Well, here it is. I have been swimming around with this idea in my head that I was going to come home and lay into this new blog and give it my millionth go. I am the worst about keeping up with my writing. I go in and out of creative bursts along with my nagging bipolar emotional roller coaster days. It can be a real strain on keeping things normal. I am not normal by any sense of the word, but who really is. I mean, I wouldn't want to be friends with anyone who is normal. Good thing I don't have that problem. My friends are wacka doo.

No indention in my paragraphs, and probably no spell check. I don't have time for these things. I've got a teenager on the brink of graduation and I never see my husband anymore. It's not that I don't want to see him, be we have both been sucked into the never ending void of blue collar drudgery. Long hours and not enough sleep (or sex) keep us running around in this grey circles. Every once and a while we can light up a smoke ( you decide) and we can have a nice conversation before one of us inevitably falls violently into a narcoleptic fit of sleep. We've been together for 18 years, my old  man and I. We've been thru all the things they tell you about, all the good and the bad and the yadda yadda yadda, but I like to think we've achieved it with a real sense of style. I don't know many more couples that have been together as long as we have. I think it has a lot to do with stubbornness. We both set our goals high and will not give up until we are drinking real champagne and farting thru silk underwear. Hey, whatever works.

We met doing performance poetry, which is different then slam, which is what most people think I do who have never even seen me perform. I ask you, do you want to see a 41 old fat woman slamming in a bar? That would be so Rosanne Barr/ 1980s of me, and although I love Rosanne ( she is a fucking genius if you ask me.. and please do some day) that's not my bag. I don't really know what my bag is these days. I'm just trying to get dinner on the table on time. I'm just trying to figure out where we go when we aren't here anymore and all that existential crap. I say that in the most zen way possible, and I don't capitalize zen.

I've been consistently writing and performing poetry for almost 20 years now. Most of my contemporaries have dropped out of the scenes, gotten law degrees or continued to blissfully live on trust funds that originally brought them out to the coffee houses in the late 90s to get their boho kicks. Some of them have died and are getting their kicks somewhere else. Some of them are still writing and even have some kind of job that allows them to stay creative and in the game so to speak. A few are even published outside of Kinko's or their own computer printer. I've not been that lucky so far, but i don't blame anyone but myself and the male dominated culture that surrounds me creatively (kidding...?) But really, there is a real madness to my life. I'm telling you I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.