Too Young, Too Dumb, Too Too.

I wake up to the smell of coffee.

“When I doubt myself, I’m reminded that I’m not alone, and dreams are still worth chasing through the pain.” - A much needed and appreciated monthly subscriber.

THANK YOU to those helping this independent memoirist continue to work by upgrading to paid (which also helps my goal of gifting this every-weekday-writing-world to anyone who asks for a reading scholarship, no questions asked….

Tomorrow will be very long and very transparent, so it will stand for both Tuesday and Wednesday (as my goal is to write every weekday) for the sake of your reading comprehension.

But tomorrow is as vulnerable as it gets. A large chapter in the memoir. Today? Let’s try a little levity, shall we? Please share if you enjoy!”

I wake up to the smell of coffee.

I tend to think that the only place one doesn’t wake up to the smell of coffee is hell.

I’m lucky because my youngest daughter will often wake up and make the coffee for me (something that started after these recent surgeries when I was limited in movement and location and now, mostly, has continued because she’s actually just that sweet).

We are reading ‘White Oleander’ together in school and it’s very dark and basically the least appropriate novel we could have stumbled into as a lit project but now we are here and can’t escape. Sometimes we won’t stop with a chapter until we’ve helped Astrid get out of another foster home, as if she’s waiting on us inside the pages otherwise. I get so into the accents that I study up (watching videos of Penelope Cruz interviews really helped me curate the nuance, you know?), and want to read ‘Room’ with them next which does not help in terms of darkness or chance of escape.

A day rarely starts with makeup for me, despite my thrill at showing this Danessa compact and my first attempt at using it ever.

I was TERRIFIED (it’s her signature blurring type balm on one part and actual powder on the other), but determined to prove I could one day travel with just one compact and complete my entire face. I did my eyebrows, eyes, skin, the warmth of my face, even my lips (everything except- obviously- mascara… but next time I want to see if I can pull it off without any at all).

The idea of packing just one compact sounds freeing and empowering and even sexy … but I don’t start my day feeling any of those things. Sadly, lately, I start it by needing to medicate immediately (something I used to be able to dissuade and evade). I keep a small sunscreen stick next to my bed - the Milky Piggy by Elizavecca (I love pigs)- since my bed is near a window and I rarely actually wash my face or get going in the visual sense until later in the day.

My daughters typically come right up to my room and we begin school. This is night-and-day different from our days of seasons past. Previously spent running and gunning and working very long days, with schooling and skincare baked right in. I didn’t wear makeup a lot then either, except for on stage… but now, both the stage and the celebratory systems have stopped. Temporarily, but the bottom dropping out of life is a grieving dread and unease that can’t be said (to say the least). A life of doing the most… boiled to someone else’s least.

Being human means your life’s work is someone else’s compact experience.

The coffee shades make flicks of color through my eyebrows (bringing the scent of every living breathing morning of mine to life) and the terra-cotta brown surprises me as a suddenly rose flush to my lip. A skin tone warmed new on my smile; An unexpected twist that belied the eye of the holder.

Last weekend had the return of one of my all time favorite traditions, however, and it’s something I can do whilst laying down: watching “CBS News Sunday Morning” with my girls. Even just seeing the logo of the show, at times, brings a flood of coffee bean smells and conviction as I imagine doing the exact same with my Dad as a kid.