Create A Cafe At Home

I was feeling creative when I arranged a glass table and two chairs this way. I can sit and watch the children playing outside while I imagine myself to be in some cute, outdoor cafe.

What’s Needed for Your Cafe at Home

  • A small table. Preferably round.
  • Some strong coffee, which you can make anyway you like.
  • An interesting book. In my case, I’m reading The Power of Thought by John Algeo and Shirley J. Nicholson. It is quite intriguing.
  • Two chairs. I suppose they don’t have to match.
  • Your laptop or notebook if you’re working on something and don’t have time to read.

And that’s it! A space created.

In my cafe there are toddlers running around so I’m off to help a little one. Ciao.

Skincare Resolution

Back in January (as many did) I wrote a list of goals for this year.

I am happy to announce that the first goal (to potty train Sergio) is complete, as well as the goal of finding a skincare regimen.

I am not sponsored nor affliated by/ with the following company or Birchbox, which is where I found it. I gain nothing from this post.

The skincare regimen that I am now following is with products from AirRepair. I love the smell of the product and, according to the company’s website, is vegan and cruelty-free. Here is where I bought this kit of travel sized products.

The Cleansing Milk, Hydrating Serum, and All Purpose Skin Salve and Lip Balm are my favorites.

The travel sizes should last me awhile and I am enjoying taking care of my skin. What’s your favorite part of your grooming regimen?

Upset

I awoke in a panic this morning. I am slightly hungover (a feeling I’ve come to despise), having drank about four Miller Lites last night. What really got my head pounding was the crying from last night.

Those are my kids. Their photos were taken by someone else, as part of their “family photo” day.

Those are MY babies. My fuckin kids. And there they are, being assimilated into a new family through picture day. So that’s why I’m upset. Thats why my head hurts and that’s why I’m gonna go outside and tear my garden apart today.

Should I be “calling her out” for this? I dont know and dont give a fuck anymore.

A Song

My mother has always been supportive of me. But now…well, I can’t even explain in words what a blessing she has been to me. While I have struggled she has watched, listened, and added her two cents. I always value her opinion. Recently, she dedicated a song to me. In words and face to face. I am thankful beyond words to her for her dedication. Here it is.

Dedicate this song to someone else for me, because it is powerful and inspiring. I am not entirely deserving of its dedication (no matter how informal) but someone you know may be.

Hard Work

Everyone’s got an opinion on what it is. And I’m over here exasperated. Have you really worked hard lately? Have you torn down any grapevines by hand, just to hurt your hands? Have you driven up and down the highway, for days, for hours, hauling cargo or foster kids? Have you dug anything lately? Have you fixed any vehicles? How bout concrete? Poured any?

Have you forced your own children into car seats and told ’em you’ll see ’em next week? No? Oh well, whew. You’re still able to work then.

Hard work is just life. No one should get an award for it. I usually don’t even get a pat on the back.

SHOES

Yep, I’m gonna go be a photographer now. Isn’t that artsy? (I respect photographers and know nothing about it. Just bein snarky).

Anyway, let’s not hang around. I know you’re anxious to hear the rest of my story – why I’m in this dark mood. Ugh. I’m workin’ on it. I want you to understand well, so it’s gotta be good. I will tell you. And you can always tell me. Talking about trauma is supposed to help, right?

For now, I’d rather just listen to the radio though. So here’s the aux cord. Put somethin’ chill on.

Remember Me

Hopefully, you do. If not, that’s okay, too. I have been suffering lately from a rare form of Post Partum Depression – something that I thought I had under control. But, looking back on things and the manic writing I was doing (the climate crisis has traumatized me because I am concerned for the futures of our children), I was sick. I am healing by following the advice of medical professionals and will not be sharing every step of the journey.

I did not want anyone to think that I had forgotten them, so this is just a note of “Hey, I’m still here,” for some of you. I hope you have all been taking care of your flowers, yourselves, and your babies. One day soon we will be sharing lots more stories – and all of them will be beautiful, full of hope, laughter, nature, and that bittersweet twang of truth.

Blurred lines in Sand

It was fun. Yeah a girl can write a sex scene okay. Or rap it. Or make it up however she wants. Or dance it. Or strum it beautifully on a guitar. I look at the world literally and figuratively. I look at words and feelings and the past and present and that’s it. Then I try to match my doing to it. Let’s pick up a hammer – girls go steal some nails – and put everything back into figura. En la jaula no ladro Como la Perra. Cuido a Los ninos

Okay!!

We are all introduced. I know who I’m voting for. And I know how numbers can lose. Go tweet @ your person an hola muy Bella. Let’s tell em how we feel. With a twisted misdirect like they do. Always. But naughta. ๐Ÿ’œ๐ŸŒท๐ŸŒบ๐ŸŒผ๐ŸŒป๐ŸŒธ๐Ÿฅ€๐ŸŒน๐Ÿต๏ธ๐Ÿ’ฎ๐Ÿ’๐ŸŒต๐ŸŒด๐ŸŒฟ๐ŸŒฒ๐ŸŒฑโ˜˜๏ธ๐Ÿ€๐ŸŒณ๐ŸŒพ๐Ÿ๐Ÿ‚

Y’all got me….

Efffed up. Who’s tripping who and on what? Your lungs are burning? Well I’m lighting a smoke. Smoke what? Says the devil. Or wait. Was that you?

Love amor amour j’adore and all the rest that I don’t know but can inherently understand. Came to find you. You found me. Who was leading who. It’s just the bitch in me.

Basta o baila

I’m Planning a Road Trip

I’m going to take you on a trip. To literary wonderlands of thought-provoking, question-inducing blurbs of the reality I’ve invented, and am still working on.

My philosophy comes from thoughts that roll, evolve, and rot in the metaphorical compost pile of my mind. I try to make the accidental seedlings grow. I listen to the Master Gardeners, and envy the green thumbs of others. You can always weed the garden. Or, fuck it. What’s wrong with weed(s)?

Don’t let language control you. Fuck is just a word. To be offended is your perception, and never my intention. See what I did there? #teachingmoment.

Easter Eggs

So, I’ve been looking at my writing (who doesn’t read their own stuff?) and finding that I’ve got some puns and/or plays on words that I didn’t notice upon first draft, or even final edit, which never catches all of my errors (but who can pay an editor that knows their grammar well?). I’m not here to brag; some of ’em might not make sense and I might come off as estรบpida (new non-native speakers of Spanish: don’t use this word. Not one native-speaker that I know has ever used it (around me) because it’s connotation is that much stronger than ours [como me han dicho]). I’ve also missed a few witty word combinations, but I hate to edit an original work. Alas, what can be done?

Well, it got me thinkin’ on post topics. Most of which I scratched. I scrap a lot of stuff. I’m always cleaning something. Easter egg. Why do they call it that? Isn’t it mostly the Swifties? Don’t put words in my mouth; I can jam to T. Swift any day, but Drake, you’ve always had me in my feelings. Ever since Best I Ever Had. (No innuendos there, I just love that man’s music). I simply don’t understand why they applaud Taylor Swift (or anyone else they apply this reference to) for leaving “Easter eggs” when it’s something that all good writers do: leave a little to the imagination, tell a suspenseful story, create some drama.

I’m not accusing anyone of anything. I watch what the celebrities do, but they live their own lives (in the same world as mine) and theirs are not something I should judge, or worry about. I just find a lot (not all) of celebrities shallow.

Sure, celebs write catchy songs, dance like hell, act better than I ever could, or know a lot about make-up, but I just want ’em all to stop arguing. Quit engaging on Twitter (the only way to beat a troll) and focus on the big problems that are only beginning to surface (like icebergs. Because no, I don’t care where you’re flying to in your private jet, or what kind of flooring you have). We’ve got a White House full of chuckle-heads, shooters at festivals, concerts, malls, schools from Florida to California, Ohio to Texas. There are people questioning other people on their whereabouts, with skin color as the only probable cause. The LGBTQ community aren’t allowed to decide who they want to like or love, and there are others that think sticking to one language is better than knowing two (or more).

You might think but Alex, you don’t know any of the answers. I don’t know ’em all but I know how to research on Google (and what makes one source fake, and another legit). You need more sources of information if you don’t believe in climate change. You need more sources of information if you aren’t aware of patriarchy and all of it’s dangers. You need more information if you think there’s only one religion, one god.

I’m disabling comments on this one, because I’m not asking for an argument. If you want a conversation, go outside and listen to the trees. Because they’re all starting to fall.

If you really want to talk about this, don’t go trash my other posts’ comment sections (I know what the trolls do). Post a response and tag me in it. #inventmyplace. I’ll read it. I have no qualms with listening to the opinions of others. And that way, you just might contribute to the discussion that’s happening all around us, rather than be stuck at home in awe and fear, confusion or rage, like I usually am. Celebrities have much louder voices than everyone else, and those of us that don’t speak make even less sound.