A Year Of Writing: 2015-7-1108

It hurt.  It always hurt when I thought about it, but I could never bring myself to stop.  Why did I crave a good, honest real-life torture.  what did I ever gain by thinking and looking, looking and thinking, driving myself mad to the point I could no longer scream?!

more pain behind these pale eyes who had already witnessed enough.

I tried to quit.  I did.  I found ways to trick my brain into thinking of literally anything else, but those moments escaped quickly.  I would cry far too often because of it.  c’mon, just a little bit of relief… but the images always found their way back into my blood, like the drug I was fiending for.

It wasn’t fair.  I’d already hurt enough.

~~~~~

I was waiting for the elevator to bring its bell of arrival, I’d pushed the call button like forever ago.  I stared down at my shoes and my clothes, wishing I was someone else.  somewhere else.  I want a new life, just for a bit.  Total Recall really had something there.  A new body to flaunt or hide, it would be fun.  I kid everyone, everyday - these clothes aren’t me anymore.  That person doesn’t exist.

finally.

The usual crowd stepped into our communal casket, day after day, head bowed towards the cold light transmitting from their hand.  No one ever says good morning anymore, it’s quite annoying.  I’m not any better, I’m such a hypocrite.  Something distracted me today and my eyes remained upright.

It was quick, almost nothing.  My soul sent up a signal flare, triggering the side head tilt that meant more.  I had to see why.  Something was calling my attention, but it was void of any sound.  It was howling silently to spot it.

And then I did.

And then I stopped breathing and then I passed out.  As I did, my brain acknowledged what I’d been socially inflicting on my eyes for months, was now in front of me.  And my bodies’ best defense was to give up.  I wasn’t strong enough to sustain real life.

A Year Of Writing: 2015-4-1007b

“what time is it?  how long have i been asleep? “  There is partitioned light bursting through every cracked wooden slat, filling the room, but few shadows.  I panic; launch my darting looks into a heap, scattering them around the room, hoping something will sonar back the answer.  nothing.  “it’s chilly, but barely fall adjacent.  i know this.  i’m nearly hyperventilating on this comfortable mattress, while millions of people wake from theirs, oblivious to my situation.  eager to start their day by gorging on pancakes & guzzling obnoxious coffee.  Or at least simulating to the best of their loneliest ability.  and topping that off by watching fucking stupid television, like there isn’t serious problems in the world.  selfish dicks.

but who really gives a shit anyway.”

…focus…

“maybe if i get out of bed, i can figure this out.”  The familiar man and dog are right where they should be, but something is still off.  The quad-legged slowly engages his muscles, temporarily atrophied from the night before; he looks my direction.  “i know.”

We get up and assemble the pieces that make his morning meetings tolerable.  I stare at everything either attached or in my hand.  “the notion these green, fancy squared plastics are any better for our planet is a fucking joke, especially.  But what option do i have… there’s too many causes now and it just makes me overwhelmed and I wanna do nothing.  it’s exhausting having a conscious.”   

I carefully peel the front door open, half expecting a boogity to be standing there, asking what took me so long.  But stillness.  A washing of silvery tones over the entire overly bright scene, as if it were graylight savings.  I cautiously step one in front of another, heeding the warnings of isolation as I leave everything behind.  I miss those days where something familiar would be always be around.  My tethered friend looks to me for answers.  “let’s keep going...”

There’s a suspicion the faders aren’t in sync.  The left light is way elevated, while the right people is extinct.  “this doesn’t add up.  did i drink too much last night?  i thought i only had one beer, but did i fuck up with more?  was the entire nights’ rememberance made up, as each minute of clarity shows itself?  i feel wobbly, hazy and on the brink of tossing up those desserts i ate last night.”  My eyes are mere dashes, covered only by their lids as the glow breaks through the flesh.  I struggle to understand what is happening to me, my body.

That’s when they came up from their hiding place.

A Year Of Writing... Sort Of.

A friend of mine started a personal writing project a few months ago, her intention to put something down on paper, everyday, for one year.  No minimum number of words, nothing on/off limits, simply a new exercise program for an old friend.

She put the announcement on facebook, citing it's harder to renege once it's out in the interspace.  I can relate.  I've gotten on that bus, but sometimes forgot to get off at the right stop.  whoops.  But she bravely offered to share her stories & commentaries, so I enthusiastically volunteered as a reader.  And in the first few emails, I found myself inspired but what she was doing and intrigued to try my hand at such an awesome, creative challenge!

I knew setting a daily bar wouldn't work for me.  Not because I think it's wrong, quite contrary as I think the determination is admirable.  But since starting this journal, all I think about is writing everyday, which reality has translated into occasional.  I don't want to commit myself to an unrealistic goal because that will only set me up for failure.  And then I'll get discouraged, which is not the point.

So I decided to do my own version, which other than time is nothing different I guess.  I'd follow her lead with no minimum number of words (which is swell when I sent four on a page) and nothing on/off limits.  But in terms of frequency, do it when I can.  keep it simple.  And I gotta say, it's been exceptionally rewarding!  I'm writing a little more, including a couple short stories I really dig.  The sharing between ourselves has also been an unexpected reward.  There is an intimate accountability, for this trusted space we've created; I crave it.

~~~~~

I write. I won't call myself a writer... Writer is reserved for someone who like, isn't me.  How in as much as I'd love to do discover my voice full time, it's easier to call it a fulfilling hobby.  Maybe that's why sharing selected tidbits is acceptable, because I'm working through the discovery of who I am and what do I want to say.

Be on the lookout.

Post Glendale Humane Society: It's Raining Cats and Dogs!

Last Thursday, my handsome husband and I spoke at an event, to help raise much needed funds for the Glendale Humane Society.  Star, a lady who used to work at the shelter and still volunteers, asked us to share our story.  We became friends, as she was there for us during all our questions, cries, puppy shots, and lifey photos.  She gave Leroy his microchip and when I cried, because he yelped, she smiled and said that's your mama...  Star considers our adoption story one she'll never forget, so I wanted to make her super proud.  It was an honour.

According to the shelter's director Alyce, it costs many thousands per week to maintain the level of care needed for all the animals, which is nothing to scoff at.  So the more we can all do for this fantastic place, the better those little fuzzy faces will be.

The benefit was held at Pirch in Glendale.  Now what I thought Pirch was and what it turned out to be, were two very different notions.  I thought it was a restaurant - because duh, I read food on the invitation and put my money on assumption.  What Pirch ended up being, was an oh my gawd beautiful showroom space with the most fantastic appliances, making two chumps like us who are really into that stuff, quite happy.  We'll be back.

Writing down the massively influential memories occurring over the last 2 years was harder than I thought.  Oh how quickly regret seeps in for not starting sooner.  My first draft ended up like a commercial of greatness, instead of our experience.  I'm sure it's stuff I've already written in here, too.  No matter how I sliced it, the message became toast.  Frustrated, I asked Travis for help, being the brilliant writer that he is.  He returned two options: our story and our highlights.  Since he's a performer, talking points wouldn't bother him.  But when I speak about something personal, I need a reference.  I can't wing my heart because I'll forget the feelings.

Nothing was coming together and it was getting down to the wire.  Trying to wrap up a story that was far from complete in the 10 minutes I had left, wasn't gonna happen.  So Travis suggested he could speak first and summarize, where I would go second and add emotions.  ugh, ok... can I really do this?

Turns out I can't.  Not yet anyway.  We stood there after weatherman Fritz Coleman spoke eloquently and nabbed a whole bunch of auction donations.  He set a high bar that Travis handled with ease, painting a funny & truthful picture.  I secretly wanted to run to the corner yelling at the donors "THANK YOU WE KNOW THEY ARE AMAZING SEND MONEY AND BLANKETS AND COURAGE."  As the mic was handed over, I wasn't totally sure how close it should be to catch the tiny air escaping my lungs.  I managed to ramble something considered words, while I stared at the millers & murmurs, vying to grab their attention away from the hors d'oeuvres. I felt insignificant, anxious and rushed.  I overzealously launched into the few points I had rehearsed, hoping to be charming for the people who were listening.  I'm sure in my mind it was beyond worse than anything the people actually witnessed, but still.  I walked off that stage, carrying an emotional head hung low of lows, feeling like I let myself down, Star down, and the shelter down.  what a drag.

But you know what?  No one was lame.  Not a single one.  The people who spoke to us afterwards, were gracious and kind.  And even though my performance still bothers me, I will remember those who thought enough to say something.  I've learned from it; I think.  It's taken a stupid number of years to elevate my business confidence, so why should this personal nonsense be any easier.  I truck on, practice & persist.  And contrary to the point, I was up there not as the 12 year old who would turn beet red even walking in front of a group more than 2, but a person who had something to say.  I was going to be heard, I was going to make my point, I was going to make a difference for these animals.  That one night doesn't define me forever.  I used to think so, but I know better now.  Doesn't define how I could or could not ever make a difference.  I'll come back as that person who can command a room, even if it takes 1000 times where I walk it.

~~~~~

So I leave you with this:
     The pet psychic we met with, because I KNOW PSYCHIC-SHMYCHIC, BUT I AM FASCINATED BY THE OTHERNATURAL AND HAVE NEVER DONE ONE BEFORE, let us know I worry too much about Leroy (and in life,) he'll love it when we get a second pup, he thinks it's awesome when Travis and he play gladiator, and that he is totally, totally happy.

And we have Glendale Humane to thank for all of it.

Sight Unseen

Does your dog (or cat, guinea pig, fish, pet rock) ever do this?

Leroy can be the most asleep on the couch, floor, piles of clothes, blankets, even in the most awkward position on Travis' guitar pedals.  When he'll get up without warning, walk silently into the dark bedroom, turn, sit down and stare back at us.  just. stare.

Leroy will also be the most asleep in the middle of the night, laying next to me in our bed.  When he'll sit straight up without warning and stare at the floor, the door or the window.  Occasionally he'll stare at one of us, before going back to the silent energy facing us.

I can only assume he's watching the ghosts hover.

Glendale Humane Society: It's Raining Cats and Dogs!

Leroy, our puppy boy, made his way home by way of Glendale Humane Society.  He was cared for, loved, and even went to school - all before coming to the home he'd share with us always!  Leroy wouldn't be the most gentlemanly set of ears he is today, without help from the incredibly kind, supportive and tireless work of the GHS staff. <3


Star, the woman who was there with us from day one, asked Travis and I to speak at their fancy but most awesome pants, fundraising event: It's Raining Cats & Dogs.  I can't tell you how honored we are to take part in such an important and worthy cause.  I've been writing and re-writing our speech and probably teared up about eleventy times. <3 <3

The shelter is no-kill, 100% funded entirely from private donations: no local, state or federal assist.  That means benefits and fundraising is crucial to ensuring every critter they take under their helping umbrella is cared for, loved and knowing their just hanging out until they find their home too - just like Leroy!  <3 <3 <3

If you'd like to help donate to Glendale, you can here :-)!  Not just money, they need blankets, towels, shampoo, necessities, etc.  If you're not in the Los Angeles area, I'm sure there are local shelters near you that could also use a generous donation of cashola, goods or volunteering.  The littlest gesture can bring the biggest joy to an animal friend.

~~~~~

I'm sure you don't, but in case you need a few more fuzzy reasons why this place means so much to us, just click on PREPARE FOR ADORABLE 1 and 2.  No stinkers here.

PREPARE FOR ADORABLE 1 is how we came to meet our boy

PREPARE FOR ADORABLE 2 is when Leroy and his brother Bentley saw each other, after a year

Construction Junction: A Strong Defence

I was up at 5a today, after losing a decent argument for 5:30a.  And even then, at 4a, couldn't fall back into any sort of rhythm you'd call sleep.  Maybe it was the anticipation of today,  maybe it was running through the giant list of to-do's permanently tacked to the 'ol brain board, or maybe because each time I stirred, my sweater was half off and a sock was missing.  ...curious.

I got up early so I could exercise before it all started.  I jogged around my quiet and emergingly sunny city, at a bit quicker pace than yesterday.  Because today is actually a big, real deal day.  Finally, holy jeebus, the other major piece of our current yard update is starting.

A new, super slick, fancy sustainable, front fence.

And by start, I mean like not yet, it's just demolition, but believe me it's all happening in exactly Dio-like explosions!

...maybe not.




Travis the Demolator:

Approximate rendition.

Approximate joy.