An Evening Post

As weeks go, this one was especially exhausting. The season is turning. Fall has made its presence known with a chill in the air.  It's also been a week of changes - dramatic ones, it turns out. When you get used to someone or something. When you rely on it/them so heavily, you feel the void from the inside out. There is an eery silence at home. Things are back to normal, and it seems lonely, suddenly. Headaches surfaced again. Thoughts are jumbled, too.

Image Credit: Unknown

Roman, is out from hiding. Picasso visits more often. Ninja doesn't walk cautiously around corners expecting to encounter a swatting paw belonging to Kallee. The energy of Toulouse is missing. I didn't realize I'd spent so much time watching him play and keeping Kallee a safe distance away from the other animals. I vacuumed. I kinda' miss the disarray the foster cats made everything. I mean EVERYTHING - everywhere.

I lost a little succulent plant not too long ago. I had a plan for it. Planticide occurred here.  

The suspects are known, the details a bit fuzzy, but the scene - well, planting soil splattered with a clear pattern. It was a strategic attack. I'd like to point the finger to the obvious suspect: Toulouse the kitten, but my money is on Kallee. She is where she wants to be, and she doesn't give a sh*t. Toulouse is adopted, two days now. Kallee is set up and ready to go. She just needs to meet the right human in the right circumstances for her. She's a special feline. Knows what she wants. Doesn't share. And, a reliable awkward snuggler. Wanna' see her? 

The end is here. Abruptly. 

A Tweet

It appears I tweeted rather sternly, the other day.

Old Words

I woke up to read old words.

In the quiet of the night, under a dark sky, and far from twinkling stars, I open up an old journal. In 2009, I published my first online blog post, titled Random's Sunday. What it meant, I don't know. The sun was bright on that day. I sat in my backyard with my three pups, Tibby, Lokie, and little Peanut while they laid sunning themselves alongside the pool. The citrus trees in full bloom of Orange and Lime filled the air of sour and sweet. Southern California is a magical place - even more so is the sun above Palm Springs. 

I don't remember why I chose the online forum over trusted private paper journals. I recall a sense of urgency that handwritten notes no longer satisfied. At the time, I struggled financially along with everyone one else feeling the adverse effects of the explosive burst of the housing bubble crisis. A year in I was filled with a quiet frenzy. A paralyzed state. All I could do to survive is move about mechanically. Wake. Work. Sleep. Wake. Work. Sleep. Wake. Work. Sleep. Etc.

"Peanut, Tibby, Lokie" circa '08-'09
Photo Credit: ©deyanira.

In between, I'd eat some days, feed my dogs the other days. Made sure to have enough gas in my Volkswagen to get me to work a week at a time. Them there were dark days under a bright sun. My mechanical approach to life soon rusted and cracked. Wake late. Work daze. Sleep not. Wake late. Work daze. Sleep not. Wake late. Work daze. Sleep not. Etc.

Ten years later, I still write while you sleep.

"The Hobbit Writing" GIF

The Seasons

Tonight I'm reminded of Exposé's Seasons Change. I'd forgotten how much of a love song it is. It's sweet and innocent, this video. Three friends, together helping the other move on - forward w/their lives.

Things are different. Maybe, that's why these lyrics ring in my ear. It's early fall, and the air is not yet crisp. Last year was the coldest I've experienced here. I'm looking forward to this year's snowfall, bulky sweaters, boots, and potato leek soup. Winter cooking churns out the best meals. It's hearty. Much more satisfying than summer meals. Fall is a bit of both Winter and Summer, a strange blend. At least in my kitchen. Salads - fruit and vegetable, warm sandwiches, cold beer, but no icy drinks. 

🎶♯♭🎝

// Remember 1987? No! This music video will take you back. Enjoy.

"Some dreams are in the night time

And some seem like yesterday

But leaves turn brown and fade

Ships sail away

You long to say a thousand words

But seasons change

It feels like it's forever

No reason for emptiness

But time just runs away

No more day by day

You dream again it seems in vain

When seasons change

I want you

I want to feel you by my side

I need you

Don't you know I need you baby

Seasons change feelings change

It's been so long since I found you

Yet it seems like yesterday

Seasons change people change

I'll sacrifice tomorrow

Just to have you here today

For ever seems so far away

There's time for love and for play

You dream about today

Feeling slips away

The winds that blow they go away

And seasons change

I want you

Don't hide your feelings from inside

I need you

I've got to have your love now baby

Seasons change feelings change

It's been so long since I found you

Yet it seems like yesterday

Seasons change people change

I want you

I want to feel you by my side

I need you

I've got to have your love now baby

Seasons change feelings change

It's been so long since I found you

Yet it seems like yesterday

Seasons change people change

I'll sacrifice tomorrow

Just to have you here today

Just to have you here today

Seasons change feelings change

It's been so long since I found you

Yet it seems like yesterday

Seasons change people change

Change the season"

Songwriters: Lewis A Martinee

Seasons Change lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Exposed

I said the thing, used the word, invoked His name. It sounded foreign. Unknown. Distant and valueless. It would hurt him to know. He values admiration. Expects adoration. Is insulted to receive any other kind of attention. A year ago - how do I explain? A few days ago I was asked why I missed a significant fundraising event last Fall. 

"I experienced a concussion," I calmly said. 

I made a mental note of just how calmly I said it and then immediately felt awkward because I had no follow-up to that. As expected by most everyone I've said it too (which aren't many), the person gave me a surprised look and showed immediate concern. I knew not what to say without shedding more fragments of that past life with a dangerous man I was lucky to have gotten away from. 

"It's OK. I'm alright," I said in a knee-jerk reaction.

We do that, it turns out, to make you feel better, or less guilty, or not sorry about our circumstances. All it does is diminish an experience that deserves acknowledgment. I hate I did that, but there was no way to walk it back without getting into the details.

I said it calmly and conversationally to another person. That's growth. It has to be.

domestic-violence-awareness

Night Writer (pronounced Knight Rider)

The Starry Night
Vincent van Gogh 1889

Sleepless nights are nothing new. They've plagued me since childhood. At slumber parties, I typically was the last one to fall asleep. How did I know, you ask? Because the conversations would slowly come to an end amid snores and heavy breathing from a bunch of kids. At home, I'd lay awake in darkness. Not allowed to read or write into the early morning hours, I'd entertain myself by imagining all sorts of things, places, people, books I'd read, and movies I'd seen. As you can believe, and possibly even experience yourself - mornings were challenging to welcome.

Usually.

As an adult, mornings are not rough to greet, even on a few hours of sleep. There comes the point in the quite and still night when the mind awakens (in a state of delirium - I'm sure of it). There is no way anything productive could come out of that state. Yet, it was during those early hours in the cool of the night, under stars, and a bright moon did I write through salty tears. I used to keep a collection of everything I wrote in a box. All colors, and scraps of paper, cursive, print, pen, pencil, or crayon. 

The Scream
Edvard Munch, 1893 

I remember, the need to be surrounded by them - the words. Once Father brought a computer into the house I'd print them. Add clip art. Center the lines of text. Tape the pages on the walls of my bedroom. Before that, once I was sure what the poem is, or phrases or lines were, I'd rewrite them on a clean page and draw around them. 

If it wasn't the words - it was the nightmares keeping me awake. Well, the resistance to be in the position in which they'd happen - asleep, that is.

Dark dreams are the otherside of my tumultuous relationship with the night. Not able to recall with certainty my age, but I'm sure as a teenager and mid to late 20's sleep was disturbed regularly. That is, I'd fall asleep and wake up periodically (every hour) throughout the night with memories of broken images and strange feelings. 

At half past 4:00 in the morning. Not sure how to end this post. I'll describe the moment. A foster kitten rests on the bed.  Downton Abby plays in the background. Curtains drawn closed. Chickens sleeping in their coop.