweezers and my toothbrush and some of my guasha tools.

And, I feel so grimy after this LA trip. And so up in the face of my trauma rooted in that geophysical place that I'm even cold water washing the kits themselves, and my scrunchie.

I feel like out of body tired even though I got in after my red eye (where I didn't sleep and where I had the craziest guy sitting next to me). I feel like I transferred some of my crazy to him with permission through a foot rub. I mean just it's such a weird story. But I didn't sleep on the plane. I barely slept in LA. Lots of panic. Lots of things coming up. I don't think any of this is cool, by the way, like, I don't think it's cool to go somewhere and panic. Especially when that's where your children will be growing up because one man says it's so and he makes a lot more money than you.

Um,     but anyways, I got home.

I used a sulfur soap. Sulfur soap is very good for dandruff and acne. And I scoured my body, particularly my feet, and I fell into bed and I slept from like 8:30 to almost 4:00 pm. Then I was back in bed, I think, by 9:00 or 10:00 pm and I woke up at 11:00 [the next morning].

I still feel a little bit floaty, but I just wanted to share that we're allowed to do what we want to do to feel grounded. Even out of body, it feels really good to just address these things, and clear the energy off. I don't know how into household chores I want to get. The garden really needs some love and attention. I don't know if I have it in me today. But it feels good to do something and not just have a full suitcase sitting there. And I do love travel and I am actively calling in much more. I'd say not to a Best Western across the street from the kids' baseball practice field,     but it's nice to feel like ready to go.

I do like to smudge the suitcase every so often. I do like to store it out in the garage, on the second floor of the garage, and then have the Dopp kits ready to go restocked. I have really sensitive skin so I need to have certain things with me. And that kit lives in a cute duffel in one of my closets and I just feel like, if a sexy little opportunity came up, I'm ready 2 go.

So blah blah blah Dopp Dopp

Oh,

    and I don't often carry a handbag, but being in mom mode, I wanted to have a little kit of supplies for the boys. So I'm also emptying out the whole handbag, wiping it down, wiping everything else down and I want to smudge that and my wallet too. LA certainly imparts damage on my wallet.

Reloading the little travel Advil.

Yes, the worry dolls, and I think know they need to charge a little bit lot.

    ~all that kind of stuff~

Reconciliation & Ready To Go-Ness


Implied Metaphors
from the Micro to the Macro of it all

^

This was recorded on Sunday

now it's Wednesday

The tray is still sitting on the floor of the living room

and that's okay

☁

62SOS

I L☉VE U

I AM S☉RRY

PLEASE F☉RGIVE US

THANK U

My childhood was defined by labor, violence and mockery. And caregiving. So much. Required (addicts) and inspired (baby brothers). Throughout it all, and ever since, I have had a knowingness — an innate faith that guided me. Yesterday, I felt that faith extinguish. No warning or fanfare. Surrender into the material plane realities of inequities and relentless tasks of eking out a living confined by ethos and energetic bandwidth. I see how and why people go towards the dark. I have compassion for the panic that rules society.

Los Angeles – the place and the metaphor – finally knocked me down into a heap of gIRL mess and I don't know what follows. Perhaps this is when one sells out or gets into sex work or maybe I'll become a postal worker and walk all day but I don't want to have to drive that little boxy truck.

I L☉VE U

I AM S☉RRY

PLEASE F☉RGIVE US

🍀THANK U🍀

🍀🍀🍀
  🍀
 🍀
  🍀
   🍀
   🍀
  🍀🍀
    🍀
   🍀
🍀

60

⏾

In my early thirties, when I was living through my only divorce twice, anyone I fucked I instructed split me in two. Crack me open I used to purr and they all did try their best. And then one day I met a boy who's pain matched mine.

    Click

was a girl (mess) all over again

I had impulsively prayed for a body love on a flight home from new york where I kinda broke up with this super rich (smart and funny) guy I was only sort of dating. He was a friend of my ex husband's, more an acquaintance, but the need to justify the difference reveals the masculine conundrum.

Landed, ubered, gathered the mail, and hauled my bag up a few flights of stairs.

Shoes off, hands washed, jeans wrangled down to my ankles.

I came so hard that I squirted all over the hardwood floor in the hallway, peering into a tiny deco crystal chandelier kaleidoscope. Sweatered spine on hardwood because I knew I was going to cum hard and I'm a clean freak. Wiped clean those glossy floorboards. See, the body love's energy came in, and Spirit told me I had work to do.

I next perceived this very specific to-do list, to call in a body love using the energy of my space — a one-bedroom apartment I shared with my two young sons in mid-city — just across the street from those lacma street lamps. So I did all the to-do's before Spirit said tinder. I had worked all week. Wrote down all the tiny chores, crossing them off, feeling great. It was a friday. I tindered over the weekend and remember taking the boys for barber shop haircuts, then was parking in his garage late wednesday afternoon post consultation with an honestly happy couple. They walked me to my car and we all watched a swarm of bees circle the jacaranda to the back left of their home. We had seen the bees before, in a clear line of site out their bedroom window, and we watched again from below until they bid me farewell like nervous parents. I hadn't had that and it was sweet.

That was in the spring of 2019. I wore a cream linen skirt suit, 70's, with suede manolos. Had put a vetiver, neroli and faintly cinnamon body oil on my legs, careful not to oil the suede. It felt like I only took left turns on the drive home seven hours later, and once I successfully pulled iris into her assigned slot, I did know I was fucked. We hadn't yet but I was, I just knew it. You know that feeling when it washes over. Yet when you want the assignment, as in your soul needs the work, you take it.

Lessons come packaged as they will, enticing in their present tense while draped with red flags looking back — that's * if * you pass the test. I finally did. I passed with zero fanfare last fall, and now it's spring again, and I'm grateful to be here. I'm on the eastern shore of maryland, a farmer of sorts, devoted to moving inside learnings out after a long, hot decade fighting against myself in the city of angels, where I kid you not, I had six different bedrooms, each one rearranged countless times.

gIRL mess class starts in our bedrooms because I can tell you that many, many bedrooms are stale with avoidance. Thus on the flip side, bedrooms are ripe with potential for actualizing, living within, our authentic desires on the daily.

As adults, or doing our best to act the part, our energy in one realm of lived experience is indicative of our big picture energy. So I wasn't just dirty talking, I was committed to cracking myself open across the board. What I was doing in bed, I was doing in life. I broke my reality apart, swept up all the pieces, dusted them off and laid them across the table to sort. Like items like to live together, so I compartmentalized my particular gIRL mess into piles. I like a pile. A pile seems to dare hey, here I am, come deal with me.

    Tomorrow, we answer.

No two people's piles look the same.

Not sure if this is called karma or fate, or if it's just the work of being a (high) functioning human being? We're here on the material plane, and maybe we've been here before, hence all the piles, but what * work * it is to be in a human body on the material plane dealing with our stuff?

💤

 IT'S SANDWICHES FROM HERE ON OUT GANG 

Soil&Metrics

Hello Meghan,

Thank you again for having us come out and do your investigation,
Here is the report, and as I told you Monday out there, my interpretation is that those anomalies are just random fill material,
Please let me know if you need anything else,
Best regards,
Ed
Geophysicist

Read more »

59

🍓         

farm FunSaver photos by Shea

58

gm receipt

BC = Betty Crocker

SUPER MO = Super Moist🍓 

gIRLmessY

I AM TEACHING A CLASS CALLED GIRL MESS, NAMED FOR A BICOASTAL INDOCTRINATION BACK INTO THE TERROR OF MY CHILDHOOD, AS MY GREATEST TEACHER DIES? FROM LATE STAGE ALCOHOLISM.  I AM WHO I AM BECAUSE OF THE GIFTS I CONTINUE TO LEARN AND NOW TEACH.  FOR ONE SEMESTER ONLY.  NINE (9!) LECTURES OVER THE PHONE, LAY WHERE YOU WANNA, ASK WHAT U WISH.  MY VEHICLE OF TRANSMISSION IS CHANGING, SO CLASS IS X-SPECIAL.  SOON: THIS MAY & JUNE. HUMP NIGHTS, OR THURSDAY MORNINGS 4 MY EUROS AND BEYOND.  BEST PRACTICES IN YOUR *RIGHT NOW* HOME WILL GIFT YOURSELF THE LIFE YOU TRULY DESIRE.  SO SICK OF BEING EXPECTED TO EXPLAIN WHAT IT IS THAT I DO.  ENERGY WORK DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY, BUT I DO KNOW HOW IT DOES WORK, VERY WELL INDEED.  GONNA TELL YOU ALLL ABOUT IT.  $1,990.  OFFICE HOURS + NOTEBOOK + STICKERS LIKE THIS 1 ⬇
➡ 1 310 848 1990

☦

gIRL mess HQ

If you setup your IRL HQ *properly* it will take you 1/2 a day of prep to leave and 3/4 of a day to settle back in. Personally, I tend to stretch the Welcome Home into a full day or two, infusing new life on the scene post-unpack

.

.

. systems up & running

.

After a recent trip, I added a second neon green houseplant to the mix. Two neon green + one *regular* green. Have plant pots for days, besides the handful that broke in the move. Rough movers are different than acknowledging that change is hard, but PS they really do go together.

There's a whole Potted Plants Supplies Section living in my garage. PPSS: pots, pots, saucers, stones, ornamental reindeer moss, fertilizer sticks, and this saffron printed silk gap filler fabric I've been using for years all live together inside two large square concrete planters too severe for the present moment. Hence storage. Nothing in plastic bins. I selected a thick and beveled black ceramic pot for the newbie; picked a right size water tray and a green floral brick to reach an ideal height. Turning my attention to gardening and landscaping, now that a new farmhouse is mind's eye rendering. Imagine a bridge between the old (art/)barn and a new home/barn with a meadow swirling beneath.

Kitchen sink spray neon green newbie down and let the water drain through before he's in his pot and placed on a little wooden platform. Wood on manufactured wood in the eating nook. Ganesh on the wall. The last tenant had four dogs who were allowed to do whatever they wanted in the home, or it's more dark and they weren't allowed outside. The flooring guys were working next door and called over the fence hey lady we did your floors so I invited myself over to peek in the neighboring house, where it did look like three single men lived through a pandemic and blew out of town. When it looks like you would expect: such a strange part of growing up. And a key.

They said the floors over here smelled so foul when they sanded them that they gagged. A dead body in the hallway and then years of captive dogs. Of course I had to have that golden vacuum.

The ghost's brother inherited the house but rented it without property management. Now he has the best manager. A proud Navy wife. She mends HQ when I'm away. Renting can feel rich.

Four trips ago →

🪤s

Water plant

Three →

Fresh caulk in primary bathroom

Water plant

Two →

Replace shower head in guest bath

Shave guest bathroom door

Water plants

This →

Repair primary toilet leak

    which started the day after I reset my bedroom

        curious

Water plants

3 plants spread evenly across the front of the home

🎍                🎍                🎍