New Blog

For my faithful readers, I am writing a new blog called "Fields of the Mind" at:


/http://alisestewart.blogspot.com/

Georgia on my Mind

Georgia is safely ensconced in a bathroom in this small corner of the world.  She wraps paws around necks, licks and bites, and has been started on elk meat...one cannot introduce cats suddenly to unicorn meat...it's much too rich. She'll start on the elk, move up to ostrich, and then, by fits and starts, start supping on unicorn. She has shown a preference for a quiet, but woody Merlot with her elk, but will probably start on a Riesling for the ostrich.

Georgia is also on my mind in another way. I am hurting for a friend whose cat went to the Rainbow Bridge yesterday. Love doesn't hurt. Separation hurts...saying Goodbye hurts. Regret hurts. How can people think animals have no souls? If they had no souls, how could they be a part of ours?

The day is crisp and chill, and that lemony quality of the light is mutating into a paler tone. The leaves and grass are rimmed with frost and crunch under the feet, leaving dark footprints behind. The tips of the grass gleam with sunlight. It is a quiet, clean day, where one cat passes and one cat begins life anew...in the eternal round of the seasons in the world and this life.

Georgia

Ladies Night Out at Plantagenet Rose was a spectacular event...glitter and personalities everywhere!

Now, today, I am trying to foster a cat on death row from the local Angels of Assisi group. I met the lovely, said cat, Georgia yesterday at the local shelter. The people at the shelter were as kind as they could be. I think Georgia has the potential to be a unicorn meat eating cat. She intimated the same to me yesterday, whispering sweet nothings into my ears from behind the bars...let's hope the foster is successful. I should know by this afternoon.

And I have rediscovered another love from the wintertime. Traveling about on these bright days, reminds me of the stark fact of shadows...a stand of trees, white against the gold of the fields, throwing their shadows one against another. They are a brilliant relief for the eyes against the white winter sun...

Interruption

Ok, ok. So the writing the blog thing is becoming erratic. It's not that I want to stop; I'm not going to. I take it as a symbol of my reluctance to face the long, dark winter. Even if I love winter, I have to admit that reduced daylight sucks all the way around. Which problem will be addressed on Sunday evening, when all the clocks get turned back an hour.

This is so people who work can now go to work in the dark, as well as driving home in the dark. This is actually one of the Circles of Hell, if you must know. Once upon a time, I worked in a sewing factory, despite the fact that I could not sew. For exactly one month, I went to work in the dark, and came home at dim twilight...falling asleep on the way home (my Dad drove.) What a dismal month!

So my heart bleeds for those out there who do not get any exposure to sunlight during their working day...and will not, now that the time is changing.

Other than that...today I am a bit more perked up. I get an immune system thingy after enough stress, and I had it in spades yesterday. It's a lot like getting the flu, without the vomiting. However, it was proceeded by a very good Halloween, and so I had something to reflect on whilst ill.

All Hallow's Eve

And I mean to enjoy every minute of it. There is nothing like dressing up as your favorite dark shadow to start the holiday season...The candy has been bought, the Harry Potter movie is in the DVD player, and I am not taking my anti-Evil pill today.

I am still have horrible nightmares, but for today at least, it's quite apropos. And I have woken up at this dawn of the dead time of morning. Yes, I am all set for Halloween.

Also appropriate for the season, I see the dentist today, but I also have a therapy appointment this afternoon to even it out. For once I have been keeping track with my mood calendar, which will thrill my therapist to no end. Pain really will drive us to do things we couldn't ordinarily do.

I have been having dreams and reactions to stress as if to say: "I am less than. I am worth less than any other person you can point to." Which is certainly not true. I KNOW the opposite is true, but can't feel it at the moment. That, ladies and gents, is borderline personality disorder.

If you meet me, I certainly put on a good face. I talked to a friend last night, very intelligent, who knows all of my story for the most part, who doesn't seem to understand why I would have any trouble looking for a job right now. Although she knows of my trauma, and the fact of my being attacked on the job, I SEEM ok, therefore...it can be a truly lonely feeling having invisible disabilities. Just trying to acclimate myself to the idea of a job has triggered some terrible trauma feelings this past week, and trying to actually find a job is going to be an uphill battle. Then there will be relapses.

Sufficient unto the day is the Evil therein. And I suggest, just between you and I, that you skip your anti-Evil pill this morning as well. Don't let the world get you down.

Draft

Although hurricane Sandy has hit us...it is turning out to be somewhat of a terrible draft at the windows, instead of the frankenstorm, for us, at least.

My current, mistaken obsession, about a relationship with a friend, is coming to a close. It has been a trial of compulsive, delusional thinking that has me pinned to the ground, with my breath puffing up dust and the sweat from my brow plinking into the dirt beneath me...

This obsession, a manifestation of my disorders, wants nothing more than for me to withdraw into my own little universe, which is centered somewhere around my navel, and give up contact with the outside world forever. That includes writing this blog. That's why I have written such short, erratic blogs lately. It is all I can do to force myself to the keyboard every morning. And sometimes I can't accomplish that...

But this morning, there is a small light at the end of the tunnel; and I can feel a slight draft against my cheek, more than seeing any light. And there is nothing like the warmth driven by the sound of a purr to heat my blood on this cold morning.

Monday, Again?

Well, Hurricane Sandy has moved in, and it means some cold rain right now. We are supposed to get some wind in this small corner of the world, but for now, it just looks like the unicorn meat eating cats will be using the litter boxes today.

My mind has been obsessed this past weekend, making it impossible to write. Once some event or conversation triggers me, I cannot concentrate on anything else. So, among some pleasant events happening in the world; in my mind, I have been pretty miserable the past couple o days.

But time and rumination and rest have done their best and I am feeling pretty chipper this morning. I have to skim the leaves off of the pool this morning, so I had better feel good. I do like pitting myself against the elements, and coming in to warmth and three cozy animals...

I like the feeling of the wind; it brings out some ancestral memory. There is not a day that goes by in Scotland where the wind doesn't blow...and surely the Old Ones felt the same in winter. Listening to the storms coming down from Viking territory, and waiting for their eventual arrival. It's a feeling of the ancient Earth moving and speaking to us, as it speaks to us through the trees that groan in the wind, and the birds that fly South fast.

Extra Sides

Someone has unfriended me on Facebook, and it's a blow. A blow, I tell you, a blow.

Now for something really important...after really horrible nightmares about my brother, and an attack of paranoia this morning, the day is shaping up a bit better. I am doing nothing but dog related things today: bath, then a walk, and some tidying up, so it looks to be relaxing.

There is a cold front headed our way and it's pushing rather a large warm front through first. And I would really like to talk about instead, the problems with my relationship with my brother. But my blog is not anonymous anymore. I may have to set up shop somewhere else as well, just to get these nasty tidbits off of my chest. The Saucy Brit, who has several things on her chest as well, suggested the title of: " Cold Hard Karma with Extra Sides of Revenge and Screaming Truth." Rather poetic, don't you think?

Mist

Therapy was good yesterday, but hard to sit through. Discussing my distorted thinking patterns brings up innumerable fears, and a kind of hopelessness. But this is how health is achieved...one hour at a time. The steady, plodding nature of the whole process is usually too much for us. We give up, long before we reap any reward from it. Instead, we look for a chemical breakthrough, legal or illegal.

But the mist must have risen this morning, as it lays now on the grass, and the leaves, which are cold and wet to my feet. Today will be one of the last beautiful days for a while, and I intend to savor it, and the lemony color of the light that we get in autumn.

So I am off to savor, and breathe the fine air, and I hope to meet you there on the edge of the mist.

MONDAY

I have definitively not opened the window for the unicorn meat eating cats today. The day is starting out with gray skies, with a touch of mist on my face, as I take Max out.

I am turning in the summer clothes for the winter clothes, exchanging them out, as it were. I harvested the last of the lavender yesterday to pack away with the summer things. And I am unpacking the winter clothes which are packed away with last year's lavender...I feel very Jane Austen as I do this.

That's what I call the winter walks: the Jane Austen season. If you read her stories with an eye on the background, you'll notice her characters go walking year round. Considering the time her novels are set in, what else would they do? Her characters are not women to embroider all winter now, are they? No, her women are big, blossoming, thinking women, who do not scorn to get some snow on their shoes...nor will they shy from sinking up to their ankles in mud.

I am able to walk Max again, after spraining my ankle. He is a 50 (U.S.) lbs. weight on the end of a horse lead rope. And he is a swinging weight at that. Like a fish on a line with a sinker, he struggles from one side of the street to the other, scoping out the houses with the dogs inside, all who leap to the window at his approach and make known their angst at his peeing on their mailbox posts. Theirs, mind you. Theirs.

Most notable are the white, Standard Poodle, who is a fair size to leap that fence, and the Boxer and Dalmatian set who are always outside to greet us. The small yappers that people label dogs, are negligible. Although I must say that Max enjoys the company of small dogs. As a Corgi mix, he apparently has a complex about his height, and is intimidated by the interest of the larger dogs, when they are not fenced.

It's time to get back to Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil which is not shaping up to be anything like the movie yet...

This Day

As cold as it is this morning, I have left the window open for the cats. Apparently, Minkins had something going on in the litterbox last night and really needs to go out. I hope you aren't eating breakfast, by the way...

I have been suffering under some unpleasant emotions lately, triggered by this or that, it doesn't take much sometime. But dealing with a tempest in a teapot can make you weary, and these are the days I want to enjoy. Right now, I see the whole of my job to make this the most active and most pleasant of winters that I can. So if I seem more isolated or withdrawn in my blogs, I am simply retreating inward, gathering strength. I would like nothing better than to write of my own outdoors all day long, but my disabilities intrude themselves everyday into my life, sometimes in the smallest of ways.

 I don't know where all this is going, but I have been as honest with you as I can, and would like to remain so. My greatest fear now is that my mind has trained my body so well, that it takes very little brain power to trigger physical illness or reaction, and from then on, the body drags the mind along for the fun. It's a vicious circle that my therapy is trying to break. But when my paranoia extends to my therapist, it just makes the whole process that much harder.

Today I just had to talk about that to let it go. Sharing what my mind does to me makes the grief of it that much shorter. And my friends suffer from my paranoia as well...the best of them have felt the horror that comes over me when my body responds to the mind's illness.

Enough, already. I am reacting and worrying, really, over nothing.  I am lucky, I know, to have as many friends of quality as I have. And I am grateful, more than I can tell you, at YOUR participation in all of this. I am so touched to meet any of you who read my blog and let me begin my day with you.

And it does look to be another fine day. I am sitting here quietly with my dog, watching the morning fog dissipate to show the colors of the day ahead. I am so very grateful to live where I do, when I do. And, no matter what happens on any particular day, at this time of year, I never forget to look out of the window...

Under a Spell

I am going to the used book store today, maybe two, and my heart is beating hard for this adventure. Maybe it's because I am a writer, but, as I think back, maybe it's why I am a writer. I have been surrounded by books for as long as I can remember. And to be 'alone' among them, in towers and stacks, brings to mind the touch of awe that was there at the beginning of the relationship.

I know from my mother, that my father read St. Augustine to my brother and I as he paced the floor with us, just out of the cradle. He and my mother had a reverence for books that was a new as the day Gutenberg printed his Bible. Or even older perhaps. It could date from the time that books were copied one by one, in a monk's cell, and illustrated with the art that made it the life's treasure of the artist.

And so today, to enter a library or bookstore has to me the same quality that I would feel at the entrance to Hogwarts, or King Arthur's Court. 

And it's a fine morning for an adventure...there is a mist in the air, and mist on the ground, and the grass is cold and filled with leaves. It's a day you expect to see dragons come out of the forest...

But this morning, there are only Unicorns...

Winter's Temper

Ok therapy session yesterday...he wants me to start keeping a mood diary again. What a pain in the rear end therapists are...

It's warm enough this morning to let Max out early, and leave the unicorn meat eating cats' window open.  I am eagerly watching the trees now to see the colors change, and the bones of the trees and fields come out. This is the time of year when the Queen changes straight from her coronation robes, to her mourning habit.

Tiny yellow flowers are blooming in the grass, as well as the zinnia, which are more salmon colored than ever. The orange and cream colored blossoms stand in compliment to the turquoise in the pool and the fields are slowly changing to their winter mantle of gold. The slate walk outside my door is darkening, and the flowers that grow between them have long since stopped appearing; dark green leaves are left against white gravel the slate is set in. And the gray morning has the tint of orange that warns us of coming storms.

I have never lived in a large city, and do not know if city dwellers experience the change in the seasons as we do. But, particularly for me, who has lived in the country for most of my life, the seasons' change occurs not only in the palette of the fields and stones and trees, but in the scents and colors that drift on the wind. A difference in the very quality of the air itself can be felt on the cheek when I go out in the morning, more misty and tranquil. And it is only in this season that I can stand on the edge of the day and long for wings, the better to take the winter's temper...

Star

I have both coffee and Prozac this morning. What could go wrong? And, AND, a therapy session today...life is good.

I went to see Toni Morrison last night speak at Virginia Tech, a land grant university in Blacksburg, Virginia. A Nobel prize winning author, etc. etc.

OMG! OMG! OMG! I was so pumped! It was someone saying to me, "I've got tickets to meet Shakespeare. Wanna go?" Oh, and Maya Angelou came in by satellite and Nikki Giovanni was there, the trifecta of writers in America today. As well as many other authors and poets, who read portions of Ms. Morrison's work for the main event of the evening. Now, that doesn't top Toni reading her own work for an hour, but when she came out at the end, to address the crowd, she was in a wheelchair, and older than I would've guessed...I didn't know legends got old...

If you can't manage to read any other of her works, you have to read Beloved. She won the Nobel for that one. It was a magical evening.

The dog is already outside, and the unicorn meat eating cats are begging, but if I open their window, they will sit pensively, in the warmth of the room, looking outside until it warms up. Not going to happen.

And me? I am finally settling down after the emotional roller coaster called a High School reunion. Yeah, it was great, wouldn't have missed it for the world. Wanna get on that emotional backlash again, for a week after? Don't think so...

And I am on the third book of the Merlin series by Mary Stewart. With the weather outside, it is easier and easier to believe that I am in 5th century Britain...all that cold and mist, don't you know.

The Hollow Hills

Max is patiently waiting for me to come back to bed. And I just might this morning.

The leaves are swirling so patiently down into the pool. I may have to climb in it one more time to clear them from the bottom. And the tomato plants have been tidied for the winter...read: mowed down. But the zinnia are still blooming away, and the lavender is at it's most beautiful...the needles are olive green, and the blooms themselves are a dark, dark purple.

In the summertime, I can let the apartment "go."  But now, I want everything around me to be tidy and clean. And I pull out the winter colors, the jewel tones, to spread around me...burgundy, deep gray, teal. In keeping with the Halloween theme I am encouraging in myself, I am reading Mary Stewart's fictional account of the Merlin/Aurthur legend...The Crystal Cave series, or as it is known by her readers, the Merlin Series. There is nothing like losing myself in the magic and mist and songs of 5th century Britain.

Ok. Just made a trip outside to let Max out, and cleaned the leaves in the pool filter while I was out there. My hand was frozen in about two minutes...what in the world made me think I could get in that water? Well, but it has to be done somehow...

I'll figure it out. Enjoy your coffee this morning, Merlin is whispering my name from the Hollow Hills...

Rosebud

Yesterday was another lovely fall day and I was able to get out and enjoy it a bit. I hope you did, too. Now is the time to suck up some serotonin before the winter sets in. Although I must say, that my therapist has me in love with winter. Still, the past couple of winters have been very rough.

But the stressors are different this year, so I am hoping for a good one.

Enough about that. Right now it is beautiful enough to leave the cat window open all day, and there is plenty of sunshine to be had for all. I am trying not to let fear overtake me at this juncture...when Ted was my therapist, he talked me into walking everyday, come rain or shine, in the winter. With Eddie, it was almost a necessity. But when Mom was very ill those last two years, I fell out of the habit. And now my beloved Eddie is gone, too.

I do have to say that what my current dog, Max, lacks in discipline, he makes up for in enthusiasm. He's a corgi mix, and a 50 lb. free weight on the end of a lead rope (leash.) And he is young, and ecstatic when I tell him he is going out. The first 50 yards is always at a dead run, hence, he hasn't been walked since I injured my ankle.

But I am going to take the plunge and try to walk him today...which is even more necessary for me than for him. Despite how "clear" I feel, compared to last year; I still have to push myself to take a shower everyday, in a society where one takes a shower everyday. And sometimes I win and sometimes I lose. I am more successful at persuading myself to brush my teeth. It takes so much less effort than bathing.

The past week, it has taken too much of an effort to even get onto my computer. And I want to nip that in the bud while I still can...

So gather ye Rosebuds while ye may...*

*Robert Herrick 

Falling

Just when I think I can write, I run into a blog like "Thinking Too Hard" and I am blown away. Shit! Will I ever get there?

But writing takes endless patience, and I am not endlessly patient. Sometimes it is like putting my hands into fire, to write everyday. Some days, I could come out of my skin, I want to write so much. And other days, like today, I just want to connect...and it took all of five minutes for my ego to readjust so that I can publish this without blushing, or even blinking...

It's time to brave the arctic wind, and open the windows so the unicorn meat eating cats can hunt. I leave the window open most days now, all day, and they hunt into the night. They know the winter is coming, when hunting is poor. Or they lounge by the pool, bottoms warm in the chair cushions, watching the stars spill across the sky as the sun fades.

And Max, the dog, wants to go out, too. I sit at the computer every morning, casually reaching down now and again to scratch him; chanting to him soft and low, the same songs I gave to Eddie, my service dog. Once in a great while, if I am tired, I call him by Eddie's name...

And more and more leaves swirl into the pool.

More Later

Today is a day of irritations...

Mike, the ailing alcoholic, is second guessing his doctor's orders. According to Mike, Mike has a genius level brain with more experience with his alcoholism than the doctor has. Therefore, the doctor should conform his orders to Mike's wishes. This is the delusional thinking that chases us alkies to death...unless we entertain the possibility that we may be wrong about everything, we will surely die. "Jails, institutions, death."

And that vents a good deal of most of my ire for today. Although there are other small, niggling things wiggling on the edge of my brain that aren't good for me. Like why the State of Virginia is no longer covering my Medicare premiums...I have a phone call in to several politicians and we'll see who gets back to me first...

I wish I had something earth shattering to tell you, to keep you on the edge of your seat. But, it's a blessing to me that I don't. I am just one small person, in a world full of one small people to the tune of what is it now, 7 billion?

And the more I read in today's paper, and the more I hear on the news, I am more and more convinced that we are no different than the one small person in say, Augustus' Roman Empire. And my calls today connect me to the one small person in Rome, who went to the Forum to accost his/her Senator for an answer that affected their one small life...our system of representation is based closely on the system the Romans used. It is no wonder that I feel connected in this way.

But it does make me wonder what that small person's everyday life was like, and I cannot substantially fathom that it was much different than mine, emotionally and spiritually. It does give me a sense of perspective and keeps me much calmer than I would otherwise be.

Perhaps that is why the author Douglas Adams, pointed out that a sense of perspective is the worse thing in the universe to have...after all, at the end of the day, a sense of perspective does not "put beans on the table."

Mine With Lemon

Nostalgia is a powerful emotion and sweet, with a touch of lemon. Lemon enough not to want to stay there forever, and sweet enough to make the trip worthwhile. I have had several months of anticipatory nostalgia, and one weekend of intense nostalgia. I would stay there forever, but to do so requires us to shrivel and grow old with only the past around us.

I consider that I have the best of both worlds...Beth (of Beth and Bubba fame) is part of my past, but she is anything but part of nostalgia. She is vibrant, and current, and makes me stay that way, too; out of tea and sympathy. I hope she does so until my tree falls in the forest.

But we are back to this day, and this morning, tucking the memories away until it is time to pull them out, like old clothes from a chest, and pull a poem from the faded ribbons.

This morning is the coolest yet in this Fall, and I haven't opened the window for the unicorn meat eating cats to go out yet. I have been training Max, the dog, all summer not to go out until 9 AM. It is not paying off. But I hold the hope it will kick in sometime this winter. Before it truly turns cold.

And the moss grows further up the trunk.

The Harvest

When we were 18, we shared our dreams. Now that we are almost 50! we shared our lives. And I must say, it is much sweeter on this end of the deal.

I went to my High School Class 30th Reunion last night. I know, I know, hearing about someone else's reunion is about as exciting as listening to the seasons change...but I love to listen to the seasons change.

It was the simple paradox of listening to how much life had changed some, and looking at some who seemed, on the outside, not to have changed at all (doesn't happen.) I got all "Age does not wither" looking at some of the women I went to school with. It was gratifying to stop and talk and listen to the sound of lives going by as leaves eddy in a gentle, fall wind. We were all trees together in a forest, some bending and swaying, and some standing, leaves rustling, speaking of shoots and saplings of years past, and the storms they had witnessed and survived.

Talking of some who had been overtaken by this storm or that, and who could no longer come to the Gathering; young trees cut down in their prime. Some were seared with lightening strikes, and some had put on new bark, but we remained trees, all.

And truly, one day the Fire will come to clear the forest, and a new one will spring up in it's wake, for wood is born to burn and the clearing of the forest must come to us all.

But now, in this Fall, I can look back at Spring, and see how the light through the leaves has not really changed. There were flowers then, but no harvest. And surely the harvest is needful and necessary and right. And the hope of Spring and again, another harvest to sustain us through the Winter, is something decreed that we cannot change.

Strength

Today is the day of my High School reunion. Beth and Bubba (of Beth and Bubba fame) are in town and I suck up their attention like zinnia suck up the dew. My poor spaz dog felt neglected last night, as I was out on the town, but the kindly stepfather kindly kept him company...

There is cold frost on the grass every morning now, and the grass grows longer, as it is the end of the season. The water in the pool is tinged with green; leaves drift lazily on the water and it has a memory of the scent of the pond. The lavender was harvested and has regrown enough to be harvested again. The lavender plant itself has short, spiky leaves, like fir tree needles, on it's limbs, and it turns silver in the frost. It is, indeed, an evergreen, and keeps it's needles all winter. It is the best greeting for the winter that I know of.

It's a cool morning and there are just enough clouds to embellish the blue of the sky. We are not in full fall colors yet, but the leaves are thinking about it, and the trees sigh. There is a stillness to this morning that I love. The deck around the pool seems like the beach at the end of the year, when most people go home. The water is left, and the wind, and the chairs sit with the imprint of the cats' bottoms on the cushions. Faded towels hang stiffly over the rails and the inflatable toys and floats are faded with the sun and water and rain. 

This time of day is usually tranquil, and it is reflected by the changing leaves and the still bright colors of the zinnia on the dark gray of the paving stones.

Moss accumulates everywhere...

From Sleepy Hollow

Today I get to see my old therapist in his new, natural habitat. He was transferred last week to his new facility, and they have given him a week to adjust to the environment change. In the wild, my therapist burns incense, and it will be interesting to see if his new handlers 'go' for this. They will probably give him extra food, to soothe the transition, and the other therapists will be observed while they give him a small reception.


This is the weather and season to read anything by Washington Irving, the brilliant author of "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" and "Rip Van Winkle." There is nothing like reading about New York City, when it was "a village on the tip of the island of Manhattan." And the Dutch legends and larders he goes on about, at harvest time! Nothing is more Halloween except Harry Potter.

Halloween is my favorite holiday, especially now that I live in the city and can give candy away. The Good Neighbor cooks two massive cauldrons of food, one of red chili, and one of white; and we eat and watch the costumes trip up to the gate, while their parents whisper "Trick or treat" from the end of the sidewalk. Last year, I dressed as a wicked witch. I was an actor in a haunted house too, but the wig about killed me with itching, and I thought I would never get the make-up off.

So enjoy the turn of the seasons with me and start thinking about what you want to be for Halloween...

Too Monday

The crystal glasses I use for everyday just won't do. I have some goblets the cats can cram their faces into to drink the iced water, which are perfect. It's raining softly again this morning and the cats are in and out, out and in.

Yesterday was par for the course...an interpersonal relationship got her feelings hurt, but I had a lovely time with the Saucy Brit and a few friends at her house.

I think fudge for breakfast is my answer. Although I started out healthily enough with a banana, I think fudge is sometimes a good answer to Life's little problems. That and some really good coffee. Other than that, it's too Monday to write...

Days like Molasses

It's raining here in this small corner of the world. It does finally seem October-like. There is an expectant hush on the field, and one lone cricket sings, in a drowsy sort of way. There are many unicorns about in the silver air, but the cats are slow to go out in the mornings now. They huddle on perches, looking out before they plunge into the darker dawn...

The grass is always wet when we wake, and it makes the Spaz dog hesitate to go out. So he curls up in the den of the bedroom until a lemon color strikes the maple tree. The zinnia got so tall that they fell, and now rise up again from the ground, proof that there once was a summer, brave proof for the seasons in their neon glory. We have moved from green and blue and yellow and pink to red and purple and lemon and brown. The very dirt smells more provocative now. And I search fruitlessly for a color-name to describe the scent of a leaf changing color. If anything deserves it, the maple tree does.

I spent a lazy morning yesterday with the Saucy Brit in her shop, talking and running my hands through soft pink and silver gray and mossy green materials. Her shop is filled with the scent of candles, as her mind is full of vision and true wisdom and that earthy sense that make me want to spend all day with her. Pearls gleam softly from the wooden shelves, and velvet pumpkins in rust and gold and brown make me want to lay my head on the lavender pillows covered with velvet and mirrors, pearls and braid.

The days now move like molasses. 

There Be Dragons...

Ok. Ok. So the writing of the blog at night didn't work out. The fact is, I am always awake in the morning but may be less so at night...Most of the time after 8 PM, I want to lay prone and concentrate on how good my feet feel when I am not standing on them.

Plus, it's the gathering of the tribe time. Both cats and the dog have free reign on the bed after 8 PM. I mean, they are welcome there all the time. They just all refuse to cuddle up together until the referee (that's me) is working. And this referee can't strike. She is a slave, not a paid employee.

I'm not going to write anymore about politics, mainly because in this stage of the game, it's a big bore. I just wonder what people will post about after the election. They will probably go back to posts about cute kittens announcing it's Friday (guilty), and peace, love and harmony setting the stage for a perfect world. Although I did like the Facebook post about the discovery of a tiny dragon (no kidding!) in Indonesia in 2009. With pics.

We have massive media networks, and the most important discovery of the natural world since Darwin's Theory is kept under raps for 3 years!?! WTF? That's like saying we discovered elves living in the Amazon and not publishing it. Just think of all the poor gamers, fantasy-world freaks (myself included), and members of the Society for Creative Anachronism out there, who have been waiting for something like this to happen since Tolkien first took pen in hand in World War I. It's just cruel, I tell you. Cruel.

 Everyone will want one. I do. I want one genetically engineered to look like the Welsh Green from Harry Potter movies. And if I have 'lost' any faithful readers by now, don't worry. Sometimes, probably once a year, I live in the real world. But now, we have sighted dragon, and it is the real world...don't bust my bubble.

And, if there is any justice in the world, it will turn out that they eat stinkbugs...

Paranoid

Yes. I am blogging at nighttime. It's a bit odd, but I thought I would shake things up a bit. I have been very squirrely the past two days and lost my ability to look at a computer screen. I'm sorry. I missed you too.

One of the unicorn meat eating cats has developed an abscess where a tiny dragon bit him. I know it was a tiny dragon because I have been living in a teeny, tiny place lately and I saw him fly away. I drained the place against Rat Faced Bastard's will and gave him some penicillin and he feels much more perky, but still gets persnickety at times. 

As I say, I have been in a teeny, tiny world just watery with the quality of paranoia. I went to see my psychiatrist but he poo poo'ed the idea of me being paranoid. Apparently to him, I am not paranoid until I am at the point that I refuse to come in to his office and only communicate with him by walkie talkie. He explained it away as something else and gave me another anti-Evil pill. Not that I mind more anti-Evil pills. One can never get too many. One just never knows, does one?

Of course I am being good: taking my pills, eating, and showering...yes, I have done it all in the past two days! And, as usual, my friends have paid, with my need for pep talks, and my enduring critical attitude. For those times, when I feel my head is going to pop off, I have over the counter anti-Evil pills. Specifically, benedryl. Yes, that's the only access to the good drugs that I have, as my shrink is stingy. Did I mention he is fabulously wealthy and sleeps like the proverbial rock? All psychiatrists do, you know. That's one thing that keeps me awake at night...

Departure

It's always heartening to start the day by hearing, "Up, bitch?" but it's par for the course for Vapid. And the truth is, she is saying it from another room because she can't say it to my face.

Other than that, it looks as if it will be a beautiful Saturday, and I hope you enjoy yours.

It's already time to think about pawing through the winter clothes. Do you pack yours up in the Spring, like I do? I have so many clothes, in total, that I have to. And guessing about the delicate moment when the seasons change and will not look back can be an exercise in futility. I always end up being cold in the Fall and warm in the Spring, but I can't figure any way out of it, than to pare the clothes down to the point of being absolutely naked year round...

We are all frightened once again as the Middle East heats up. France is preemptively closing 20 of it's embassies in various countries in anticipation of backlash from a comic strip depicting Muhammad. We truly cannot afford another war(s), either in those lost or killed or financially; which I know, is a shitty way to look at anything, but is sometimes necessary in this material world. The headquarters of Ansar al-Sharia, the group responsible for  the attack on the American embassy in Libya, has been routed by thousands of Pro-American protestors and government forces in Benghazi. Of course.

One thing I noticed about living overseas, is that our news media is so very U.S. centered. We hear almost no news from Europe, much less about the countries farther East. There is no replacement for exposure to the world. When seen from overseas, the U.S. and it's 'problems' seem so small. It is a bit like what the astronauts express about seeing the Earth from outer space. And we base our actions on the small sound-bytes that we get...and off to war we go.  That fact is much more frightening than anything happening in the Middle East.

And, if you are wondering where I am going with all of this...I don't know. I just realize all day long what a tiny speck I am in this tiny speck of this town, in this tiny country, on this tiny planet. Scientists say that the polar ice caps will melt completely during the summer in four years. To me, that is much more frightening than anything any group of people can do: it is all of humankind working for our demise. Such thoughts keep me from thinking I am so odd, after all.

Birth Day

The weather is prime for unicorns, and I have to restrain the cats from bringing in 2 or 3 through the window in the morning...


The year is truly winding rather quickly into Fall, and I soak up the weather like it's my last breath.

My therapist, Vinnie, is moving today to his new location, Walnut Avenue. By happenstance it is the same office that I see my psychiatrist at, and where I saw my former therapist, Ted, for 15 years. This occurrence, in tandem with the Fall weather, has me nostalgic.

I suppose the start of the school year in conjunction with Halloween reminds me of the fourth of my life that was childhood. And despite the things I discuss with Vinnie, my childhood in a small town was truly privileged. It was the perfect small town at the perfect time. The time is gone, and the small town isn't small anymore, but a miniature version lives on in my head forever. I am always riding a bicycle, the evenings are cool, and it is always near Halloween.

I can bike from one end of the small town to the other, and there is no house where I do not know someone. And I suppose, in a way, that is why I enjoy Roanoke so much. I have now lived the majority of my life here, and know from friends of friends, and different causes, pretty much everyone here. Everywhere I go, I know someone who knows someone...you catch my drift.

And I hate to leave you in the midst of my musings, but it is someone's birthday, after all.

Just Today

The zinnia have all fallen over, they are so tall, but continue to bloom beautifully. Pink, deeper pink, lighter pink, red, orange and faintly cream colored, they are there at the start of every day and they are there at the ending, as well.

It is cooler in the mist of the mornings in this small corner of the world, and the cats hesitate before going out. It's all to the good because I don't want to face their outrage on the day that I don't open their window at all. I have seen Canadian Geese migrating already and hope we have a cold winter.

Spaz is sitting at my feet. He has been out this morning. It's unusual for him to go out before 8 AM, but he refused to go out most of yesterday, because of the rain. For a rescue dog, he can be mighty picky at times.

Today, I am not so strident and it feels good. I love this weather and want to be low-key enough to enjoy it. Things are settling out and we are looking toward the kindly stepfather's birthday this Friday. He doesn't want anything, even a cake, much less a party. So I am planning a party and had Good Neighbor make one of her specialty cakes, and bought his present 2 weeks ago.

A very ephemeral part of my job is to make his life more interesting. So I bring the world to him as much as I can, to busy his mind. I have brought as many of my friends as I can here, smuggling them past Vapid, and he loves to entertain any religious person who knocks on his door. Of course, Sunbunny visits most often and her presence is a joy to us both. We sit in his room and talk and laugh until the walls shake.

I hope the day stays cool and cloudy; I like a certain gloominess leading up to Halloween, one of my favorite holidays. January and February is when I want crystal clear days, with a cold wind. When I walk then, I love to smell the cold and the scent of leaves and bark underfoot. And pine was invented to be smelled in the winter...

I Consume

Don't you hate it when your unicorn meat eating cat looks at the door (from the outside) and meows? Then, when you open the door, you find they just want to meow to you? This is the same cat, Rat-face Bastard, that sleeps beside the food bowl at night, thereby preventing Minkins from eating...

Well, now that I have gotten off of my chest, crap about the world that really bothers me: see yesterday's blog; I can pick it back up again today. I had to explain to a mentally disabled comrade yesterday that she wasn't a bad person because she is "ill." English has picked words with negative connotations to describe people built like me. "Ill", "disabled" and the mental health field has picked the worst one: we are "consumers".

For someone who leans toward the Left, as I do, that is the harshest cut of all. I support the causes of marriage for all, women's rights, animal rescue, save the planet, etc. The last word I want attached to me is "consumer". When I run that word through my mind, what pops up is a vision of me dressed in puritanical garb covering a corset, burning a plastic grocery bag in the front yard and watching the smoke dissipate to destroy the ozone...

It brings up a vision like this: I once attended the only NIMH meeting (National Institute of Mental Health) listed on the web in town. I thought it would be a meeting of my peers. What I walked into was a meeting of about 30 healthcare professionals and 3 of my peers.

I just really had my heart set on seeing and talking to more people like me. I had no therapist at the time, and really needed to feel less isolated.

Anyway, to then be told the pros referred to "us" as consumers really burst my bubble. Consumers? Like we give nothing? To me, the word "patients" would even be better but apparently that word is used by physicians and their ilk to refer to someone who sees them as a personal doctor.

To me the word Consumer denotes a person who doesn't recycle. I don't know why. It's just a depressing word. Now, there is the word "challenged" which is not used much anymore, "mentally challenged," but that doesn't describe how I feel and how my disorders affect me. I am emotionally challenged. My disorders display themselves in my emotional life, and that is a whole different can o' worms.

Think about all the things that emotions rule in your life (everything) and you will see where the problems lie. There is no escape from emotions. "Emotional Dysregulation Person" is perfect but not very sonorous, and there is that word "dysregulation."

I know I am nit-picking (and gods above, what a word that is! Think about it!) but I don't care today. Being 'wired and tired' as I am, I just do not care. What little care I can scrape up today with be given to the spaz dog as an offering.

Until tomorrow...

Good Mornings

I have smelled the zinnia this morning, and the coffee, and it looks to be a particularly fine day. The spaz dog is outside, after some roughhousing, and the cats are inside, looking out. Why, I do not know. I keep telling them that they will have enough looking-out days in the winter. But perhaps they have declared a moratorium on the hunting of unicorns, because every creature should enjoy this fine weather.


Today is a day for mowing the lawn, cleaning my apartment (as I like to call the defuzzing), and maybe checking out the Greek Festival in our small corner of the world. I have tended to the kindly stepfather this morning, and Vapid is nowhere in sight, although her cats sneak up to me in the kitchen and beg for love. I always oblige them...I can't help it; they are so handsome.

With the Good Neighbor, I will also be making the kindly stepfather's birthday cake this weekend. She is the penultimate baker and we are planning a lemon cake. With her help, it is sure to be a success, and people far and wide will come to sample the cake.

I feel normal again today, with lots of energy and it is an odd sensation. I am hanging on to normalcy as long as I can. Although I would be a bit more laid back, if I could. But "Beggers can't be choosers", as the saying goes, and I will take what comes my way.

I would chime in on what I think of the coming presidential race and the protest going on in the Middle East, but that's not what this blog is about. It is for the silent and unsilent millions who suffer from mental disabilities...it is for my friend who cut herself the other day and is living in agony that she did not ask for. It is for those who cannot get out of bed today, or any day, and for those who are victimized because of their disorders. It is for the highest and the lowest of those who remain untreated because of our sad lack of knowledge of what propels the human brain.

It's time to face the zinnia again...and I hope you can face your zinnia today.

Rant

Thank all the gods I have therapy this morning! I have spent the last hour trying to keep a fellow blogger from cutting or committing suicide. They are not the same impulses, although many people think they are. Cutting has a lot to do with numbness or rage. Suicidal impulses have to do with hopelessness, depression and feelings of worthlessness.

And yes, with Borderline Personality Disorder, it is possible to feel both to the point of being overwhelmed by one's impulses. When you are in those states, it takes every last shred of energy just to get out of bed, much less to make the bed, or walk to the window or the door to get some fresh air. You are simply frozen where you are until the attack passes. If it passes before you damage yourself. Everything in you screams to be relieved of the pain, hopelessness and of the self. There is no past or future. Everything hangs on the edge of a blade.

And, in return, society posts cartoons belittling people on disability and/or foodstamps. I read a rant against Facebook cartoons about those on foodstamps and disability this morning and I agree with her. Invisible disabilities and poverty are punishable by smearing in the public media and in social situations. If you are not dripping lice and wearing rags, you have no right to any assistance.

While those of us at the bottom of the food chain keenly feel society's punitive attitude. We blame ourselves for being poor, which adds to the burden of the mentally "ill". I paid into the system for years, and right now, I cannot get any dentist in the Roanoke Valley to re-do a filling. There are programs for the unemployed, for the employed and low income, and for children. Laudable efforts, all. There is no program for the disabled, invisible or visible, in Roanoke. We are just supposed to drop off of the face of the earth. F**k you and your teeth and your concerns about your health and well-being.

God forbid you should be concerned about your appearance. Because the poorer you look, the more disgusted society is. Yes, "they" deserve having a mental illness, "they" deserve being born with cerebral palsy, or having an accident or a stroke.

That's enough for now. I am trying to fight for the life of someone I have never met and it has me stirred to the point of outrage for them. The lack of drugs for our conditions, the lack of help, the lack even of any kind of concern or compassion is enough to drive one into a frenzy. 

So the next time you feel a need to pass on those cute cartoons on Facebook denigrating those living on disability, in poverty, please don't share.

Zinnia

I feel absolutely normal today. What an odd sensation!

On Tuesday, I took the kindly stepfather to his brother's funeral. I was a casket case. I do not do well at funerals. It is not the contemplation of my own mortality that messes up my head, but the memory of similar rituals in the past, when I was not sane. What the body learns, the body will repeat. It's called muscle memory, and is the biggest hurdle, besides Vapid, in my path right now.

Usually, I don't let noise from the outside world into my blog, but the piggy instincts of NBC bear scrutiny. Actually, pigs are very intelligent and quite sensitive, so I will forgo that description...suffice it to say that NBC has once again screwed up. From it's f**ked up coverage of the Olympics, to it's non-coverage of the Paralympic Games, to it's refreshing coverage of a Kardashian breast job during a memorial moment yesterday, the Powers That Be at NBC have defied description yet again. They are an embarrassment to our planet.

Speaking of the outside world, the news that the embassies in Libya and Cairo were attacked yesterday resulting in the death of the American ambassador to Libya, is alarming. I think the weight of those actions will sit on our shoulders for some time, and I dread the increasing noise from those countries. Save us from another war!

Harry Golden, the noted writer from New York and North Carolina, once remarked on his collection of newspaper articles. After a half a century of collecting the headlines, what really interested him, and what he found most valuable, were the articles on the other side of the paper. The everyday news of goings on in the community. Wars come and go, but a little girl's confirmation is a lifetime event that shouldn't be missed...

I wish I could describe how profoundly the above events have affected me, but the news is too new. In a world that went insane a long, long time ago, all I can do right now is hold onto the life raft of my own sanity. Even in my madness, I cannot make up the headlines in today's paper.

And the unicorn meat eating cats are hunting, but I have forgotten to listen to the zinnia this morning...

The Hunt

It's been two whole days and I missed you so much!!!

I am coming out of mania and a morning's dose of borderline paranoia (yesterday). I was fortunate this time, it was a  pretty mild attack. A conversation with my psychiatrist on Friday was unsatisfying; he wants me to take Depakote, and I won't. It's a very effective mood stabilizer that adds weight, on me at least, by leaps and bounds. I just haven't made it to the point where I can easily choose to weigh 200+ U.S. pounds. It's only when I am at the edge that I mentally agree with the proposition, and by then it's too late.

I got out and enjoyed myself this weekend. Breakfast with a friend on Friday, and a festival yesterday. It's been a positive whirlwind for this little recluse...

I spent most of the day yesterday at a local festival called "Olde Salem Days." Simply put, they close the downtown area of the adjoining town and invite artists and artisans to set up shop on the street. I have never been, and after walking the length and breadth of the festival street, just to say I have done it, I retired to the shop of the Saucy Brit, where my friend Exponential was working. Saucy and her husband promptly took me out to lunch.

I do like being around a lot of people all at once, as I am a people watcher. And since the Saucy Brit and her husband Tom Cat, are both intelligent and well spoken, as well as being kind, the lunch was truly a delight.

We sat in an enclosed garden, separated from the crowd by a cool, leafy barrier. There was a pleasant murmuring coming from the street and the scents of various festival foods drifted with the wind. An hour of shopping had filled my eyes with glitter and wood tones and flashing color until they could hold no more. And so, stuffed with sight and sound and good food, Saucy and Tom Cat propped me up at the shuttle, and bid me adieu. I promptly came home and took a nap, which is as it should be. All the best festivals end that way...

A light dinner and waking to a cool morning have been the best medicine.  Life doesn't get any better.

More Better

The crickets are chirping outside, and the zinnia are faintly humming from the rain we got yesterday. The unicorn meat eating cats are hunting and Max, my spaz, is running from the bed to me and back.

I am more better today because I get to see my therapist today and I got to see my brother, Marc, yesterday.

Marc lives way out in the country, way out, like go forever and take a left at the tall tree, and then go over the mountain, and take the gravel road for 50 miles. You catch my drift. He has 43 chickens, so he has run out of names. 1 Highland bull, Hamish, who he treats as a pet, and Hamish returns the favor. Highland cattle are those red, hairy, cows with horns that you see grazing in the fields in pictures of Scotland. They look like Cousin It's version of a cow and this one is a lovebug. He also has 4 rescue horses, 2 rescue dogs and his German Shepherd and his 2 rescue cats.

My personal favorites are his dog Bubba, and the new rescue kitten, Hope. But Marc went out and brushed Hamish while I was there, and Hamish kept trying to rub his head, complete with wicked horns, against Marc lovingly whilst he was being brushed. Hamish is 700 U.S. pounds now, and will end up around 2100 pounds, so Marc is getting in on his good side while the gettin's good, as they say.

When you put 2 Stewarts of our branch in a room together, the talk naturally turns to death and the family dysfunctions. Or the family dysfunctions of the dead. There is plenty to talk about on our side of the family tree. And laughing at something you fear is always better than sitting home alone in angst about it.

So now I think I can face my therapist today with equanimity while he tells me about his plans for the next 10 years...

Death

I had a brief chat with Death yesterday, and it took all of my anxieties away. The kindly stepfather's brother is passing away from alcoholism and it is a terrible event to behold. The hospital smells, the quiet, waiting family, the minister, the doctors, and the unsteady beeps from the monitors are underlined by the silent death waiting his turn in the room.

I reached out to Death, with my mind, as I am sure countless of people have through all of history. I realized then that Death is with me all of the time. And if I reach down far enough into myself, I can hear the echo of the waiting stillness inside of me. He has been my companion for all of my life. Not just the first time my mother tried to kill herself, but at my grandmother's funeral and then, very closely at the car accident when I was 18.

And so it must be that we are all as close to death as we are to life every minute of every day. No matter what age, death and life are waiting at a moment's turn. And way too many brilliant philosophers have pondered this question for me to come up with anything close to profound.

I simply want to say, that I was struck by awe sitting in that room.

Beginnings

I felt a bit wobbly in my orbit yesterday, which ended up on a phone call to my therapist. He steadied me, but it was a horrifying way to start the day. I could physically feel something moving around in the base of my scull, and it was as if something else was looking through my eyes. Not a good sign.

My Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) is in remission right now, and I don't want it to come back. I don't feel stressed and yet I am developing symptoms of stress overload. I have felt a steady leach of my courage for the past week, in particular, and I had forgotten the warrior that I am.

My therapist's answer was to go to the library and check out any book on BPD written by someone with the disorder, and then check out a book designed to make me laugh until I pee in my pants. I got the first one, and it is always David Sedaris for something funny. Now it's time to work on eating lots of green vegetables and walking more.

I can't really do anything else to keep the disorder at bay, except to write about it, and I am doing that here with you.

Meanwhile, I put on my happy face so others will leave me alone to fight this battle. Today, I just don't know anything but that this feeling, like all feelings, will pass, and leave me panting on the beach, holding on for dear life. I will be surrounded by the shells the passing storm has thrown onto the sand to keep me company.

I do not want to alarm anyone with this post. My disorders come and go like tides and I do hang on. But for the first time, I want to document the passing storm, if it comes. A poet once told me that everything that needs to be written up to this point in time, has been written; and we discover more writings each day. Just write it and it will be found by someone, somewhere, where it will be the most beneficial.

Meanwhile, I have actually found something fun to do today, with others of my kind, but I wanted to spend time with you, here, alone, before it begins.

Really?

I wanted to do a piece on Ted, my old therapist today, but it's coming out like trying to eat jello with chopsticks, so I have put it on the back burner for another day.

Sometimes poems take a lifetime to write. Indeed, I have been working on some poems for that long, and some I will never finish. I will just put them down on paper at some point, interrupting their poem lives, and those who read them will think they are finished, when they are not.

It is 4 o'clock in the morning...one of my favorite times of day. It's cool and quiet outside and a blue moon is promised for tonight. The cats are excited. Prime unicorn hunting during a blue moon.

My therapist is moving to a new office, to the business owned by my psychiatrist, actually. While I am ecstatic for my therapist, yesterday officially SUCKED. I don't know, with all the financial arrangements, if I will be able to continue seeing him. My response to the news was to go to an AA meeting and eat a pint of ice cream.

But first, I called my psychiatrist's office to MAKE it happen. If he could somehow order my therapist to see me. I mean, let's get real. I have sunk a fortune into my psychiatrist, and deserve some consideration for being one of his most loyal nutjobs. I found out it doesn't work that way. 

Then, I called my therapist to MAKE it happen. When he had already told me he wouldn't know until Tuesday. It will break my heart if I have to lose him. I just can't do it. Breaking them in is so hard. You have to teach yourself to trust them, which is hard enough. But first, you have to find out if they are trustworthy, which is what I suck at.

With my disorders, particularly the Borderline Personality disorder, you have a hard time trusting anyone. Then, when you do, you are almost always wrong. But since you are going to f**k up the relationship anyway...catch my drift?

But my therapist was personally vetted and endorsed by a friend who also has BPD, so he started with a leg up on that one. It was a cinch win for me. I couldn't lose. Until now. So I have gone into disaster preparedness mode, and ate an entire pint of ice cream last night. It's better than drinking, but that's beside the point. All I can do now is hold on until Tuesday and try not to eat too much until then. It's a good thing I'm broke and fudge is so expensive.

Red

It's a cool morning with a touch of mistiness about it. The unicorn meat eating cats have given up sleep, and are out hunting. Even Max, the spaz dog, is awake. He has to have total darkness to sleep and I have left the bedroom light on...

The cicadas stopped singing some while ago, and it's only the quieter crickets you can hear now in the morning. The zinnia are attracting all kinds of butterflies, and the lavender is home to some large, fat, bumbling bees.

I have been jumping on the computer the moment I wake, and have been forgetting to listen to the 'silence' of summer mornings. I pay for it in the long run, so I devoted my blog hour yesterday to listening.

Late summer mornings always seem to hold their breaths, waiting for fall. The grass still needs mowing, and the pool still needs cleaning, but the very air has changed. I pick tomatoes in a feverish hurry, as if the bounty will end tomorrow. One or two trees on the hillside have put on their colors, even as the roses still bloom.

There is such an air of expectation in the fall, which ends with a sigh in winter. And I love winter. In this area of the world, and climate change, we don't get many deep snows anymore. Although the wind can blow mighty cold in January, down in this little valley.

But it's the bones of winter that I love. The trees and bushes abandon modesty, and stand naked. Some have touches of green, or berries of red or yellow or gray. But there they are, in all their glory. The fields turn gold, and the lavender turns silver. The creek becomes clear again, and the slate and shells at the bottom are set against the stones and the darker moss.

The sun turns pale, white against the bluer sky, and the air feels cleaner. I love the days when your breath and the grass is tipped silver. The leaves crackle underfoot and have a moist, earth smell. The grass near the creek stays green, and the little waterfall plumes over the rock, sending up it's own scent.

This is what I dream of when the day gets too moist and hot now. Or what I think of when I am tired of all the green, and want something red to think about and it's too hot to think of red, except in tomato form. I'm going to enjoy the coolness of the day while I can.

.

Sherbert Lemon*

Another day, some more pills.

Max, my corgi mix who has seizures, is resting peacefully in bed. I wish I could join him, but it's late, already 6 AM, and it's the day to mow the lawn. That might sound like a real bore, but I love the scent of mowed grass, and walking around under a cloudless sky. It's exhilarating. Especially since it hasn't been that long ago that I couldn't walk outside.

Max is now getting a walk every day. I had stopped for a while. His lean and lithe puppyhood has passed, and he is turning into a chunky dog. One of the best things my old therapist, Ted, did for me is hypnotize me. His only command? Walk every day. Only God knows what else he told me, but I am still alive, so I won't quibble on that part.

It didn't hurt that I had one of the most beautiful places on earth to walk. I went to Hollins University, and they have a stunning landscaper. With a little help from the gods, and some really neat paths, it was enough to entice me to walk.

Some days it was brilliant outside, and completely cloudless, and yet I felt as if I were walking in a tunnel. The edges of my vision would turn black, and all I could see was the tree or bush or whatever in front of me. The edges weren't so foglike after I got Eddie, my service animal.

I was so far gone that I even walked in darkness with him sometimes. For a woman, always a bad idea, no matter where you are. And particularly not when you are completely insane. I just didn't want anyone else to see me, I don't know why. Or talk to me, or pet my dog.

It ended up in daylight, and Eddie and I would pick up trash on the campus. There was a lot of it, that year. It was my own personal garden, and I felt satisfaction when I pulled up tires from the mud of Tinker Creek, or collected beer bottles on my way. I had an estate. Then the University hired someones to pick up for me and it was a bit less satisfying, but more beautiful.

There has been a lull in my walking since Eddie died two years ago and I am trying to pick up the pieces. Winter is coming on and walking in that season has it's own pleasures. The naked branches of the trees hold the stars in their hair. Flashes of red are cardinals, which no longer leave in the winter. The earth is less flashy, but more solid. And the colors! The slate at the bottom of Tinker Creek, against the brown of the grass and earth is more defined. And the moss stays green the year round. Even the small waterfall speaks louder and the air has the color of mist.

But now, there is still time for the lemony colors of fall, and the scent of a coffee house, and cake. 

*JK Rowling

Stating the Obvious

For the first time ever, Saudi Arabia has shown up on my stats. Blogspot saves the statistics of how many hits you get in a day, month, etc., which posts generate the most hits, and where the hits are coming from geographically. I don't know about other bloggers, but I run to stats as fast as I can sign in. I live on the numbers. I am being read! Hurrah!

And now, Saudi Arabia has taken a look, and I have a feeling you went right to the post, "Sex". Don't ask me how. Like Harry Potter standing in front of Prof. Snape, I just know.

Yesterday, it being the weekend, my stats hit a low, and I ran to my Muses, the Saucy Brit and Exponential. They, being sterling friends, promptly 'reposted' my blog on Facebook, and my stats went back up. I am so needy in so many ways. But after writing for a year with one or two views a day, if any, it is exhilarating to be read in numbers.

My UK numbers fell off after the Olympics, an opposite brain drain effect, but I seem to have a steady increase in Russia. I wonder if Putin will try to stop it?

Of course, me being me, some days I feel brilliant and some days I feel like I am scraping the bottom of the pan to get a post out. I'm writing about the habits of two cats and a dog? Really? But when one comes down to the End of all, it will be those ordinary things I am leaving behind that I miss the most. My zinnia, the lavender, my friends, those rescue animals...this is life. To state the obvious.

And so I write about today and of those memories it is both painful and delicious to remember: feeding two orphan cats out of an eye dropper when I couldn't feed myself, and picking Rat Face Bastard up out of the snow and taking him home, found while I was searching for Oscar Wilde, who never did come home.  The zinnia and lavender I thought, as an apartment dweller, that I would never grow again in this life. The discovery of new friends after all the old ones, excepting Beth, dumped me. Which was perfectly understandable at the time, insanity is frightening. But it was, and sometimes is, painful to think about.

And this blog. All of my portfolio, all the work I have ever produced in my life, disappeared in the move away from the house in Botetourt County. The poems I wrote when I was 10, my short stories from the period of my father dying...all gone, forever. And all I can do is rebuild it starting with my blog posts. I suppose that's why I write every day. Sometimes, I want back all I have lost.

Sometimes, it's better off gone.

There was a time I even lost the urge to read and write. So now I write, as honestly as I can, so that you can understand how you can lose your mind but not your spirit. How you can lose your soul, but not your life. I write to tell you that I have been where you have been and there is another side to the tunnel. And I write to tell your friends and family how you feel, if you cannot.

Meanwhile, it's time to feed the kindly stepfather. The cats are circling in their never-ending search for that perfect unicorn, and the Spaz is waiting in bed, like a good dog. I'm just glad I will have time to pick more zinnia today...

Movement

Ugh. I'm glad you're here. I woke up this morning with horrible nightmares. I take something to help me sleep, it is prescription, and it does a fine job, except for the nightmares. But it's better than spending all night listening to the clock ticking.

The air outside is cool this morning, and the cats are hunting. After getting up and deciding there is not much to occupy himself, spaz dog has gone back to bed. After all, he can't help me chain smoke and drink coffee, although he would if I asked.

The water in the pool is still blue and inviting, and the zinnia are chest high in resplendent profusion, but the change in the weather is definitely here.

Vapid started screaming at her cats about an hour ago, when Married but Single left the house. But hopefully she will be in a coma when I have to go up and start the day for the kindly stepfather. 

Every day, as I write, I look at a picture of Eddie, my service animal, who passed 2 years ago. Sometimes still, my very body aches over his passing. His ghost lives in the rear seat of my car. His presence was the only reason I could drive, so long ago. I still carry his service jacket in the trunk. I can't look at it every day, but when I need reassurance I can hold it. I can't write about this any more.

Having a psychiatric service animal is a very touchy proposition. You can train any dog well, but will they respond to that person's own particular emotional and physical needs? THAT, is the Gift.

I am trying to Keep It Simple today, because the thought of life after summer, sober, is frightening...but today is dedicated to mowing the grass, which I love to do. I will just have to face the rest of it when I get there.

And then there are my new friends, the Saucy Brit and Storm. I imagine they can cheer up even Christmas. The Saucy Brit is as vibrant as an oil painting, and Storm is an Italian summer evening year round. And then there is a younger version of them, Exponential, who can shake off depression like a sword in the forge...Life may not be so bad, after all. 

Moonbeams

I told a friend on Facebook last night that I was probably on some people's "Do Not Meet and Greet" list for my 30th high school reunion after yesterday's post. But, so far on Facebook, those attending seem determined to discuss politics. If that is all they have to discuss after not seeing each other for 30 years, then I don't want to talk to them either. They have lived in vain. Just sayin'.

The therapy session went well, as always. I just can't lose on that score. I have had two therapists in my life, and I have won both times. Ted was elegant, expensive, and gifted, and Vinnie is elegant, gifted and funded by the United Way, bless their souls.

I even told Vinnie what my fantasy life is like. You know, the world I live in when this one is too much. He told me that it was good to have one, but I don't think I'm supposed to live in one ALL the time. I can do it, it just makes me seem very absent minded.

Onto old news, Prince Harry, third in line to the throne, got caught in Vegas playing strip billiards. The picture shows him quite naked, holding the royal jewels. His fan page had this to say, "Why didn't his guard detail confiscate all cell phones?" Which is an upside down look at it, but as Douglas Adams says, the universe does not need a sense of perspective.

What happens in Vegas does not stay in Vegas, apparently. And yes, I am a Royal watcher. It just seems so much more dignified than buying that magazine with J Lo on the cover. You know which one I mean. One wonders if therapists are available to the Royals.

Or maybe they have pets. I love corgis, having a corgi mix myself, but you never see Charles, or William, etc. with any dogs or cats. I think, as punishment, Harry should be locked into a room with a good, fat British shorthair cat. It will solve all his problems, and then the media will be deluged with photos of Harry with moonbeams shooting out his royal arse.

And with that graphic picture still in your head, I will leave you until tomorrow. Adieu. 

Borderline Personality Disorder: Adult Content

 I was going to give you the Wikipedia definition, but felt it was too detailed. Yes, this is the stigmatizing, unnamed disability I have. The symptoms of PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) are pretty easy to spot for me. But differentiating between BPD and Bipolar disorder is truly a nightmare.  It's also pretty much all my long-suffering psychiatrist wants me to do. And, as I mentioned in my last post, my therapist tries to keep track of this shit, too.

To me, it's a bit like someone asking you the manufacturer's name of a chain link fence, when you are being held against the fence by a mugger. It is just not that important at the moment.

When I was first diagnosed, all sorts of horrible images ran through my head: was I a baby killer? An animal torturer? Did I eat whale meat? Was I, God forbid, a Consumer? So I promptly shelved the problem for 15 years, while my therapist and psychiatrist worked on it without me knowing. I vaguely remember that time. I was quite nutty and psychotic and I couldn't deal with One More Thing. I also started drinking again, which, to me, solved that problem right then and there. What problem?

Apart from the stigma, which exists even among health care professionals, I have hesitated to name this problem for this reason: it makes me even more vulnerable to the sickos out there.

You might be getting a real laugh out of that one, but it can be a common complaint, even within families. There are many human beings who, knowing you have a mental illness, set out to take advantage of your condition. They are the same sickos who rape people who are in a coma, or aren't able to speak, etc. Yes, it does happen. And it is not nearly infrequent as you would like to think.

The doctor who sexually assaulted me targeted women with Bipolar disorder. I was targeted for years by a guy who pretended to know the aliens in my head, and ended up stealing some of my jewelry. He was comparatively mild, he only wanted 'company' and beer money. Or there are the numerous people who simply like f**king with you because you are mentally ill. That kind also tortures baby animals. I have even been taken advantage of by a private, non-profit that I worked for.

And families? Well, some families belittle those family members with disabilities by chalking up every action, emotion, and decision to the disorder(s). This is the hardest to accept. This is Stigma.

People who don't know enough think that the Person IS the disorder(s) that they have. All it boils down to is this: I am not different from you, but I might react differently than you would. And I might not, it depends on the culture that person lives in. I would have made a brilliant shaman, to name one.

 The unicorn meat eating cats are awake and want to go outside and Max, my spaz puppy, is asleep in the bed. The zinnia and lavender have been humming quite loudly lately, happy with all the rain we have had, and the grass is growing as we speak, as they say. And there are true friends in the world, which makes the journey all worthwhile.

As Anne Frank wrote, "Those who love me have found me."


WebMD has this to say:
Borderline personality disorder is a mental illness that causes intense mood swings, impulsive behaviors, and severe problems with relationships and self-worth. People with this disorder often have other problems such as depression, eating disorders, or substance abuse.

Everyone has problems with emotions or behaviors sometimes. But if you have borderline personality disorder, the problems are severe, repeat over a long time, and disrupt your life. The most common symptoms include:

• Intense emotions and mood swings.
• Impulsive behaviors that are self-damaging, such as substance abuse, binge eating, and reckless driving.
• Relationship problems.
• Low self-worth.
• A frantic fear of being left alone (abandoned).
• Aggressive behavior.

Other symptoms may include:

• Feeling empty inside.
• Problems with anger, such as violent temper tantrums.
• Hurting yourself, such as cutting or burning yourself.
• Suicide attempts and suicidal thoughts.
• Feeling suspicious of others for no reason (feeling paranoid) or losing a sense of reality.

It is easy to confuse this disorder with other mental illnesses such as antisocial personality disorder. So if you think that you or someone you know may have borderline personality disorder, see a doctor. Don't try to diagnose yourself.

The Song Remains the Same*

One of the unicorn meat eating cats came in to grab some trail mix, (Cat Chow), and distracted me right at the beginning today. But it's a good way to start the day, along with my time with you. I cut back old zinnia so new could grow, and harvested the lavender. We finally got some cucumbers from the vine, and the late season tomatoes are larger and more robust than the earlier.

It's only 2 more days until my therapy session and I think I have decided to live. A month with only two sessions reminds me a bit too much of Laura Ingalls Wilder's, The Hard Winter, where the whole family starves through a brutal South Dakota winter.

Today is a day that I like to call Listening to Ghosts. It's a meditative mood, where I withdraw into myself for a length of time. My therapist will want me to break it down into differing chords for him. And like an intricately interwoven set of music, it is my job to try to separate the individual melodies that make up the whole, so that he can help me direct each instrument. 

I have tried to avoid it, it can be very confusing. It's like walking into a room where all the instruments are warming up. There seems to be nothing but Chaos. In reality, each instrument is playing it's favorite song. The PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) is playing one tune, and the Bipolar disorder even another. And then there is the unnamed disorder I won't tell you the name of, sharpening it's skills. The sound is overwhelming, so I retreat into a world of fantasy, where I control everything. In order to do that, however, I have to cut down on sensory input. No t.v., no music, no conversation, no attention to the outside world. All of these become physically painful.

The only way to fight it, is to stay in the room and brave the sound. Sometimes I can do that, and sometimes not. Alcohol made it easier to withdraw, but brought along a brass section.

And so, here I sit this morning, limiting my attention to this page, and the fantasy world calls in the distance, like a trumpet playing Taps.



*Led Zepplin

Sex

This is not the blog I wanted to write. After my mini vacation this weekend, I wanted to write a funny blog. Something entertaining. But what has come out is just the flat and unfunny truth. And I am sorry about that. Maybe tomorrow. But there is a lot of anguish in being mentally disabled, and particularly bipolar, since I can only speak from my own experience. And the anguish tends to leak all over the place. That said, here it goes.

Orgasm isn't any different for us than it is for others. It's the same old, same old thing and we like it that way. What is different is that our medications effect our sex drive. And that's a whole different can of worms.

Now, I know the readers without mental disabilities are thinking, "Well, my blood pressure medicine affects my sex drive. How are they any different?" What if EVERY pill your doctor prescribed for anything affected your sex drive For The Worse? And, no matter how much they changed them, if you did get one that didn't affect your sex drive (doesn't happen, by the way) it has the side effect of say, bleeding from the eyes? Or permanent damage to the kidneys?

So, at the beginning, we are set on an endless cycle of searching for a medication that doesn't have THAT effect. It's Something We All Know.

Then there is dangerous "sex", which is not really sex. Where our mental disabilities put us at risk in a situation and we don't perceive that risk. That's how I came to be sexually assaulted by an M.D. My mind just kept telling me that what I was perceiving was false. I didn't trust myself and my perceptions enough to be able to defend myself. And since I was psychotic at the time, when I did report it, I was put into the psych center, where I ended up being "under the care" of the doctor who raped me. Almost 2 decades later, and he is still practicing, and yet, has 4 more charges of sexual assault against him.

Then there is fun sex. Having mania is one of the best feelings in the world, although the consequences are usually disastrous for us and those around us. But having sex with a person to whom you are committed while they are manic can be spectacular.

Bipolar people are quite creative, which can be quite fun in bed. And we are so happy to "be connected" to another human being that it can also be a very joyful occasion. We have a helluva imagination


At this time in my life and, this is very normal for people 'like' me: I have had one relationship where sex was a component in 17 years; it lasted 4. Believe me, I still have sex, but not with anyone else. (I told you we have great imaginations and a rich fantasy life. Thank you, Alan Rickman!) And this is only after my therapist, TOLD me to get crackin', as it were. I had been celibate for 4 years and had gotten very sick. Sex and food and shelter are basic drives. Lose one and get ill. And yes, we do have to discuss this shit with our therapists. And now, I am blogging about it.

And this post doesn't come close to saying all I have to say on the subject, but it's enough for now.
I hope I'll still see you tomorrow.

Banana Split

How do I wake up with deep cat scratches across my back? It's 3 AM and I have had no where near enough coffee yet.

I discovered the most wonderful flavor of ice cream last night at a little shop. Cappuccino, with toffee bits and streaks of fudge in it. It rivaled some men I have had, truly, and must have been invented in the kitchen at Hogwartz. Another gift from the wizarding world to us.

For those of you who have been tempted, when I was really bananas, I wanted to do a little field research. I was still going to the University and was working on a story about a CIA officer who had lost his wife. I just had to know what kind of ice cream he ate. It was essential to the story, you see. (This was BEFORE I started drinking again.) So I called the CIA building in Langley and explained what I wanted.

This is the part that may be interesting to those of you who have been tempted to do just that: call the CIA and talk.  Apparently, there are so many nutjobs like me out there that they have a special office to field our calls. Your tax dollars at work. No kidding. They gave me a phone number in Reston, VA, and I talked to a 'retired' officer about what flavor of ice cream he liked until he wormed it out of me that my Dad had just died and I had been sexually assaulted in the same summer.

 I suppose he was older, he sounded older, and after finding out I had no weapons in the house, and wasn't planning to harm myself, and discussing ice cream, he advised me to find a therapist. He also urged me to call back anytime I wanted. I'm sure I would have been talking to some policeman in person soon after. So now you know to whom you will be speaking if you ever get the urge.

Speaking of men reminds me of my medication shift. Off the Abilify until the next desperate episode where my psychiatrist won't give me any of the good meds. The 'good' meds also take away sexual desire, but you don't care. They are that great. I could get some on the black market, or go to a different doctor, but I am afraid of ending up in the looney bin. My non-suffering psychiatrist assures me I will end up in rehabilitation again if I insist on the good stuff. And he won't give it to me anyway. So. There is that.

But I think I will hold off about talking about sex and mental disabilities until tomorrow. I hope that isn't a spoiler for you, but I thought you deserved some warning, considering how well we know each other.

Why I Hate Facebook

Don't get me wrong. I love Facebook: it's just the charming inconsistencies that drive me to my meds, and that spot where I used to hide the bottle.

And how are you this morning? I actually slept well last night, I'll tell you why. Vapid is taking us a vacation at the ocean. She is Gone Until Tomorrow.

Then I get up, try to place my blog site as the last 'place of employment' on my updated Facebook timeline, and get bupkus. Don't try to look up that word, if your native tongue is not English. I'm sure it's in some dictionary somewhere, but I'm on a roll this morning and can't be bothered to look it up. I don't even know if I spelled it right. But that's how it was pronounced in my family, and that's how I'm spelling it.

I will define it for you: Nada, zilch, nothing. It is the only double positive in English that means a negative. Used in a sentence, "I looked for Lord Voldemort all day, and didn't get bupkus." From the Latin root: Butt Kiss. I know, I know, it can be confusing. It's on the same level as, "I didn't get squat." Which states that you actually got something, but means that you got bupkus. Nothing.

That's what I didn't get from Facebook this morning. And let me tell you, waking up and "not getting bupkus" is like reading yet another medication bottle that says it may cause lack of sexual desire. Well, of course it might. Drug designers don't want us to have fun, do they?

That is the constant battle for people like me: It can't effect our desire to eat so that we LOSE weight, just the opposite. To be plain, we can be physically attractive and have sex and be spinning tops out in the world, or we can conform and take our meds. Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, which would YOU choose? Let's be honest here. This isn't a test. You wanted to know why so many people are on disability? They choose exactly as you would choose if you had to face that choice.

So the dance is this: we, the mentally disabled, periodically don't take our meds, or play with doses, or are constantly searching for another one, and we get bupkus. Even I, who is a stickler for taking her meds, plays with this option (see yesterday's post.) The hard core medications for psychiatric illness in the 1950's were LSD and Lithium. No kidding. Guess which one the medical establishment chose to endorse?

And they call us paranoid.

Deep in Clover

I am disrupting my dog, Max's, sleep schedule getting up at this hour but the cats roll with the punches. Today is Black Cat Appreciation Day and I am celebrating it in my heart. Mine was called Fudge and lived to be 23 years old. He was Mom's special cat, and a week after she passed, he curled up on her bed and died.

It looks more and more as if the kindly stepfather and Sunbunny will have to put the house up for sale, if Vapid has anything to do with it. She is nasty enough with alcohol, but without is truly a nightmare. She stayed closed in her room yesterday, but snapped when Married but Single showed up to take her out for the evening. It's amazing how she can stay upright on the back of a motorcycle...In the latter stages of liver disease, the liver, and thus, the stomach, distends. I can't tell how much of that she has because of her diapers; is it diaper or stomach? She also wears enormous coats, even in the hottest weather, and that alters her silhouette as well.

Although I have no room to talk. I am chunkier than before I quit drinking, from eating more. AA tells us not to worry the first year about gaining weight, "First things First." You can always lose that weight after you have some sobriety under your belt, is the reasoning. But eating a pound of fudge at one sitting? Don't know about that.

Which leads me to my medications or meds. I have, once again, taken myself off of Abilify. After a month on it, I am eating like Vin Deisel and I hit deep depression. I only take it in desperation. As a recovering alcoholic, my shrink won't prescribe anything like xanax, ativan, or any other anti-anxiety drug. You know, the good stuff, that works.

No, he and my therapist have come to the conclusion that I can overcome all those nightmares and anxiety with my mind. Meditation, regular exercise, healthy diet; all that shit that any normal person with mental illness tends to avoid.

For my anxiety, they also have me taking 6 mgs. of omega 3 fatty acids, or fish oil pills a day. They do work on the nervous system, quieting the 'fight or flight' response; that is, I'm not so jumpy. They also make my hair shiny. But it's not the instant release from overwhelming worry that I want. I can feel my life shortening with every panic attack, and to not give me something proven to work seems cruel.

I am most bitter against my gentle and humorous shrink (psychiatrist). He has battled with me for 17 years, but he takes his own advice and is quite well mentally, and I am sure, sleeps soundly at night. And yet, here I am writing this blog at 3 AM. As I lie down for a nap at 8 AM, I have this cynical picture of him in some deeply carpeted bedroom, which muffles the footsteps of the maid who opens the drapes, and serves him breakfast in bed. He has a bird's eye view of his estate, hip deep in horses and deer, and there is always a sprightly flower on his breakfast tray, which is adorned with china and fine linen.

I don't feel the same about my new therapist because I have his phone number, which he will actually answer anytime of the day or night. Now that's plebeian for you. I only call when I am really going off the deep end with no respite in sight, but I know he doesn't get crumpets and Earl Gray for breakfast. I just have this feeling. He also doesn't like to take vacations, which is one up in my book. After all, I am mentally ill 24/7, why should he get any time off?

Of course, the time off keeps him sane enough to treat me, so I try not to complain. But it's hard to view the unrelenting nature of mental illness and not be bitter. I mean, my gods above, the medical establishment is still using Lithium, designed in the 1950's...don't get me started.

Thursday

It's too early for the unicorn meat eating cats to hunt, and the wrong phase of the moon. Max hasn't had anymore seizures, and I feel ok. That's the start of a very good day. Let's hope it stays that way.

Everything is ok at this time of the morning; it's the benefit of getting up now. No one else is awake. It's when the sun comes up that my troubles start. And, although that might sound overly cynical, it works out to be true every single morning. Today is a Thursday without a therapy session; Vinnie is on vacation. I'll just have to vent my spleen here.

But at this hour, as I have said, I don't have that much spleen to vent. Which I am very grateful for.

Later: Sorry, folks, even I had to go back to bed at that hour. Instead of chasing unicorns, the cats are SUNNING. I'm not sure the last time the little one, Minkins, got to go outside when there is daylight out there. I hope he doesn't go blind...

The big cat, Rat-faced Bastard, or Rattie for short, is wandering in and out. He gets to go out in the sunlight, so he is unimpressed with this unusual time. He just wants food.

I have a small fear of not having a therapy session today, but even they have to take vacations, I suppose. I have my favorite AA meeting later on this afternoon, so that will be tranquil.

So this is just Thursday. Until tomorrow. 

The Leaves

It IS fall. I know the heat beats down and I sweat and swim, but the sounds are different. I have to make plans for the winter, the zinnia won't last forever. And soon, my backyard will be full of unicorns. I won't be able to let the cats out to chase them.

I can't drink myself through the winter like I did last time. Drinking heavily is a time waster, but eventually the heaves make it less worth while. Smoking and drinking coffee are an alternative, but coffee consumption and cabin fever are not a good combo. If I eat my way through the winter, I won't be able to fit through the doorway come spring...and on and on.

I am happier this morning with my mental status. I have gotten enormous amounts of sleep and I no longer feel a bit dead. And yes, feeling a bit dead is worse than feeling all dead. Fall is happening as we speak, in this small corner of the world, and I am unreasonably happy. For me. Today. But who knows what the day will bring?

No therapist Vinnie this week, he's on vacation, so one of my anchors is gone. And, as I have noted before, all my teacher friends have gone back to school. But I believe I can coast on the yoga classes, Facebook, and the difference in the air.

I feel as if Summer has definitely spoken, and I am listening for a quieter voice. It's time to go listen to the cicadas...

Another Day in the Life

Even the unicorn meat eating cats are sleeping right now...

I went to an 'Arts Evening' yesterday at a friend's house; we'll call her the Saucy Brit and her husband, Tom Cat. I call her saucy because of her personality, and for her willingness to stand up to the Arts Powers that Be in the area.

As I have said before, I love hanging with worldly, or educated people. I'll take either. They relax me enough so that I don't usually commit the social faux pas to which my disabilities make me prone. I have actually gone into shock meeting people before, and the results can be disastrous. That's why I tell people I am a writer as soon as I meet them. They can chalk up that twitch to riotous living. I am particularly adept at funerals. More than once I have made a total ass of myself over a coffin, and now avoid them like the plague...as it were.

But last evening was dedicated to studying a few of Leonardo da Vinci's works. It was a great presentation by the moderator and the evening 'went well.' What is left of my social being sucked it up as hard as I could. I would spend all day, every day like that if I could.

The inner me: It was an evening watching the light filter through the curtains onto the face of a friend, Storm. We sent the cats, Emma and Portia, back and forth between us like we were playing a game of badminton. Tasty foods and wine (you know I drank the water) and every once in a while the entire crowd would drift out into the garden. At the end, people left like smoke dispersing, and what was left was a hard core group of chatty people enjoying the evening and being in each others company.

Every where I turned I felt nothing but acceptance. It is a rare enough experience in this chaotic world we all share. It's a world where even our proponents in the health professions call people like me  'a consumer.' It is Freedom.

And so my mouth moved, but I was struck speechless by this atmosphere maintained by the Saucy Brit and Tom Cat.  I haven't felt so talented and special since my mother died...

And they are back to the zinnia, and the lavender. Now the cats are awake, and want to hunt. Max is all for more sleep, hiding his eyes under the blanket. And my world contracts like a dying star, which has swollen to absorb all matter within it's reach, and now shrinks again, but sending out starlight all the same.