Have you ever seen a chihuahua chase an American Staffordshire Terrier? And then watched those same two dogs, differing in more than 60 pounds, lay down together to sleep, with an orange cat curled at their backs.
My animals are fairly hilarious. I think the cat thinks its a dog, and the AmStaff thinks he's around 10 pounds, not 65.
But they are wonderful sleeping companions when my Patrick dear is out of town.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Bucket Lists and Tales of Love
January has already passed by, and February has a running start. I wonder just how quickly 2010 will pass us by? And if the rumors are true at all, that puts us closer to the doomsday date of December 21, 2012. Which I am not sure about, because the Bible states that, "No man shall know the date or time."
I believe the world will end some day, whether of our own misguided attempts at controlling the world with hate and violence, or just because of a freak natural occurrence. No one knows, and I dare not convey even the slightest bit that I have some great personal knowledge on the subject. I do not. Just a normal every day person with her own opinions and ideas, however wrong or misleading they may be.
So, if the world were to end in 2012, what would you want to have accomplished? It is the end of your life on this earth, and who knows what temporal plane awaits, but the existence you know is over. This question plagues me.
It doesn't even have to deal with 2012, either. What do you wish to accomplish before your demise? What things are so meaningful to you, or to your posterity, that you must check them off your list before you kick the bucket?
There are a number of things I want to proudly proclaim that I have achieved. Some are material, some are emotional. Some are important and large; some are so seemingly insignificant that no one but me would ever even notice or be aware that it was done. But it would still be done.
I know a number of people that know me well are reading this and saying, "I know what is number one on her list. Being published." And yes you would be correct in a way. One day seeing my name, my work, my life's blood in print would be amazing, and it is definitely one of my top priorities. But it is not number one.
When I discuss my number one, which I assure you, is rather corny, please do not laugh. And if you must laugh, at least cover your mouth so I don't see the snicker.
I want my own family.
You there, I said cover your mouth!
I know, me the girl that for the longest has been against romantic love and everything it stands for, against procreating and adding to the overpopulation of the world. That girl, me, longs to have unconditional, unrelenting, I-would-die-for-you-and-without-you love. I think for the first time, even after the failed marriage, I have found it.
Don't get me wrong, I LOVE my family. I would die for each and every one of them willingly. I would do (almost) anything they ask of me. But we are blood. And that is a different type of love. It is another thing altogether to me when you wish to mix your blood with someone else's to create a partnership, helpmates. I don't think I ever truly understood that before. Which is sad. To me, before, in my deft innocence, I saw marriage and love as something that came easily, and without any deep involvement. You did it to do it, because it was the next step, what was expected from you. When my marriage ended, and even before it ended, when it was just depressing and loveless, I became so jaded and cynical. I would look at other people getting married, having babies, and sincerely wonder if they both truly loved the other, or if they were just settling down and doing "what comes natural" to our species. And the realization of that being my first thought always bothered me. I wanted to believe in an elevated love, one that was different from the high school puppy love that plagued me, but I couldn't find it, and I couldn't see it. So I lost hope. For a long time.
But now, I see it as a reality. As something that, yes, you have to work for. But it does come. And sharing so much of yourself with someone else, and KNOWING that they absolutely do care and are listening and want to give you back just as much of themselves, well... it is just an amazing feeling.
So, I guess that's one thing to cross off my bucket list.
I believe the world will end some day, whether of our own misguided attempts at controlling the world with hate and violence, or just because of a freak natural occurrence. No one knows, and I dare not convey even the slightest bit that I have some great personal knowledge on the subject. I do not. Just a normal every day person with her own opinions and ideas, however wrong or misleading they may be.
So, if the world were to end in 2012, what would you want to have accomplished? It is the end of your life on this earth, and who knows what temporal plane awaits, but the existence you know is over. This question plagues me.
It doesn't even have to deal with 2012, either. What do you wish to accomplish before your demise? What things are so meaningful to you, or to your posterity, that you must check them off your list before you kick the bucket?
There are a number of things I want to proudly proclaim that I have achieved. Some are material, some are emotional. Some are important and large; some are so seemingly insignificant that no one but me would ever even notice or be aware that it was done. But it would still be done.
I know a number of people that know me well are reading this and saying, "I know what is number one on her list. Being published." And yes you would be correct in a way. One day seeing my name, my work, my life's blood in print would be amazing, and it is definitely one of my top priorities. But it is not number one.
When I discuss my number one, which I assure you, is rather corny, please do not laugh. And if you must laugh, at least cover your mouth so I don't see the snicker.
I want my own family.
You there, I said cover your mouth!
I know, me the girl that for the longest has been against romantic love and everything it stands for, against procreating and adding to the overpopulation of the world. That girl, me, longs to have unconditional, unrelenting, I-would-die-for-you-and-without-you love. I think for the first time, even after the failed marriage, I have found it.
Don't get me wrong, I LOVE my family. I would die for each and every one of them willingly. I would do (almost) anything they ask of me. But we are blood. And that is a different type of love. It is another thing altogether to me when you wish to mix your blood with someone else's to create a partnership, helpmates. I don't think I ever truly understood that before. Which is sad. To me, before, in my deft innocence, I saw marriage and love as something that came easily, and without any deep involvement. You did it to do it, because it was the next step, what was expected from you. When my marriage ended, and even before it ended, when it was just depressing and loveless, I became so jaded and cynical. I would look at other people getting married, having babies, and sincerely wonder if they both truly loved the other, or if they were just settling down and doing "what comes natural" to our species. And the realization of that being my first thought always bothered me. I wanted to believe in an elevated love, one that was different from the high school puppy love that plagued me, but I couldn't find it, and I couldn't see it. So I lost hope. For a long time.
But now, I see it as a reality. As something that, yes, you have to work for. But it does come. And sharing so much of yourself with someone else, and KNOWING that they absolutely do care and are listening and want to give you back just as much of themselves, well... it is just an amazing feeling.
So, I guess that's one thing to cross off my bucket list.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
6:20 AM Classes
I had never heard of such a thing until this semester. 6:20 AM...
I wake up at 5:00 AM, with lots of coaxing and a little pushing, and am out the door by 5:30. And now, here I sit in the hallway of a campus building, freezing, bundled in three layers, waiting for the teacher to arrive and unlock the door.
My eyelids still feel heavy, even after that drive. In fact, I "woke up" as I was passing the first exit past the exit I normally take to get to campus. Coffee sounds amazing right now. But so does crawling back in bed and going to sleep. I am not a morning person. I am hateful, grumpy, whiny, and mad at the world for being asleep while I am waking up and miserable.
I really think I can turn my satchel on its side, and it will make a terrific pillow.
Hallway sleeping, here I come.
I wake up at 5:00 AM, with lots of coaxing and a little pushing, and am out the door by 5:30. And now, here I sit in the hallway of a campus building, freezing, bundled in three layers, waiting for the teacher to arrive and unlock the door.
My eyelids still feel heavy, even after that drive. In fact, I "woke up" as I was passing the first exit past the exit I normally take to get to campus. Coffee sounds amazing right now. But so does crawling back in bed and going to sleep. I am not a morning person. I am hateful, grumpy, whiny, and mad at the world for being asleep while I am waking up and miserable.
I really think I can turn my satchel on its side, and it will make a terrific pillow.
Hallway sleeping, here I come.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Dust Bowl
"Wind's pickin' up again."
"I'm standing right here beside you, ain't I? Don't I know it is by myself? Law."
"Alright, alright, calm yourself. Ain't nothin' to get worked up over, I was just sayin'."
"Well, keep your sayin's to yourself. I get tired of your lip."
They fell into a weighty silence. Jim tipped his hat low, bending in the chair to hit the spittoon just right of his foot. He wanted to point out that with the wind gaining in strength, they ought to go gather up the horses, cows, and chickens into the barn and get the doors closed, a dust storm could happen in a matter of seconds in this little hollow. But with Amos, any suggestion was taken as a threat against his intelligence. So Jim, patient soul that he was, kept his lips tight (except for the occasional spit) and waited for instructions from his brother.
Leaning up against the wall, Amos stared out over the plains. They're parents had left the farm thirty years back, and both boys worked so hard at running and maintaining it, they completely forgot about the other parts of life. Now, nearing 50, and Jim easing on up to 45, he regretted every missed opportunity in his past. Janie Evans was his sweetheart at age 22. And he stopped taking her to the barn dances and fairs many years back. He had more important things to attend to, with the passing of his folks and a younger brother and a baby sister to watch. The sickly cows, pulling and tugging at sparse blades of grass, their milk far from frothy and plentiful, made the pain in his stomach twitch and worsen.
"Maggie's out back feeding the chickens. Run and tell her to get 'em in the coop, you know she won't figure it out for herself. Sick little girl. Then get back over here and help me with the bigger stock." He pushed off from the doorway as Jim headed through the old plain wooden house.
Slick, the dappled sire of the bunch, fathering more foals than believable, lumbered over and nudged Amos under the arm. Slick was born from Angel, the first horse Amos' father had ever owned. He was special, the one thing that made a profit on the farm, with his colts coming every six months out of one of the four mares, and the one thing that Amos found as a comfort. He rubbed the stallion's black diamond on his forehead, pushing the stringy hair away.
"Get on in the barn, Slick. I got your women comin' in after ya." The massive horse lumbered in, slowly, deliberately. He knew what was coming.
Jim came running from around the back of the house in a huff, out of breath and red in the face.
"Amos! Amos! Maggie ain't back there. I checked all over the back and into the little thicket and in the house. I can't find her. And the wind is pickin' up and you know her. She can't make it home in a dust storm."
Maggie had been born touched. She developed slowly, then got to a certain age and stopped developing altogether. She never mentally passed the age of 1o to Amos, though her body was now in the late 30's.
"We have to find her Amos, the animals can wait. You know we can't leave her out there alone. She'll die."
Amos felt a moment of guilt staring at his brother. Jim was sincerely worried about Maggie's well being. The only thing Amos felt was anger. Her death would mean his sacrifice would be for nothing. Somewhere along the line, he had forgotten the important things in life. And for this, he envied Jim.
"Saddle up Slick and the red mare. We'll ride out until we find her."
"I'm standing right here beside you, ain't I? Don't I know it is by myself? Law."
"Alright, alright, calm yourself. Ain't nothin' to get worked up over, I was just sayin'."
"Well, keep your sayin's to yourself. I get tired of your lip."
They fell into a weighty silence. Jim tipped his hat low, bending in the chair to hit the spittoon just right of his foot. He wanted to point out that with the wind gaining in strength, they ought to go gather up the horses, cows, and chickens into the barn and get the doors closed, a dust storm could happen in a matter of seconds in this little hollow. But with Amos, any suggestion was taken as a threat against his intelligence. So Jim, patient soul that he was, kept his lips tight (except for the occasional spit) and waited for instructions from his brother.
Leaning up against the wall, Amos stared out over the plains. They're parents had left the farm thirty years back, and both boys worked so hard at running and maintaining it, they completely forgot about the other parts of life. Now, nearing 50, and Jim easing on up to 45, he regretted every missed opportunity in his past. Janie Evans was his sweetheart at age 22. And he stopped taking her to the barn dances and fairs many years back. He had more important things to attend to, with the passing of his folks and a younger brother and a baby sister to watch. The sickly cows, pulling and tugging at sparse blades of grass, their milk far from frothy and plentiful, made the pain in his stomach twitch and worsen.
"Maggie's out back feeding the chickens. Run and tell her to get 'em in the coop, you know she won't figure it out for herself. Sick little girl. Then get back over here and help me with the bigger stock." He pushed off from the doorway as Jim headed through the old plain wooden house.
Slick, the dappled sire of the bunch, fathering more foals than believable, lumbered over and nudged Amos under the arm. Slick was born from Angel, the first horse Amos' father had ever owned. He was special, the one thing that made a profit on the farm, with his colts coming every six months out of one of the four mares, and the one thing that Amos found as a comfort. He rubbed the stallion's black diamond on his forehead, pushing the stringy hair away.
"Get on in the barn, Slick. I got your women comin' in after ya." The massive horse lumbered in, slowly, deliberately. He knew what was coming.
Jim came running from around the back of the house in a huff, out of breath and red in the face.
"Amos! Amos! Maggie ain't back there. I checked all over the back and into the little thicket and in the house. I can't find her. And the wind is pickin' up and you know her. She can't make it home in a dust storm."
Maggie had been born touched. She developed slowly, then got to a certain age and stopped developing altogether. She never mentally passed the age of 1o to Amos, though her body was now in the late 30's.
"We have to find her Amos, the animals can wait. You know we can't leave her out there alone. She'll die."
Amos felt a moment of guilt staring at his brother. Jim was sincerely worried about Maggie's well being. The only thing Amos felt was anger. Her death would mean his sacrifice would be for nothing. Somewhere along the line, he had forgotten the important things in life. And for this, he envied Jim.
"Saddle up Slick and the red mare. We'll ride out until we find her."
Insomnia... Again
Anxiety gets me. It really does. I can feel my heart racing and panicking wildly in my chest, although there is no sane or rational reason for it. I have a snoring softly warm body beside me even, one leg thrown over mine, usually a comfort, and still I can not come down from this high.
Tomorrow is a big day; maybe that is the cause of this sudden outbreak. I'm trying to squeeze in four classes in one day, two days a week. So on Monday and Wednesday I am on campus for a whopping total of ten hours. It's daunting, to say the least, and I can feel the dread of the exertion building inside.
I get so tired of myself sometimes. Tired of not being able to handle things, tired of panicking, tired of feeling uncomfortable in my own skin, tired of the mania that means I won't sleep, tired of the following depression that leaves me exhausted and almost confined to the bed. I'm afraid of pushing away the one person I need, and I feel sorry that he has to deal with my problems. He deserves better than that.
I go to speak to the doctor again this week. Another check up, another measuring, another endless barrage of questions about my emotions and actions and appetite and feelings. I am definitely not in the mood to deal with it. Medications help, but they don't solve everything. I want a quick fix, or to at least know what if feels like to function like a normal person with no chemical imbalance.
I dwell on the negative, see how I did it? That is another freakin' bad habit of mine. I really need to just get over myself. I'm in a warm bed, a wonderful man beside me who loves me, and a family that supports me and is behind me 100%.
Everything will be alright...
Tomorrow is a big day; maybe that is the cause of this sudden outbreak. I'm trying to squeeze in four classes in one day, two days a week. So on Monday and Wednesday I am on campus for a whopping total of ten hours. It's daunting, to say the least, and I can feel the dread of the exertion building inside.
I get so tired of myself sometimes. Tired of not being able to handle things, tired of panicking, tired of feeling uncomfortable in my own skin, tired of the mania that means I won't sleep, tired of the following depression that leaves me exhausted and almost confined to the bed. I'm afraid of pushing away the one person I need, and I feel sorry that he has to deal with my problems. He deserves better than that.
I go to speak to the doctor again this week. Another check up, another measuring, another endless barrage of questions about my emotions and actions and appetite and feelings. I am definitely not in the mood to deal with it. Medications help, but they don't solve everything. I want a quick fix, or to at least know what if feels like to function like a normal person with no chemical imbalance.
I dwell on the negative, see how I did it? That is another freakin' bad habit of mine. I really need to just get over myself. I'm in a warm bed, a wonderful man beside me who loves me, and a family that supports me and is behind me 100%.
Everything will be alright...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)