Heart-Sore, Heart-Sick, Heart-Broken- Levels of Grief

Grief, sadness, despair-  they affect us all in different ways, creeping into our souls and affecting every part of us, from how we eat and sleep, to the choices we make in the future. Some pains are so debilitating that we are stopped in our tracks, unable to move forward. Others rock us to our core, but ease a little day by day and allow recovery at a quicker pace. Coping mechanisms help, friends and words of loving support help more.  For me to sort through these experiences, I've found that it helps to be a little clearer in "labeling" the kind of pain I'm experiencing. And so I began using different phrasings to elaborate on levels of grief.

Heart-Broken:
When I found that my partner of 6+ years had been lying to me, cheating on me, and living another life, I was heart-broken.  That is to say, the bottom fell out of everything I knew and I was a pit of despair, disbelief and raw pain.  I felt like I had been dragged across a giant cheese-grater, tearing holes in every part of me. Betrayal engulfed me.  I not only lost him, and was losing my place to live, I lost my spiritual faith that there was a greater good supporting me.  I had no focus, no future.  I called my mother and said that if they would let me, I would move into my parents' basement, get a menial food service job to help pay bills, and take care of them as best I could, until we all aged into obscurity.  I gave up on everything.  It was only when they accepted some portion of my offer, and steps began falling into place to remove me from my life in LA and relocate me to the East Coast, that a tiny voice began to rebel and fight for the life I had.  By that point, too much ground had been lost and I was carried by the tide of events, out of my 2 decade world of friends and habits and into an strange new place.  I would wake in the dark basement bedroom of my parents' home, tears on a pillow from weeping in my sleep.  I did not know how I could recover.  I just woke up each day, out of necessity to pee and find a job, and I kept blindly going one step after another.

Heart-Sick:
Still gob-smacked from the pain of loss and relocation, I did begin to move forward, a bit, in North Carolina.  I secured a job, not in food service (which I know nothing about) but instead in animal care in a vet's office. That in and of itself shows that recovery was already happening.  As much as I swore that I could not care about life as I once did, I could not let go of my passion for animal welfare.  I did not love my job. In fact, most days I absolutely hated the stress of it.  The hours were long, the pay sub-standard, and I went home mentally, emotionally and physically drained.  But it gave me a reason to get up (other than needing to pee.)  I found my own living residence.  I had few friends, but I had some. I had no social life, but I read a lot of books.  I tried re-engaging my spirituality, not very successfully.  There was, for the first time in my life, no ocean for me to sit and watch (and the ocean is a great source of peace and strength for me, so this was devastating).  My apartment was on the dark side of a mountain, so no sunbeams came into warm my body or light my hopes. There was no place to go dance (another intrinsic avenue of healing).  At night, when the demons came to whisper in my ear, I had no defenses.   I was drinking heavily, cutting occasionally.  I was heart-sick.   Unable to say "This one thing is wrong", but I was trapped in an all-encompassing and overwhelming unchanging pattern of disrepair that seemed to have no solution. I trudged on, one day after another, with not much belief of improving my situation.  Only a small spark of hope kept me trying to better my situation.  Hope was so foreign and unrecognizable, I didn't even call it that at the time.  I just knew that something had to give.  Either it would get better, or my cutting would go too deeply one night.  I wasn't sure at the time which I wanted more.

But then came a job offer, and another relocation.  This had perks, as it was a job in my field, in a new state, with warmer temperatures and a home that had large windows for sun to shine in.  Somehow, I had turned a corner.  I was no longer sick or despairing, just anxious to make my new life work.   That was early Summer of this year.  Things have been much better, and I'm pleased to report that I'm doing fairly well, alive and kicking, trying to respark my magic, my hopes, and even my romantic opportunities.  Which leads me to my last category...

Heart-Sore:
Two months after arriving in this town, I found a club where I would go dancing, much to my heart's delight.  And there, I met a boy.  A sweet faced boy who was not my usual type, but upon conversation, I discovered to be charming, witty, and very unlike the stereotypical natives.   We began with a few tentative dates, to sushi, to the aquarium.  We shared pumpkin carving, and Halloween movies.  We laughed, we kissed... I tried to be slower in approach, but I emote with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. Not sure if I wanted this to become a serious long term thing, we had a conversation in which critical bits of information came to light that made it clear that I should no longer pursue the relationship.  It hurt like hell.  I had been so happy for 6-8 weeks after nearly 3 years of darkness.  I didn't want to let go, but I knew it was best.  (god, that sounds SO much like a cliche,  so fake, and yet my bloggy friends, it is true.)  I saw what was there. I saw the potential for happiness, and I saw the potential for disaster. It might be "good", but it could not provide what I was really craving, and worse case scenario, it had some small echos of my relationship with my ex, which is what sent me on this multi-year trip through the underworld to begin with.  For my greater good, and for the health of my continuing recovery, I let go. Endings suck, and I wept, but I was only heart-bruised... heart-sore.   No devastating despair.  No suicidal thoughts.  OK, I haven't eaten a decent meal in a week, and have probably drunk my body weight in cheap beer, but these are triflings of pain compared to 2012.  I'll lick these wounds clean, and be better for it.

It's so easy for an Internet meme to tell us to "Love like [we've] never been hurt" but the actual practice is much more challenging.  Still, I'm trying to put all the broken and sick parts behind me and open myself for the idea that rebirth is in process and healing is 3 steps forward/2 steps back (god, another cliche).   Yes, I'm still sore.  Still bruised, not just from this latest encounter, but from the whole experience, LA to here.  But I'm progressing through these levels of grief and making my way back to something new.

Author's Note:  I've been working on this post for a few days now, and thought it was mostly done... until last night, when Paris was so tragically torn apart by terrorist attacks.   Obviously, each person's response is different.  Perhaps you lost someone in these attacks and are heart-broken.  Perhaps you are worn down, unable to get through another day in such a violent world, trudging heart-sick from one news report to another. Perhaps your heart-pain manifests in anger, resentment, or a complete lack of ability to respond in any way just now.   Whatever your level of grief, however this violence affected you, please be kind and compassionate with yourselves, with others. Love and support to Paris.  Je t'aime.

Love Letter

My gods, beautiful, how I miss you.  The smell and sound of you.  The calm and endless love you surround me with.  Beautiful lover, how am I surviving the days so far from your embrace?

Remember our cold mornings together?  Chilled in the early air, I lay there, wrapped in blankets while you crashed sweet nothings in my ear, the taste of you still on my lips, salty and raw.  I want to take you into me, know you intimately, feel your timeless tug and surge and relentless pounding rhythm. You are sex and life and fierce endless force.  You are the edges of the earth, the blue along the horizon, the home of long ago dragons.  You are everything and I am lost so far from you.

Inside you is everything I hold most dear and in your presence I can be nothing but honestly myself, weeping, laughing, struggling, floating. With you, I am buoyed up, sucked under, alive and encircled and whole.  I never know how to give back to you all you offer me.  I never know how to show my passions for you completely.  I feel like a poser, a poor and unimaginative lover who gives meaningless chocolates at Valentine's day and forgets to gift you with daily gestures of my deeper heart.  And yet, never have I felt you faulted me for that.  Never have I left our time together feeling ashamed or incomplete or incompetent.  Always you gift me with your confidence, your strength, your love.  Always you leave me feeling whole and alive.  You are my greatest lover.

If I could, I would throw myself into your arms, tangle myself in your kelp beds like a disoriented otter, until each inch of my body was wrapped in your sinewy embrace, and there, blue faced, smothered in passion, I would gladly breathe my last.  I want to drown in you.

Without you, life is tasteless, save for the tracks of salt tears leave as they roll across my lips.  I miss you.

On the passing of Robin Williams

As someone long diagnosed with depression, as someone who has spent time in a hospital after a suicide attempt, this tragedy just hits a little too close to the heart for me to process right now. I will just say Rest well Oh Captain. You made me laugh and cry. You transported me with your performances. You changed the world. I’m sorry that in those last dark moments you lost sight of that. You are irreplaceable. You will be missed.

Anniversary Update

On the longest day of the year of 2013, our intrepid adventurer set forth on a cross country trek.  Her Penske was packed with memories, regrets and 9 cats.  Her heart, heavy; her soul, saddle sore. With a Solstice moon and a concerned mother to lead her, she spent 5 long days putting miles between her latest failure and her heart-sick self. Meaning that one year ago TODAY, she arrived in North Carolina to begin her "new life."

*   *    *   *

I'd love to tell you that every day since then has been positive, that I'm healed and happy.  But I like to keep this blog an actual representation of my life, not a flowery illusion of what I'd like my life to look like.  And recovery takes time...  three steps forward, two steps back.  Behavioral tendencies that have lasted a lifetime don't get suddenly retrained in a month.  Back-slides happen, patterns repeat.  Auto-pilot is a dangerous way to drive through life, but it's damn easy to slip into.

Then again, I've always been my toughest critic... so let me take a moment to focus on the positive.  I AM DOING IT.  Every morning I get up, whether I write in a journal, take a long hike in the mountains, show up  at my job, or pay off a little more debt, I am taking a step on this new path.  Building a new foundation takes an irritatingly long time, especially when you start deeply in a hole (emotionally and financially) as I did.  But the key is showing up, and I'm still doing that.

I'm learning to listen to and trust my intuition again.  I'm still not great about taking action in accordance with the little voice in my head, but at least I've stopped dismissing it.  My faith in my gods is shaken and distant, but I still have an altar.  After weeks of feeling stuck, yesterday I took the time to change out all the candles and incense, switching from woodsy dusky scents to bright florals and fruits, and WHAM suddenly I could smell the arrival of Summer in my home.  For a moment, my heat and passion were re-ignited along with candle wicks, and I went to bed with a sense of hope instead of with a body weary from dread and resignation.

Today, I'm working a half-day, so I have the morning to drink a hot cup of tea, snuggle with the kitties, center myself and reflect.  I can hear the wind outside shaking the multitude of vibrant green leaves in my front yard.  I will fold the clean laundry, and sort out which bills can be paid out of the paycheck that comes tomorrow. I will try to put together a list of the ways in which my life is better than it was a year ago.

I cry less.  That's a start.
I'm surrounded by kindness.  That's good too.
I can breathe in moist, clean air, juicy with the smells of raw nature.  That always make me smile.

Los Angeles is like that friend we all have.... the one talks a little too loud, who takes a little too much energy.  The one who always makes the conversation about her, but then leaves you to pick up the lunch tab.  And yet, now that she is missing from my life, I find she has left a hole there is no filler for.

The High Country however, is a wall flower.  Prettier than she realizes, she sits quietly along the sidelines of the gym dance and waits for you to initiate contact.  She's hard to get to know, but if you can get her talking in a one-on-one conversation, you can watch her eyes light up, be seduced by her soft giggle, and realize there's a lot more there than seems at first glance.

Re-reading those descriptions, I realize that I'm a lot more LA than I ever will be North Carolina.  I'm pretty sure this is only a temporary destination for me, a rest stop on the highway where I refuel and recover, but while I'm here, I'm striving to make friends with the shy girl, learn what I can from her secrets, heal the wounds I acquired living in the flashy big city.  There's a gentleness here that allows time for recovery, and if I can just drop into that slow, Southern rhythm, I just might be able to be compassionate and patient with my own learning curve.

One year later, I'm not where I wanted to be.  I'm not where I thought I would be.  But I'm not dead... not even overwhelmed right now.  Just moving slowly forward.  It's a quiet anniversary, but it is not a sad one.

Because Constant Fear & Shame Sucks #yesallwomen

Since leaving LA, I've grown more and more attached to the glittering city that was once my home.  I feel its heat, its hurts, its majesty from across the country, largely through on-line communications with West Coast friends. So althoughtI live atop a western NC mountain, the shooting at UCSB hit close to home and heart.

The #yesallwomen twitter string opened up even deeper wounds, as I read the brave flood of ugly truths that poured out.  Women everywhere revealed tales of abuse and shame at the hands of misogynistic society.  As I read, my own bitter stories began to bubble to the surface, but I could not find the words or strength to add my voice to the call for change.  As I speculated on these thoughts, I became aware that the longer I hid them, the greater my shame became and that by hiding behind other brave voices, I was in my own way contributing to the problem.  So here I am now, trying to get naked in words. 

I started bartering my sexuality early.  I knew there was power in it, knew I housed some wanted commodity and that attention and "affection" could be bought with a well-timed glance and seductive smile.  And hey, I like sex, so I figured it was a win-win situation to use what I had to get a moment's good feeling.  However, I made poor choices often and frequently the interactions left me not feeling loved, but used, empty and ashamed.  As a wounded soul, I attracted abusers and addicts like moths to a flame and I put out many times to avoid physical threat or angry confrontation.  Not exactly consent, but not what I would call "rape", for I did have some choice in the matter, even if my choices were sometimes made under duress.  I blamed myself when I got hurt, for I knew that I was playing a dangerous and stupid game.  Then came THAT night.

I was at a weekend event, in my college town, with a group of role playing/re-creationists.  In that environment, if you are female, you can have all the attention and alcohol you desire, and I was at home being the belle of the ball and having my pick of flirtations.  This was only a small gathering, around Winter Solstice, and the holiday energy was high and playful.  A male friend of mine kept my cup full of one intoxicant after the next and before I realized, I was beyond drunk.  It is one of the few times I can say that I drank to black out and beyond.  My unconscious form was taken to my cabin, on the outskirts of the campground, where I was staying alone, and my friends took shifts watching over me, as my body heaved out the poisons.  There was a man, never before seen at one of our local events.  No one knew him prior to the weekend, but he seemed a convivial fellow, harmless even.  So when he offered to take a shift watching the unconscious girl, my friends (who were also intoxicated, sleepy and no doubt tired of babysitting a drunk) let him. 

When I came to at some dark silent moment of night, this man was on top and inside me.  Bile rose in my throat, not just because of the alcohol.  "I'm going to be sick," I managed to croak out, and he took one hand off my hips and turned my head to the side so I could vomit off the edge of the bed, all while he continued his thrusting.  He told me that I was beautiful, that he'd watched me all night, and that I needed to let him finish.  I "owed" him that after being "such a tease" all night, when he was "kind enough" to take a shift watching over me.  Weakened, incapacitated, ill, I had no choice but to comply.

When he'd had his orgasm, he pulled out, redressed, was "kind enough" to make sure I wasn't going to fall asleep again (and I wasn't...at that point, I wasn't sure I would ever be able to sleep again) then he took his leave.  I crumpled to the floor in a puddle of my own filth and shame, and cried.

I told only a few of my closest friends what happened, and even then, a close female friend, while angry for me, commented that hopefully, I'd learned my lesson about drinking too much. 

No one urged me to take legal action. 

No one, not even me, called it rape (at that time.) It was just what happened to pretty and promiscuous girls who did dumb things. 

Did I make bad choices that night?  Hell yes, I did.   Did I "deserve" to be raped while unconscious?  No, I did not... but I didn't come to that truth for many years. 

I take responsibility for my actions that night.  I understand that I contributed to the events that occurred, BUT  being pretty and flirtatious is not consent.  Being unable to say "no" is not consent.  Having a vagina IS NOT CONSENT. 

No... #notallmen would have made this choice.  But the fact that one did, and NO ONE around me (including myself) fathomed the whole disgusting injustice and impropriety of those actions speaks of a sickness in our culture.  #Yesallwomen have the right to decide what happens to their own bodies.  #Yesallwomen deserve to live a life free of constant fear.  #Yesallwomen should proudly call for change.  The dark time of living in shame for being female needs to stop.

 #Yesallwomen have some similar sad story. This is just one of mine.  But if we are to cure this illness, then the stories must be told.  The dark must be brought to healing light. 

I will not live in shame anymore. 

Lesser than...

My competitive spirit can at times be a blessing.  It pushes me past that first wall of "I can't" and tells me that many others can, so why don't I sack up and become one of those.  It makes me want to excel at work and be the best in my job that I can.  It makes me want to be the best daughter I can, so that I will continue to be the favorite, over the dog and cats (who have much easier jobs, lower expectations of performance and cost a lot less to feed than I do...  And yes, I am so neurotic that I do have sibling rivalry with the parents' pets.)

But sometimes, that urge to compete just leaves me with the overwhelming feeling of having the wind knocked out of my sails.  Sometimes, no matter what I do, I can't help feeling like I can never tow the line being set by those around me.  Every "not good enough" button gets hit and I collapse, defeated.

That's where I am these days. Mired in "not enough".

I understand that "not enough" is the bane of most human existence, that we all battle those demons regularly. I comprehend that there are many "tools" to help fight those feelings.  Writing, talk therapy, meditation have all been suggested as healing (although the last one is a mine-field for me.  I suck so badly at meditation, stilling the monkey mind chatter.  When I try to meditate, I fail so miserably that it only exacerbates the "not enough".  I begin to focus on how completely inept I am at meditating, and it becomes an exercise in self-flagellation. )  So here I am, writing, in hopes of performing some exorcism and coming out the other side with a sense of self again.

Of course, I fear that these words will be used against me.  That my ex will read these pages and use them as some bolster to his delusional "holier than thou" attitude of pity he has towards the fact that I'm still angry at him (and thus in his mind, a lesser person, incapable of healing and moving on.) I worry that people whose opinions I do care about will read this and thing "Jeez, that Teece is a pretty fucked-up little cookie.  I had no idea she was so broken or neurotic. Seriously?  Sibling rivalry with pets?"  I am concerned that my mother will read this and try to put band-aids on gangrenous soul wounds by sending a sappy and well-meant text message about how much she and my father love me.  (Seriously Mom, don't.  I love you, thanks for the thought, but don't.  Ok?  Thanks)

So why am I writing here?  In the blogosphere where everyone can read this?  Who am I writing for?  Me.  Then why not just journal?  I did... didn't help.  Why put it out here?  Because, I cannot hide.  Writing words where only I can see them is tantamount to covering my feelings in a veil of shame, and it leaves me ... hollow.   I am who I am and while I may not always love it, I sure as shit don't want to get in the habit of hiding it.  Because demons, like mushrooms, grow big and bold when left covered in shit and hidden in the dark.  And I am a fan of neither demons, nor mushrooms.

This is part seasonal-depression.  I know that, on some cerebral level.  It happens every February and has for decades now.  Hell, all of January - May can be a fairly toxic time for me, but I've been working on it for years, and I've usually got it shortened down to just February, maybe March.   It also doesn't help that work is becoming wretched and that I feel stalled out, if not completely thwarted, in pursuing my career.  Add to that the fact that the extreme cold and precipitation have kept me from exercising outside as much as I would, and I'm now dealing with more (and nastier) migraines as well as an uncomfortable layer of wintery body fat.  This is a perfect storm of feeling crappy and lesser than, and since I have the ability to see that, I should (in theory) be able to say "Fuck you emotional black hole, I will not fall into you."  But that's not how black holes work, people... they have an intense amount of gravity sucking action and avoiding them is damn near impossible (unless you are on the USS Enterprise and Scotty is in the engine room, in which case, you have just the last minute burst of speed to be safe.  Darn you Sci-Fi for building my unrealistic hopes of redemption.)

So what do I do to combat the "lesser than" of my everyday life?  Well, when I finish writing this, I will take my ass outside where it is lovely and sunny and the hiking is incredible.  I will try to fill my quiet moments with nourishing food and loving thoughts, or at least interesting books.  I will look for new jobs and try not to be overwhelmed with the reasons why I probably can't have them. And I will just keep showing up, I guess.  At the journal, at this blog, at the daily occurrences of my life. It is a damn slow and boring way to move forward, that has no magic, no instant gratification, no "great transformation."  It leaves me feeling ordinary and unimpressively human, but it is the only tool I have right now, the only way forward I can see.

I don't know when I got so boring, so mundane.  Somewhere over the last 7 years the powerhouse giggling magic girl disappeared, and I miss her so fucking much. If she were here, I think she would know what to do.  So I guess, I'm just going to go outside looking for her.  Wish me luck.

Time Marches- a general FYI update

Been missing my blog, and so I popped on to re-read and was horrified to see when I last wrote.  How have this many months gotten away from me?

Since last I dipped into these pages, life has incurred the inevitable ups and downs.  I will try to briefly sum up.

Ups:  I found a job working at a vet's office in a little college town in the "high country".  Was able to move out of my parents' basement and into an adorable little place of my own. It's two bedroom/2 bath, built into the hillside of a mountain in a beautiful but tiny resort town that is only a few miles away from where I work. This is all just right off the Blue Ridge Parkway, where the hiking is stunning.  I am currently experiencing my first Winter ever of living in a land where it snows... often.  The cats have coped well with the move, and enjoy being able to watch deer and bunnies feeding in the yard.  There is light in my windows, fire in the fireplace, and gorgeous scenery outside.

Downs:  The vet's office job is not really highlighting my skills, teaching me anything new or completely paying all my bills (I still have so much debt from my life in LA that I'm trying to pay off, on top of all the new costs of living.) Additionally, the office has a lot of politics and is getting to be pretty uncomfortable.  I'm still strapped for cash most of the time and were it not for my incredible parents' generosity, I'd be starving most weeks.  Snow, while beautiful to look at when it falls, is not always fun to drive in, and when it begins to get slushy and muddy, it's just plain nasty to deal with.  Plus, a large part of my job is walking dogs during the course of my day... which means being outside, in temps that have gotten as low as -45 ("real feel" temp with wind chill factor.  The actual temp that day was only -12, if I remember correctly.)

I have made one real friend here.  She too has a love for marine mammals, has an interest in educational outreach, is terribly over-degreed for the job we share (she's got a Masters in Marine Bio) and has spent time living in Hawaii. Not to mention that she has a wonderfully dry sense of humor, and a fondness for paranormal romance novels, wine and margaritas.  We keep each other sane at the office.

After 6 months of celibacy hiding out in my mountain retreat, I also figured it was time to stop avoiding all men and put myself back out in the scene.  I began attempting dating again.  I really was just trolling online for my usual cougar fodder, but ended up meeting someone quite unique.  He was raised in So Cal, shares my intense passion for the ocean, and he's *gasp* older than me. That's all I'm willing to say on the matter at this time.  Given my history, I'm playing this hand closer to the chest... but I will say that I'm smiling more, and enjoying being wooed.

In short, I am in all ways, back in the game.  Moving forward.  Seeking strength in self and the energies of the dark winter forest that surrounds me.   May 2014 be a year of positive changes and re-imagined dreams for us all.

Hey Subconscious, WTF?

Last night I had a dream.  Sure, we all dream every night, so this alone is not a significant fact or even an interesting blog, except when looking at the content.  Last night's dream is mostly hazy, except for this crystal clear bit.

I was shopping in a mall, when I came across a toy.  She was the latest from the "Pretty Little Princess" line.  About the size of a Care Bear, with a face reminiscent of a Fraggle (and if you don't know what either of those is, fuck off... you are clearly too young to be reading this blog.)   She was a beautiful blend of lavender and teal. 

Her name was "Princess Battle Sword" and she came with a purple plastic long sword strapped in a sheath on her back.   You could put back her arm (oddly enough, she was a lefty) over her head and her built-to-grip soft plastic hand would click into place around the hilt of the sword.  Then with a press of a button, her arm would thrust forward, unsheathing the sword and holding it aloft as her little song played. 

"You must die

Die on your sword.

Glory in the battle

is the highest reward

You can kill

for what you believe.

Honor, Might &  Power

are what you must achieve."

(it's a catchy little tune.  I awoke singing it.  Am singing it still, disturbing as it is.)

I also remember noting on the box, that she was "For Children, 3 - 6yrs."

WFT, night brain?  No, seriously.... What.The.Fuck?

Relocating Me

The ever changing patterns of life, like a summer storm, blow all directions.  So when everything bottoms out in life, it is not uncommon to find yourself shifted to someplace new.  Sometimes this is metaphorical, but in my circumstance, it is quite literal.  After 17 years of life in Los Angeles, of supporting myself as best I could, of living alone or living with a love, I now find myself living in the basement guest room of my parents' home in North Carolina. 

There is rich comedy gold in the imagining of that road trip.  Me, My Mom, a 16-ft rental truck, my CRV and 9 cats riding shotgun (between the two vehicles.) More comedy in the imagining than in the experience itself.  However, we all survived, and I'm here to say that Motel 6's, in addition to being pet friendly, are usually pretty pleasant.

The "high country" (as they call it) is breath-takingly beautiful.  Dramatic mountainscapes drenched in a lush and living green that I had nearly forgotten existed in nature.  Clouds hang thick and low amongst the trees, like a lover nestling in your hair to whisper in your ears.   It has rained every day since I got here, and as a girl raised in hurricane country, who lived the last 2 decades in a desert, I couldn't be more pleased.  The locals keep apologizing for the "monsoon summer" but I revel in the hardy splat on my skin of each gargantuan drop.  And the nights... oh, there is something so familiar about the way a southern summer night presses against my skin, a wet heavy blanket of cloying sensual comfort.

But aside from the scenery and weather, I am basically in hell.

Gone is my sense of achievement, or independence.  Vanished is any confidence or shred of self-dignity that I might have had after the break-up.  My animal career is non-existent out here. My heart is hollow, brittle and angry.  I despair and am god-awful to be around.  I burst into tears hourly, have trouble making eye-contact with anyone, loathe myself and what I have become...  and because I tend to view time like a dog (1 moment = FOR.EV.ER!!!), I have no confidence or faith that "This too shall pass"  (no matter how many times my Dad quotes that.) I have completely lost the essence of who I was, and I mourn the passing of that vibrant fighter of a girl who lived in Los Angeles once upon a time.

I am "supposed" to be putting together a daily practice, a ritual of affirmations, grounding and journal writing.  But inner resistance is a mother-fucker when it grabs a good hold, and that depressing bitch has sunk her claws deeply into me.  My affirmations sound weak, false and hollow.  My journalling is erratic. It is very hard to find a quiet, good place to sit and write. My little room has a fold-out bed, a cat tree, a giant litter box and an armoire.  No chair.  Also, no natural light, as I'm in the basement. I had not truly realized till now how dependant I am on the light, for energy, hope and renewal.  If it weren't for my parents walking into the room to retrieve me, I would not get out of bed.

On my good days, I do some searching for where ever it is that I've gone.  On my bad days, I take pain pills and drink beer, checking classifieds for a place that will rent to a girl with 9 cats and bad credit, all between bouts of sobbing into a pillow.  I've cut off most communication with friends, because honestly, I'm embarrassed for them to see what I've become, and I'd rather they remember me the way I once was.

I am lost.  Have you seen me?

Little Things You Learn on the Internet

I recently found the Twitter account of an actor whom I adored, (and yes, it is a verified account, not just someone pretending to be him.)  This actor is ruggedly handsome.  The characters he plays are quirky and challenging, but humorous, and lovable in their faults.  I smiled at the thought that I might be privy to his occasionally charming witticisms. I even fantasized about sending a direct message that spoke of my decades long crush, sending him my number, perhaps cajoling him to a coffee date.

So, I clicked "Follow."

For the last 24-36 hours, my twitter feed has been practically held hostage by this man's rants.  He is aggressively anti-abortion, and was on that soapbox until Boston yesterday, at which point he began to spew racial fury and intolerance.   While I personally support the right to bear arms, I don't agree that any individual citizen carrying a conceled weapon would have avoided the unfortunate tragedy at the marathon.

I completely respect the fact that his twitter is his place to voice his thoughts and opinions on the political atomosphere in our country.  But on a day like yesterday, when the sadness of the state of our society is weighing heavily on me, I am uplifted and healed by messages of comfort and caring.  Tweets that address the immediate problem of finding missing loved ones, or opening your house to those who find themselves stuck in Boston unexpectedly.  I want to hear about humanity banding together to help make each other strong in the face of overwhelming hatred and fear. 

I mourn, selfishly, that my little fantasy is shot.  I pout (slightly) that not only will I no longer carry a torch for this handsome stranger, but that it will be more challenging to enjoy and care for his quirky characters.  But the knowledge of who this man is, what he chooses to stand for, is something I cannot ignore or forget.  There will be no more imagined coffee dates, no more fantasized witty flirtations, for who I am and who he is should never been in the same room together, lest there be a very vocal confrontation.

So, I clicked "Unfollow."

These are the ways we grow and learn.  These are the silly lessons of the internet, where we must face the wide range of human opinions and decide with whom we will stand.  I will offer support and love.  I will send my energies out to the spectators and cheerleaders who were taking a day out of their lives to encourage the runners, and the hundreds who, after the explosions went off, ran towards the danger to offer a helping hand.  It is a small thing I offer, this intangible message of love from the other side of the country, but it is what I have to give... and I belive it to be a wiser, more compassionate choice than standing on the bodies of the fallen, ranting for further legislation or retaliation.

Snow on the Mountains

I think the hardest part about the end of a relationship is that everything reminds you of what is gone.  Puts an exclamation point at the end of "EMPTY!"  And the urge to share the little commonalities doesn't stop just because the person is no longer there.

Yesterday, driving home from work, there were think low lying clouds obscuring the mountain tops to the East.  I wanted so badly to call him.  The boy loves snow boarding.  So much so that for one Christmas, he bought me gear and took me to nearby Mountain High.  After a daunting hour or so of abject failure on my part to surmount even the tiny 10ft of "bunny hill", I fell, cracking my head hard on the ice below me one last time, and tearily declared myself "DONE."  I sat drinking in the resort bar while he took a run down the mountain side.  We did ultimately redeem the day overall, and the picture I took of him at dusk on the mountain is still one of my favorites.  However, we never attempted to teach me snowboarding again.

Each year, as the snows hit, he would talk about "definitely getting out there this season."  And each year, whether it was lack of money, time or follow through, the snow remained unseen, the mountain unvisited.

When we broke up, one of his complaints about me was that I had no interest in sharing snowboarding with him (while his new "friend" was making her Christmas list of the gear she wanted, so she could hit the slopes.)  I thought it was an unfair complaint, as I was NEVER a snow girl, and he knew that when he moved in with me.  (I was raised in FL, people... I don't speak snow.)  Yes, there is valid complaint that I gave up without really trying much.  That I refused to take part in something that was important to him.  However, I was raised in a family where separate interests (even separate vacations) are considered a plus, not a minus.  So I was fine with him doing it without me... I WANTED him to make snowboarding friends, hiking friends, extreme sports friends.  I just didn't expect him to fall for one of them.

The view of the mountains brings all that back to me in a quick instant burst of thought, and yet still I long to call and say, "Have you seen the clouds?  There'll be snow on the mountains tonight!!" For I know that thought would bring a smile to his face, and I do so miss his smile.

It is a million little things, you know, that seem hollow without the sharing.  When I see a husky come into the shop, when our favorite TV show is on, when I rent a movie at RedBox, when I hear "Brown Eyed Girl" all punk-style... my hand reaches for the phone, to call, to text, to connect.  Having to still my own hand, find the inner strength to resist the drug I want so much, lands deep in the core of me, a rock tearing through my heart, thudding heavily in the pit of my stomach.

Many people, dear friends, tell me that I should feel happy, lucky even, that I no longer have an unfaithful, untruthful partner.  But all I can feel is the cold grey of those mountain clouds and the loneliness of unseen snow.

A Lone Reflection

a·lone:  adj  Separated, apart or isolated from others

lone·ly  adj  Affected with, characterized by, or causing a depressing feeling of being alone; lonesome.

Alone is a state of being.  Lonely, a state of mind.   They should be easy to differentiate between.  They should be two separate things.  But sitting here, on the ending side of a 6+ year relationship, I cannot always find a way to separate the two.  

This time last year, I had completed the Spartan Sprint in Malibu, and felt empowered and invigorated.  This Saturday and Sunday, that race once again took place, but I could not participate.  I needed to work and make money, but to be very honest, it is more the fact that I cannot yet run it without him, and I'm certainly not in the place to run it with him (even though he participated both days and invited me along.)

I lost a lot of myself over these last years.  I feel like a shell of the vibrant girl I once was.  Reading some of this blog's archives, I hear her sweet laughter and confidence bubble forth through her tales, but she seems a stranger to me now.  Where once, I dreamed of being unattached, proud of my independence, now I sit in a dark quiet room with cats and a computer for company and I dread the empty silence.

I do have moments.  Crystalline insights and moments of connection where I feel that vibrancy start to cut through the clouds.  This morning, I was feeling exhilarated and alive as I drove to work, promising myself that the worst of the darkness was passing and that I was well on my way to survival.  But somewhere, in the dreary smallness of my day, amidst forced holiday retail cheer and a million commercials about kissing and "forever love", the bubble burst and the tears and confusion settled in like the storm outside.

I used to be ok being "alone", but I have not yet conquered the deamons that accompany "lonely."

So here I am, trying to connect with my age old touchstone, writing.  Perhaps this blog and I will once again be on regular conversational terms.  Perhaps I will return to my keyboard and let my fingers express the snippets of thoughts as they pass through my cluttered brain, purging feelings and fears, hopes and heartbreaks, leaving what is no longer needed here on the page.  Perhaps bit by bit, I'll uncover that courageous girl with the sparkling giggle and a glint of hope in her eyes.  And with her for company, how can anyone feel lonely?/ˈloʊn li/ Show Spelled

Honoring the Temple Gaurd (repost from 2005)

Was just telling a friend this story the other night, so I was quite pleased to come across this old blog post in which I captured it more clearly than I can now.


Honoring the Temple Gaurd
written May 27, 2005

Once in a while, someone will come along in your life that you just “KNOW”. I don’t know the way you all think, but for me, this is experience is what I call “Knowing your Tribe”. We recognize our own.

Let me take a moment to explain some portion of my cosmology. I do believe in Past lives. I believe that we, as our ‘highest selves’, chose/design some aspect of our current lives, and this includes some say so in what souls we will encounter. I do believe that certain ‘souls’ show up in repeated lifetimes. (and by soul, I don’t mean that I am the exact same entity who was in a previous life time. My theory- and it’s only my theory - is that, in a universe of finite matter and infinite time, the mathematical combinations of particles of matter and energy will begin to repeat, or come together in similar combinations. These combinations, carrying with them a “cellular memory”, would account for “past life remembrances” or “deja vue” or that feeling of “knowing someone before”. The flaw in my theory is that the “timeline” of my memories vs. the amount of matter/span of time, would have repeated or similar combinations happening in a regularity that is inconsistent with the mathematical probability of such.)

Wow… I really didn’t want to get into all that, because it’s not really the point of this post.

This post is about ONE person I’ve met in this lifetime. At a party… about 3 years ago.

Friend’s birthday party, out in Marina Del Rey ( a portion of town I almost never go into, because it’s far west and south of where I usually like to drive). I didn’t know most people at this party, but that hardly stops me from being a social person. The bottom floor of the gorgeous house had a dance floor with DJ, so naturally, I spent a great deal of time there.

Occassionally, I would come upstairs to the kitchen to refresh my drink. On one of those trips upstairs, I began to notice a tall, dark, handsome stranger. It’s not so much his looks that attracted me as the fact that he was constantly manipulating a pair of those metal charm orbs (I think they are Chinese in origin- you probably know of what I speak. Metal, about an inch in diameter, and people typically have both in one hand, moving them around each other in a meditative sort of way)

He was approximately 6’4”, my guess is 270lbs. Dark dark chocolate skin. Enormous eyes. Bald, except for the very top of his head, where two thin, long braids sprouted and draped down the back of his head. He oozed an aura of unquestioned authority and strength, but at the same time, seemed infinitely gentle. He didn’t seem to be talking to much of anyone, but watching everyone. When I looked at him, I could see him, in another outfit, standing against a brick wall of heated mustard brick (does anyone else have those moments, where you see someone, not as they are right now, but perhaps as you’ve seen them before? You blink, and the image is gone.) then suddenly we were back in the kitchen, and I smiled at him. I trusted him instantly. In my head, I dubbed him “the Temple Guard”

I went up to him, commenting on the ever moving orbs in his hand. We talked about meditation and focusing the mind. Always he referred to me as “My Princess”. I laughed and pointed out that I’m a Priestess, not Princess. And he smiled and said “Of Course, My Princess.”

Over the rest of the night, we would pass each other occasionally, and finally both ended up on the dance floor, where he again, stood guard (it’s the best way I have of expressing that). I felt protected, I felt watched over. He danced with me at one point, fully holding my weight with one arm, while never missing a beat with the Chinese orbs in the other hand. By the end of the night, I let go of my vision of myself as priestess, and for a moment, truly felt like the Princess he saw in me.

We left that night with no exchange of numbers ( I can’t remember his name, although I do think he told me at one point). He called me “My Princess” and I called him “My Guardian”, and we understood in those names there was an endless amount of love and respect.

I think of my Temple Guard often; remember his quiet strength, and wonder where he is, in the vastness of this Universe (and LA). Today, I’m wearing a headband that says “Princess”. To me, it’s more a joke than an attitude… but for one moment, in the mirror today, I saw the word, and thought of my Guardian, and wondered if somewhere, he was smiling.

Pondering Past Thoughts

So much has been happening in my life lately, and it caused me to reflect on a post I wrote back in 2005. So I went serching through a million locked down livejournal posts till I found it.

Heroines for the 21st Century
written March 8, 2005

Motivated by my own comment to mamaluna about the new breed of Amazons.... i sought some guidance/comfort in the wisdom of the tealeaves.

Reading No. 16
Every man's life is a fairy tale, written by God's fingers. ~ Hans Christian Anderson

You are the hero of your own life, not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be lived. It's not the agony of the quest, but the rapture of the revelation

My own hero..... my own true Amazon warrior (with 2 whole breasts). Can it be a call I answer happily? Rise to the occassion and embrace? I see all these wonderfully empowered women, each of us smart and savy. Able to look at what is going on around us and say "This works" or "This is unhealthy, and I don't want to play that game anymore." We are healing and moving forward at what soemtimes seems to be a lightening fast pace..... and while we have each other, we simply cannot find a "partner" that will move at that pace with us.

Perhpas it's not meant to be. I've theorized before that as the human race moves forward, we step further and further away from monogomy (a state i believe has been trained into us by society and is not genetically what we are designed to do). Perhaps as we leap and bound away from accepted roles of wife and mother, we continue evolution, returning to the warrior state.

You know, all i've read by the modern gurus & elevated minds, they talk about the higher self, being a being of love..... but they don't really focus on marriage, or even life long partnership. There is an element of Bhuddism that seems to be the enlightened but unattached state. Unattached to material things, unattached to wants and desires. And what is a life long relationship, if not built (on some level) by wants and desires.

which takes me back to my longing for a new Avalon, for convent life..... unattached to the material, embraced only by spirituality.... tending gardens for the goddess.... each silent day a testimony to balance and bliss.

can we be on the path, returning to the Temple Priestess.... sacred in body and mind. sexual, sensual, yet sacred? Unhampered by earthy drama. And if that's where this is headed, then I shouldn't be upset by it. I should embrace it. Dance with it. Rise above the daily bullshit and see that this is the path put in front of me, and walk it with dedication and joy.

Alone,
Unhampered
Unattached

A Spartan Thanks

Yesterday, I ran The Spartan Sprint. This is not the place to go into what it is, or why I ran it. No, this is a letter to a single woman whom I encountered.

Dear Spartan,
You may not remember me. I am quite sure that I did not factor into your race the way you factored into mine. I was the woman sitting crumpled in the mud at the foot of the last obstacle, crying quietly. You asked if I was ok. I lamely replied, "I'm just tired." It was an excuse befitting a 3-year old child, and I apologize for it. I was not entirely in a clear-thinking place. Had I had more wits about me, I would have said this:

"I'm so goddamn tired... tired of not showing up to my life. Tired of having lofty dreams and goals that I'm too lazy or terrified to pursue with the vigor they need. I'm tired of failing. I did not train for this the way I should have, and yet through some grit and determination, I've made it this far...to the last obstacle. But I'm not sure I can climb this wall. And I'll be dammned if I'll quit within site of that finish line. Each time I rally the physical strength to attempt it, and fail, sliding back down to this muddied grass, I waste precious energy. And I'm not sure where that energy is coming from, or just how much more I have. I'm overwhelmed by the frustration, ashamed that I'm sitting here, and just before you arrived I took a particularly spectacular face and chest plant on the wood that knocked the wind out of me, so I'm in a fair amount of physical pain as well. But all that is nothing compared to the screaming voice in my head that is telling me over and over that I shouldn't have even tried becuase I ALWAYS FAIL. That voice is so loud that I fear you can hear it, even over this cheering crowd."

So thank you Spartan, for being one person out of hundreds who stopped to ask if I was ok. Thank you for taking time out of your experience to check on me. Please excuse me that moment of human fear & frailty. Know that after you left, I took a breath, regrouped and climbed that wall a 3rd and final time, and finished my first Spartan race. I hope your race was an amazing experience. I hope you had fun, but also that you found within yourself a place of power, of strength. I hope you surprised yourself with all you could achieve. I know I did.

Trying to capture the new, in just a few words

Hello all. Don't know if anyone still reads this. Don't know that many people who did to begin with. For a while, I had a stride, writing well and often. But life has a way of changing and this blog no longer fits me.

I haven't worked with a feral cat community in quite some time, and I've been dating the same guy for... eek.. 5 years this May, so the "Catch Neuter & Release" moniker isn't really appropriate anymore.

I don't sit at a computer, so my writing time is limited but now special to me. I left the entertainment industry and dreams of becoming a star (or at least a working actress) far behind. Now, after several years in school and internships, I'm considered part of the animal welfare industry (I know... shocker for a cat lady such as me.) I'm different. I'm quieter. Some times I'm heart broken and resigned that I left the life long dream behind me. Other times, I'm still and smiling, believing that this new path I've chosen in is fact my soul's true work, and while I don't have a clear direction in front of me, my internal compass has me moving forward in the right way.

I'd like to start journaling again, start blogging. Putting thought and belief out there to the Universe. I've had that feeling for months. But I'm always stopped when I try to contemplate a new title. Something catchy perhaps, easy to remember (or at least, easy to google). Something fun, which in a few words, captures who I am, who I am becoming, and what I face on the path.

defining oneself is never easy work.

Brief Reflection

The 5 year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina has just passed, and that made me want to reflect on my thoughts and blogs from that incredibly painful time.

However, I was delighted to find that in addition to those introspective moments of pain and suffering and hope for a brighter future... I also had a lot of funny, entertaining tidbits of life that I quipped upon. I had a fiery and brief love affair that was documented as it grew, and I was actually enjoying my day job (which later became insufferable.)

If you've got a few moments, perhaps you too would enjoy trolling around in my 2005 posts. The link to the archives is just over there to the right (no.. not there... down a little bit. Yep, there.)

Enjoy.

Long Time, No Hear

Back again, returning to the blog after losing the last 22 months of my life to the Exotic Animal Training and Management program. Ok... I didn't "lose" my life. I gained unbelievable experiences and knowledge. But now, here, on the other side of graduation, I feel lost. For 22 months, I knew where I had to be when. I knew generally what each day would look like. And now...

*sigh*

It's Saturday night, and I'm sitting in a Coffee Bean using their free wi-fi because we lost connection at the house. On facebook, classmates talk about how they went out last night, or are going out tonight... or about how their new jobs are amazing, or about how their lives are amazing. I understand that some of them are making it sound more glorious than it is. I understand that many of them are younger than me, and therefore what they find "AMAZING" would not likely occur the same for me. Still, it makes me feel small and a teensy bit pathetic.

I'm trying to take on challenges in my life. I'm running headlong into old patterns of behavior and trying to turn over a new leaf. Take the opportunity that disappearing for 22 months has provided me to cut old ties and bad baggage and try to begin again with a clear road. It's not easy. It's not fun. Change, improvement, rarely is. I'm trying to keep the things that worked for me. Like writing in journals and blogs. Like thinking out loud. And so, I find myself here. Dropping a few words onto the cyber page, akin to dipping a toe in the pool, the first day it opens in the spring. It's daunting. But sitting here immobilized with fear and sadness is infinitely worse.

A few quick notes: (1) Just saw "Sex & the City 2" Wow... I wasn't expecting much but high-fashion and a brief glimpse of Aiden. However, I have to say that I feel the brand has lost the thing for which I most enjoyed it. It used to be a call to arms for single women to feel fun, empowered, and less alone. But now, it's a backslide for women with self-esteem that seems to cry out "It's not ok to grow old," "It's not ok to feel frazzled when you've spread yourself too thin" and worst "If you feel uncertain in your relationship... be sure he gets you a nice piece of jewelry." I used to feel that I could relate to the SitC ladies, but now, if I were an American travelling in the Middle East and I saw them out, I would embarrassedly apologize to those around me that not every American woman is that rude or that desperately in need of attention and validation. Ugh. (2) I've managed to spill HONEY (of all things) on my keyboard, causing my "z" key to stick. ARGH! I'd do much better if I found a cyber cafe that served alcoholic drinks instead of coffees, teas and overly sticky cinnamon buns.

Why I love the Internet

There is so much drama, so much strife perceived in every day life. Each day an economic struggle. Every argument an insurmountable disagreement after which nothing will ever be the same. And like a whirlpool, all this flows over my head with overwhelming force, and I struggle and drown and get sucked down into the very heart of the maelstrom.

Winston Churchill spoke of his depression as a large black dog that haunted him, growling and stalking and keeping those he loved at bay. If Mr. Churchill was right, and my maelstrom image fits too, then it might be best to say that for the last week or so, I find myself at the bottom of a roaring ocean, flailing and drowning, with only a large black dog to hold on to... and he bites.

Then a Sunday afternoon comes along which has some spare time and a bright sun peeping past the clouds. The blue sky seems unreal in its electric vivacious coloring, and it glistens behind the Griffith Observatory in a shot any cinematographer would glory to claim for his own. I see all this, but only in passing, temporarily blinded by all the ocean water and dog hair in my eyes. I return to my apartment and do some homework, and access the web, to check accounts, and perhaps peek at a few blogs (a pastime I rarely get to indulge anymore.) And a without realizing it, a life preserver falls neatly draped around my shoulders as I read the words of my tribe.

It doesn't take much to find people who mourn their losses, who sink into despairs. You can find someone bitching in front of you in line at the grocery store.... but until the vast Internet and blogs became a part of my life, I often believed myself alone in trying to persevere. But you... wonderful people you... so many of you speak of hope and joy and invigoration. You have weathered hardships, and have tremendous moments of great doubt, but you keep stepping forward, and I really do love you for it.

It is so easy and so popular to become resigned. Those that try to move past it are often called blind, ignorant, naive. They are mocked by those who secretly covet their indomitable spirit. And that mockery, if well-timed, can suck the wind out of renewed sails and drown barely afloat hopes. (good lord my metaphors are all over the place today... and I'm rambling.) My point is that I have a hard time keeping going. I get lost. I get overwhelmed. Sometimes I tell myself to go on. Sometimes I hope for more, then feel foolish for doing so. But the Internet has shown me that I'm not alone in these courageous charges of perseverance. If anything, I have seen that not only are there many out there who trudge ever forward... but MANY who seem to do it better than I. Who have ideas I haven't tried and wells of energy I haven't tapped into. They comfort me and inspire me and after 30 minutes or so of reading, I find myself possessed by the need to be outside, smelling the air, fascinated by blue sky and overjoyed at the feel of the breeze. I see the beauty in dandelions that grow between cracks in the sidewalk, and I'm blown away by the sound of bird wings as a flock of pigeons take flight.

Thank you Internet. Thank you heart-filled bloggers who express hopes and fears so honestly. Thank you, my dear tribe, for hopeful words, beautiful pictures and communities full of courageous passions. You open me to inspiration.

A Moment of Calm

Is it the cold? The damp? The holiday? Or just the odd free moment in my hectic zoo schedule? I don't know for sure, but I'm feeling sublime and nostalgic.

As I walk across this campus, hood up in a weak fabric attempt to keep myself dry against the light Autumn rain, I can't help but think back to my early college days. As I was pass the Music building, I remember a 17 year old me, listening at practice room doors for my roomie, playing her clarinet scales and cursing loudly at mistakes. I remember nestling into the covers of my tiny twin bed, with a warm cup of cocoa, overflowing with mini marshmallows, listening to the Florida rainfall compete with loud hissing and clunks coming from an antique radiator. I remember the wet stillness that falls across Murphry Green when all the students are hidden away in rooms, or gathering in hallways.

I remember feeling so young, still stunned to already be in college... and yet feeling so old, mature and jaded to be out of high school. Laughably, that same conflicted arrogance is what can vex me so in my younger classmates. There are moments where I cannot tolerate it, and others where I jealously remember being so blissfully self-involved.

Course... here I am, blathering on about my life and my memories in my blog... as if anyone in the world could really possibly care. LOL. Self-involved is apparently a stage I haven't quite grown out of, if anyone really can.

In the library today, there is a warm silence that smells lightly of moist mulch and growing things. The rainy season in Southern California is also the time of growth, and I enjoy watching plants bud, or grass turning vibrantly green. The media/learning lab area is alive with keyboard clicks and IM pings. Laughter behind me as young women mock Myspace fotos and post with friends. Whereas only moments ago, I felt as if I were back at FSU, these new noises now make me feel as if MUCH has changed since I was in college. It was another decade... hell, another century. Wow... I'm crazy old.

I came to the library to work on my final project for Wildlife Education, while staying dry and warm. B.E. Projects were turned in today, and Diversity finals start next week (well, the first of 3 will be on Tuesday.) However, despite those pending assignments and anxieties, I sit fairly calm and composed, reflecting on college and the rain. It is a good day.

When I do find these moments to post, I have half an urge to ramble on about school: its woes, its dramas, and of course, the animals. Big rubber dairy boots and a shovel full of poop seems to all fade into the background with a 300+lb lioness watching you work. Her amber eyes entrance me and all manual labor seems easier when she's nearby. The coyote seems to trust me more than most others, and although I cannot work with her yet, I think about her often. This week, my assigned area of cleaning is Parrot Gardens. I'm admittedly not much of a bird person, but when a kookaburra breaks out into that long exotic call, even jaded ancient me can be impressed.
In short, school is school.... with all the good and bad that every college experience brings with it. But on rainy days full of memories, it is pleasant and playful and lovely to enjoy.

Wishing you all a great grey Wednesday, and may your Thanksgiving, however you experience it, be full of good friends and good food.