Stone cold frozen

Today is just one of those days when everything seems too awful to function. I’m supposed to be finishing my part of a year-long project that was due yesterday (in fact, should have been done weeks or months ago….) and I’m sitting at my desk, paralyzed and crying re: the NEH, the families of Manchester, this woman/mother/grandmother/wonderful letter writer, and just feeling everything too much, in that “maybe I should leave work and go pick up my kid right now because I can’t shake this pound of dread in my gut that something awful is going to happen before I can get to her” kind of way.

Is it only Tuesday?

I’ve encountered two things today that are helping me power through, and that also seem in direct tension with one another:

What If We Cultivated Our Ugliness? or: The Monstrous Beauty of Medusa” by Jess Zimmerman–about owning yourself and your power; agency through ugliness–and, well, “Put on Your Sunday Clothes,” which is all about fancying up on the outside to force momentum on the inside. Well, and Babs, which may be the real point.

Today my Tuesday clothes are all black head-to-toe with an oversized sage green men’s travel shirt (my dad’s) and a wide black belt.

Photo on 5-23-17 at 4.30 PM

According to a co-worker (who never fails to notice my fashion choices in the worst way possible, like telling me that my yellow wool coat evokes Dick Tracy, rather than Audrey Hepburn in Charade. Problem was, he’s not wrong…), I look like a jaunty swashbuckler.

Unfortunately I was kind of going for, like, Doris Day doing casual yardwork.

So. All this to say, not a lot of buckle swashing going on round these parts, despite all effort to the contrary.