Leota Love ❤️

Leota has become my new go-to brand for work dresses. I was excited to finally snag the black sweetheart wrap with white polka dots. It had been sold out forever.

It came a few days ago. 😍

I’ve also been coveting the houndstooth version which always sells out before I can snag one. About a week ago, during a bout of insomnia, I decided to do a search to see if I could find it being sold elsewhere.

AND I DID! And in the weirdest place: the home shopping network! It gets better: these dresses run about $130 retail, but it was on clearance with HSN for $35. Motherfucking score!

It arrived today, and it’s gorgeous.

My collection is now up to 8. There is one dress not pictured below because it’s being washed. (I wore it yesterday).

I may be a little obsessed, but for good reason: these dresses are flattering, comfortable, and are made of wrinkle free fabric. 🥰

My favorite

By Audre Lorde

This has been my favorite poem since middle school, when we were assigned to find a poem to recite to the class. It still takes my breath away.

I just discovered recently that she also had metastatic breast cancer. She was diagnosed as metastatic six years after her original diagnosis, and died eight years after that. She is quoted as saying: “What I leave behind has a life of its own. I’ve said this about poetry; I’ve said it about children. Well, in a sense I’m saying it about the very artifact of who I have been.”

I love that. I’m going to leave behind one hell of an artifact. ❤️

Last

This poem was written six days before she committed suicide, and is believed to be her last poem.

It gives me chills.

I’ve been a big Sylvia Plath fan for a long time, and there are two songs about her that I love.

First up: Crackle and Drag by Paul Westerberg.

What’s the matter here?

You never repair

The lady’s cursed with insight

You never fix her, with a cold stare

She’s all broken inside

She made a good go, like a weeping willow

Her limbs clung to the ground

She closed the window, and made a pillow

And lay her head down

And as her baby slept, she took a long deep breath

Now they’re zipping her up in a bag

Can you hear her blacks crackle and drag

And the Cadillac’s waiting to take her away

Can you hear her blacks crackle and drag

Another head cold, another spirit old

Mmmm, Febuary

Her hair was dirty, and she was 30 in 1963

And while her baby slept she took a long deep breath

And they’re zipping her up in a bag

Can you hear her blacks crackle and drag

The Cadillac’s waiting to take her away

Can you hear her blacks crackle and drag

And drag, and drag, and drag

She made a good go, for a weeping willow

She stuffed some rags on the floor

She closed the window

She made a pillow on the oven door

And took a long deep breath

While her baby slept

Now they’re zipping her up in a bag

Can you hear her blacks crackle and drag

And the Cadillac’s waiting to take her away

Can you hear her blacks crackle and drag

They’re zipping her up in a bag

Can you hear her blacks crackle and drag

The Cadillac’s waiting to take her away

Can you hear her blacks crackle and drag

Hear her blacks crackle and drag

❤️❤️❤️

And then there’s Sylvia Plath by Ryan Adams:

I wish I had a Sylvia Plath

Busted tooth and a smile

And cigarette ashes in her drink

The kind that goes out and then sleeps for a week

The kind that goes out on her

To give me a reason, for well, I dunno

And maybe she’d take me to France

Or maybe to Spain and she’d ask me to dance

In a mansion on the top of a hill

She’d ash on the carpets

And slip me a pill

Then she’d get pretty loaded on gin

And maybe she’d give me a bath

How I wish I had a Sylvia Plath

And she and I would sleep on a boat

And swim in the sea without clothes

With rain falling fast on the sea

While she was swimming away, she’d be winking at me

Telling me it would all be okay

Out on the horizon and fading away

And I’d swim to the boat and I’d laugh

I gotta get me a Sylvia Plath

And maybe she’d take me to France

Or maybe to Spain and she’d ask me to dance

In a mansion on the top of a hill

She’d ash on the carpets

And slip me a pill

Then she’d get pretty loaded on gin

And maybe she’d give me a bath

How I wish I had a Sylvia Plath

I wish I had a Sylvia Plath

❤️❤️❤️