Esme Writes.

…what can I say? I spent the last few months on hiatus. Writing, not writing. Doing the safe thing. Doing dangerous things. Trying- I guess- to figure things out. Figure shit out. And it’s all well and good for some philosophical bullshit at 3 am over a few too many glasses of red, all it comes down to is that it’s November 2 , 3 technically, because it’s nearly 1 am, and I am still nowhere further along that trail than I was however-many months ago my last post was. (Don’t tell me, I really don’t want to think about it.)

September passed uneventfully. As did October. November creeped on in with its usual cat-like intuition and is now here to remind me that no, I didn’t feed you and yes, I know you’re hungry. We have had an orange neighborhood cat haunt our kitchen door for a few weeks now. It meows like a banshee. It’s annoying. We threw water on it. It still came back. It reminds me of that one song…

Things are always reminding me of that one song, though. No matter how hard you want something gone it always resurfaces. I need to toss some concrete shoes on that shit, next time. Someone remind me to take a trip to Home Depot.

That’s a store with solutions. Someplace that can solve every minute issue that you might have. Rake it out to the gutter. Duct tape it. Throw some caulk on it. Paint over those toothpaste filled holes in the wall. No one will ever know the difference.

Here’s the thing though. Lately I’ve been working on chipping off those layers. Getting down to the baseline. The exposed brick. The skeleton of it all.

So the big orange depot is not going to help. Nor will empty nights and listless days. Words. They’re a good remedy. Yes. Words just might do it.

We’ll see. Also here’s to maintaining my sanity over 2 weeks of no booze, cheese, pasta, bread, sugars etc etc etc.

I am clearly not thinking things through.