How do you suck the most moist life out of every 24-hour chicken leg?
5:49pm. Baby breastfeeding. Mom lying down in just-washed-the-sheets bed, reading book on communication. I fold the double-flap reusable diapers, while earbud listening to a podcast. Done, I stretch out.
Half-moon yoga pose on the right leg. Numb numbskull noise. I’ve got a writing idea! Never mind left leg. Half moon on the left side gets pushed onto To Do list. Podcast discussion on whether life with inevitable suffering is better than no life at all. Shhhhh.
2 most peaceful headspace moments today. In chronological order:
5: 37am: Fog walk, slick street, dog looks back at me, leash between teeth like floss. I didn’t brush my teeth this am.
The 4 minute shower at 4:49pm. Only four minutes because that’s how long the hot water lasts. I’m monitoring this weird spot on my groin. is it herpes/ Jock itch? birth mark? Cancer? I’m going to message a dermatologist and ask if they’l accept Thai Massage as payment.
Half moon on the left leg. That was a good 8 seconds.
Two more things i want to write. I’ll mention them now so I don’t forget. Kate things I’m being soft on my college kids because I gave a girl a C, when some other professor would likely fling an F, but I don’t like failing my kids because I have a failing kids complex after my mom died because the world is hard enough, you know, because who knows, one day they might be like me, scrambling their eggs when their proverbial flip phone vibrates and it’s their hollow throated dad saying mom had a fatal heart attack and that word fatal. …the pain still rattles me. So Kate’s right, I am being soft.
Also I feel like I should explain what I want through The Alt Dad Diary. I don’t want Instagram or YouTube fame and fortune, a million followers. What I want is enough supporters to scrape together $2,000 per month for my writing, so that I can write and support me, Kate and the baby. Period. That’s it.
I think this is a careful distinction because I inadvertently catch myself Googling “how to write a successful blog” and “how to grow an instagram” and the steps assume a goal of vitality, mass fame. but my mom died of a heart attack, i don’t need the same stress. I mean virality wouldn’t be bad. these inspirational speakers like @garvee say this wildly popular but bozo shit like the only thing stopping you from success is your own doubt, there are no limits— which is both true and disney misleading. I don’t want grandiosity or notoriety. I want to make a damn living pumping my brain waves outward into the world like ripples in a small pond. I just need people to float me back $2000 bones a month or 24000 bones a year because that’s what it takes to keep the loveeachother canoe afloat.
If you can’t tell i’m writing defensively. Maybe you can’t tell because you can’t see my shoulders scrunched up and my jaw tight. Aye. if you’re wondering if this is a post i banged out in 11 minutes of just hammering my head and refusing to stop, you’re on the right track.
sometimes it’s cleansing to rant. in her final exam, one of my students wrote about how to get over an ex. deleting instagram was near the top of the list. because it’s so toxic. i felt so good to hear her say that. i don’t know why.
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If you like your eggs scrambled, your stillness scraped against the cast iron pan, by god support this rocking canoe on Patreon at patreon.com/altdaddiary