Am sitting here feeling a right mess. Like a compost heap, though: mess with potential for growth. It's strange. Music for being a mess = New Order.

More painting ce matin. Convincing the cats that they really don't want to be around when mama breaks out the primer is a colossal task, because kittenses are interested in all things mama.

Am now waiting for a mess of oatmeal to cook up. Yep, the slow, old-school kind. None of this instant stuff for me - I want to wait for my breakfast, gosh-darn it. Kitchen = horrendous, though the piles of catalogs have dwindled substantially, and another trip to the recycling center is on the docket.

The dining room is not so much horrendous; in fact, it's my favorite room in the house anymore. There are, however, piles and piles of craft stash, bubbling with potential. There are so many things to make and do, I sometimes get overwhelmed and don't know where to start.

We'll gloss lightly over the bathroom. Just...ugh. Am so angry. Best antidote to that is to just get in there and tackle it, but I suspect there may be cursing and crying involved, so, am avoiding.

Hallway = clear. Really want a pretty runner, but have not yet seen a runner that matches my definition of "pretty." And goodness knows if my next apartment will have a similar hallway. Which reminds me that I really should start looking for another apartment; it's never too early.

Bedroom = not so bad. Have assiduously been removing all traces of Si from it, and dumping his things in the living room. This is very important. Sleep is precious to me, and I want it undisturbed by anything that might keep me up all night, ranting.

Living room = train wreck. It's sort of the default catch-all for all the crap right now. The absence of cable has rendered it quiet, but of all the rooms in the house, it's the one that's most painful to be in. Methinks another trip to Goodwill is in order.

And then, of course, there's me. Wants include maincure, pedicure, massage, and more new-old clothes that match my evolving style and outlook. Also think it's time to sit down and ponder yet another divorce haircut. Current cut is not bad - shades of Mia Farrow, am told - but...want something messier, edgier. Right now it's too neat and sleek, and I want something darker and more dangerous. Have decided not to tamper with the color, as it's one thing of which am rather fond, after all, the glamour of pink notwithstanding. So, dark is a metaphor. Feel free to send me photos of messy and edgy, because am one of those people who can't articulate what she wants, but knows it when she sees it.

Need to also bump up the walking, and add more yoga and pilates. Nutritionally, seem to be just fine, but could stand to move more. Waltzing across the reference room and lugging bound journals about can only do so much.

Emotionally, fragile, and in need of comfort, which it's hard for me to ask for. Am a right fool who got used and played, and that hurts like I can't even begin to tell you. Need to learn to see myself all over again; right now my reflexive response to everybody is "please don't hurt me," even to the people I know darned well never would. Kind of like the Lucky cat, when she panics and dashes off for the Kingdom of Underbed. The urge to flee and start all over again where nobody knows me is very, very strong. It does not, however, solve anything.

So, a right mess. And more concerned with slowly digging self out of it than in pretending to be fine. Anticipate being a broken, needy wreck for quite a while, so, there's the door if you need it. I'll totally understand.

Poet du jour = Kim Addonizio, of whose work am quite fond. Rita and Jimmy are recurring characters throughout her poetry and prose, and, must confess, am touched by the bond, unbelievable though it is, that links the lovers and helps them weather their storms. Talk about messes...

The oatmeal was decidedly worth waiting for. Also, real butter, in small doses, is quite the tonic.

That is perplexedly all.