let us dream of evanescence

NON-BINARY REVIEW TOOK ME UP ON MY SCHEHERAZADE PIECE. i know i was writing about scheherazade here the other day; that was actually part of my ramp up to writing something else entirely. from their email: ...editorial commentary included, "Have I ever mentioned how seldom it is that I'm envious of someone else's words?" and "DAMMIT. I wish I'd written this." goddamn did it feel good to get an acceptance, it's been a hard few months. details to follow. we also reserved an author site for me with my name but i keep looking at the URL and thinking, do i really need this? who would look at it? what do i even put here? my hilarious credentials? a link to my essentially abandoned twitter account? some glam shots?! isn't this more the kind of thing real authors have? don't i need an MFA to even think about a dedicated author site? and then! i feel insecure. not that this feeling is unusual.

anybody else having notable synchronicities and/or dreamtime cameos related to or involving peacocks, lately? because wow, is something ever trying to tell me something. something about peacocks.

increasingly when i observe something curious in my living space, i assume it must be related to the mouse. this afternoon i discovered coarse white hairs, about two inches in length, underneath the dish drainer. my first thought: clearly, the mouse had something to do with this, and i started scenario building. then i caught myself and felt embarrassed by my nonsense, which i obviously blame on the mouse. what, the mouse is grabbing handfuls of hairs from a nearby dog with the express purpose of putting them under my dish drainer? maybe he's a serial killer mouse and this is his calling card. or maybe he's confident enough in his new living space to grow some hair out, start a mousey hair band in the HVAC? what do you think he should call his band? i'm thinking the pernicious rodents might be a go, but am open, as ever, to input.

[Poll #2017353]
the hairs were from our disintegrating oil brush. that does not mean the mouse is off the hook.

my three year old niece walks up behind me, tenderly rests her head on my shoulder and happily announces to the room, we're married. apparently there was a little more going on with our shared viewing of frozen than i realized? ben initially laughs it off, saying she's been exploring relationship roles for a few months; everyone gets to be mom or baby or grandma depending on her mood. i remind him that when we showed up for our surprise visit, she'd been intently talking about me to his brother, suggesting i should babysit for her more often, and cite a few other instances that might indicate a growing obsession. ben squints, realizing i'm right. three year old stalker niece jokes result. "if there's a knock on the door when i'm not here and it's her," he warns me, joking aside, "i mean if it's her by herself. maybe don't open the door." what is it with me and little children? when my nephew was four, he lured me up to the top bunk of his bed, telling me it was a safety zone from the zombies we were pretending were out in the hallway. once i was up there, he threw a blanket over me and announced i now lived at his house; he ran downstairs to tell my dad to go get my stuff. maybe the babies are trying to forcibly recruit my maternal services. not real sure how i feel about that.

seriously? seriously. the mouse is fucking around underneath my secretary desk as i write. what could it possibly want underneath my secretary desk? oh god.