40 In The Wilderness

Dear Hearts,

I am writing my blog The old fashioned way.

Well not really. Actually, I am writing on my Ipad using my purple pink stylus while I am at Burning Bed. The Program converts my handwriting into text. This way I can write my blog without my portable keyboard-I Feel guilty for spending the 15 bucks it cost for the program And then I feel even more guilty because I am going to spend $ 5.80.

Oh, wait, it May be more than $ 5.80 if I try the artisanal coffee ice cubes that the Garden Cafe Now has. I have read about such things like ice cubes in different shapes. Apparently, they enhance the pure flavor of whatever fancy pussy cocktail you're having. Flavored ice cubes aren't new but the Garden Cafe just informed me that they have Coffee Flavored ice cubes for their Cold Brew. Starbucks made Cold Brew popular. I don't really know the difference between Cold Brew and regular iced coffee except that Cold Brew is some magical coffee that was born to be cold. I have become a bit of a Coffee snob. I gave up coffee when I started having serious stomach problems about ten 10 or more years ago.

Even then I was all English Snob and my usual was Earl Grey with cream. But ever since high school when I used to go to the Mill Café, I loved my Cappuccinos. And the I’d get them for free from a boy (who was so very gay) whom I had a crush on in seventh grade. He was one of my first dances for all of 30 seconds. He ended up a heroin addict and head injured. I digress.

I would go to the Mill Cafe and drink Cappuccinos -I would smoke and write on my non-color laptop. But I think who really gave me a passion for coffee are all those trips Dad and I took to Mass. for his karate tournaments. Starbucks then was not a household name._It was a special, exotic treat for us. Nostalgia is what coffee tastes like. Those were great trips.

The grammar on this is a bit sketchy and I'm not used to the program. But Goddamn this program is amazing. I am writing at regular speed-for a stylus-and my printing or cursive or a mix of the two is certainly not neat. The program reads it 85%accurately-fucking amazing really. (Now I am fixing errors on my laptop. But, not a whole lot.)

I don't hate writing, but my penmanship has declined. Maybe it declined when I stopped teaching. Or I got so used to typing. I can type faster than I can write. And I think faster than I can write Or maybe it was the ECT. Or maybe in the last 20 years, typed documents have become the only type of accepted doc's. This program does not like abbreviations. I digress.

I am alone here at BB. All the clients are out and it is very quiet. I would love to get paid to do this. I called The Garden Cafe and asked them to set aside my Amish Cinnamon Pumpkin roll and Cold Brew and to ask them out at courtesy if I could pick it up just after they officially closed... I knew they'd say yes--the owner or owner’s Mom asked me why I didn't come in with Aunt Faerie anymore on  Sunday afternoons. I said I was working at BB. Kay said she had been on the board for 10 years some time ago. She said "It was great to know "that someone like me was manning the ship." She doesn't even know me. Not really. It was nice to hear. BB really does leave me alone—I’m it. I am The-Buck-Stops-Here-Girl on Sundays. Maybe I am worth more than, skill-wise, than the staff women who "are used to giving excuses and getting away with it--like high schoolers.

I have been meaning to blog for a while, but this week just seemed busy. And then I was Obsessing about posting, which is not good. It's become a bit of an OCD thing. That's why I stopped journaling in 2014 with relief. It had become a chore. An OCD chore-that is exactly what I did not want this blog to become-another OCD chore.

Mom said something to me this week-Tuesday or Wednesday, I think. She said I was self-destructive (not consciously)-that anytime anything good happened to me I had to find the Dark Side. It was rather like an epiphany. Yes, every time I feel "Free and Easy'' or could feel "Free and Easy, "I find something to worry or obsess about.

Like the tattoo and BB. The dress code. Tonya, my "direct supervisor” has quite a few tatts herself-actually most people here have ink. Tonya told me to go ahead and get My Wolf Tattoo. The “updated” dress code from years ago is addressing (no pun intended) several repeat issues that have nothing to do with tattoos. But still, you know what a good girl I am.

I have been perseverating. Do I really want a tatt on my shoulder? It came to me last night…I know the tattoo I want: a small wolf head with a kind of blue lens to it and seven feathers falling down my upper arm and over my back. Feminine.  Spiritual, Strong. Me-Unique. "Hope is a thing with feathers." Also, God will lift us up on Eagles' wings. And Faerie and Angel wings are made of feathers.

A she-Wolf. Nobody. No-Fucking-body n messes with a wolf. Dragonflies are special to me, but they are delicate like faeries and butterflies. They have to shimmer. That is part of me. The Faerie Kate is not dead or turned adult. She got very hurt and her wings almost ripped off. She is hiding somewhere safe-maybe Avalon-until the She-Wolf takes care of business. Maybe there was too much faerie Kate and not enough Wolf Kate. Wolves don't kill themselves. They fight to the death."Once more into the fray, into the last good fight I'll ever know. Live and die on this day. Live and die on this day."

As Beyonce would say-"Hold up!" See I had my life all planned out. Job at BB. Live in G-Pa's House. Die Alone mostly broke. I know how well plans work out. I WANT TO ALLOW MYSELF TO BE HAPPY—TO LIVE A LIFE UNFETTERED BY OTHERS’ EXPECTATIONS AND RULES.

I went to Mass last night The Old Man priest, who I walked out on two weeks ago was there-It was the feast OF Corpus Christi. The Feast is reminding us that the Eucharist is a privilege-and it's not just a thing we do in memorial, But a living covenant between us and God.

40 years in the desert. 40 days in the wilderness. 40 days of the flood. 40 days of Lent . I turn 40 in less Than a month. Although I am still in the wilderness-and even if it doesn't feel like it: Is God bringing me closer to The Promised Land? The Rainbow? I pray. “Hope is a thing with feathers.” 

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

Grateful For:

Health

Family (Daddy on Fathers’ Day)

Cold Brew

Writing

Cigarettes.

Time to sit, read, and smoke

Faith