Sunrise at the Temple of Honor by George Best. This seems like a fitting photo for my Cio Cio friend.
I had to make the decision to put Cio Cio to sleep today. I stalled for as long as I could but she had stopped eating and was deteriorating and all of the vets at the animal hospital were advising me to have her euthanized which is never an easy decision.
When you have as many cats as we do you eventually have to develop a thicker skin and even though it still hurts every single time I lose a friend, because I love every single one of them, instead of falling apart like I used to, I wind up feeling kind of heartsick and numb. Grief comes later, in little fits and starts, grief hiccups that take me by surprise rather than the waves of grief I would feel before. Now that I'm writing about this I'm feeling shaky and grief stricken.
Photo by Noah Otalvaro
On a positive note I've lost four pounds, haven't touched a Vicodin or a Valium in I don't remember how many days, and am finally feeling well enough to consider going back to Curves today. Yesterday I bought a new bike. I told you this last night though, didn't I? I don't want to push it though. I know I'm still sick.
It's funny, but as I write this I'm aware of how much I'm not telling you about, how much I leave out, not for any particular reason other than the fact that it isn't charged for me, and doesn't feel like something I need to express. But it's this very thing that people miss about me. My not telling you the good things that happened yesterday or last night, the loving exchanges between Beau, Scott, my Mom, or my friends and myself, does not mean they did not happen. This is the very pinpricked heart of what upsets me about people callously tossing a heap of prickly shards of advice my way. Actually I don't mind the advice so much as I mind the judgment that lies behind it -- the arrogance and the superiority that says, "I know better. Fix this about yourself or risk whatever doom I envision for you."
Photo by Noah Otalvaro
I'm sitting here in a pink and black crinoline skirt that I bought off of eBay to wear to this year's Burning Man. I'm getting more and more excited about it by the week, but also more worried. It's always such a hurdle for us. There's so much planning that goes into going to Burning Man. It's not like a trip to the beach where you toss your bathing suit, sunscreen, and your sandals in the car and go. It requires months of planning, (all of which I usually leave to the last week every year, no matter how often I promise myself that the next year I'll save money and be better prepared. It's always the same so I think I'm just going to accept this about myself and make the best of it), and a serious financial commitment. We're talking desert survival mixed with WILDLY creative carnival output and it takes work to pull this off.
Photo by Julian Axolotyl
This is the website for my friends Jackie and Julian/Supersnail.com. If you want to see some really wonderful, fun, and super unique photography, check them out. They took a series of really terrific pictures of us the year Eduardo went with us -- the ones I used to show people before I lost the weight. I haven't spoken with them in over two years and I miss them. Isn't that sad? I did just fire off a longish e-mail to them though.
I'm really tired of this in me, this housebound, hausfrau fear thang that keeps me from keeping up with old friends and new -- the loving people I stumble across, initially embrace and then forget to keep reaching out to. I am changing this as we speak. I think losing weight has helped, but it's also biochemical. Depression and ADD will keep the best of us down on the farm, so to speak. I'm trying to keep climbing out of my burrow but I keep getting whacked down. The image that comes to mind is that carnival game, Whack a Mole. I'm the mole, only I'm getting better at popping back up after I get whacked, or well, at least I hope I am.
It's funny how people get frustrated with me -- frustrated at my not changing fast enough for them, but aren't we all a little like this? Don't we all have blind spots that our real friends just love us over -- even though they may think they have the answers for us, and could fix us faster than we can, were they in our shoes? I think so. And besides it's not like I'm lopping people's heads off here in my own little self absorbed semi-house-bound bubble. And it's not like I'm not noticing that people are getting their heads lopped off either. I am, I really, really am. It just hurts to think about it, hurts so badly that if I go see these images on some website it will shut me down so fast I won't be able to move. So here I am, simply growing at my own rate of speed, in the same garden as all the rest of you pretty unique little flowers.
Photo by Christina Jackson