A Wolf. A Dragonfly.

Dear Hearts,

Did you know that the Jews are taking over? I did not know that. I better find me a Jared Kushner fast. What is occurring in the country and Trump’s reaction are truly disturbing.

I am committing another Mortal Sin today. I am not going to Mass.

(Collective sounds of shock and horror.)

I am going to run. I feel closer to God running and praying that I do at Mass. I do. I run down this road that part of a National Preservation—so there are a few old house that have always been there, but nothing else but trees. So many huge, luminous emerald trees. Some Catholic yahoo I heard say that God is not found in Nature, because that is pantheism (identifying God with the universe). Huh, I wonder if God knows that he’s not part of Nature. Pope Francis seems to think otherwise. I digress.

I pray and run. I give it all up to God. Then I come home for my chilled coffee and cigarette.

I am so fucking fucked up that I can’t fucking think of any of fucking swear words but fucking.

Yesterday I spent two hours on the phone with Kindle trying to retrieve my scanned drawings. After buying and then getting a refund (not Kindle supported) on this retrieval software, I realized…wait…all my scanned drawings are on my iPad. It’s like I am not even thinking clearly---no, it’s not like…it is. I am not of sound mind.

The Church, after the divorce, offered me something I needed. Routine. Rules. Moral standards. Good anchors.

So, it would stand to reason that I would still need the Church now because my life is so uncertain.

But I am trying to cut tethers. Let go of the past. Make the choice to live in the future.

“Get busy living, or get busy dying” Stephen King.

I am stronger than I was a year ago. I have decided (at least for now) to stay on this plane. Of all the stress, nightmares, episodes, sorrow, regret and visceral pain I have felt since I came home in July, I really have not thought about killing myself. Not seriously.

Wow. That is something. The end of June beginning of July I wanted to die. Now, I don’t. It feels…better.

Christ is not contained in a wafer and he’s not confined to Mass. Through us, with us, in us.

That is not to say that I am not fucking scared and terrified about the future. Maybe it will be a big bust. There is always…

Once you cross that line, there will always be and “I could…”

There just is.

And, don’t mistake the absence of suicidal thoughts for the absence of Depression.

Dad is outside working his 70-year-old ass off for my 12 x 24 shed that Mom and Dad bought for me and my stuff. Yeah, yeah, I will pay them back for it. I will—once the mortgage goes away.

But how do I ever give that kind of devotion and physical strain back? He is spreading gravel and nailing boards. And yes, Arthur, you fuck, he does know what he’s doing. He and his father, my dear Pop, built a shed together over 30 years ago. He learned a lot from Pop. Dad knows a lot more about house upkeep, handyman, construction, roofing, and other stuff than I thought. Nan just never let him do it when she was alive. She was too buy emasculating him.

Mom told me that at one point when things were really bad that she thought about seriously leaving him. But then was Gaia and me.

Mom knew that Dad would side with his parents and Nan would never let Gaia and I go. So she stayed for us. I am grateful. For all the abusive and trauma, yada, yada, I am grateful. So grateful that I have two parents who do love each other and me.

Yesterday, Dad ran some errands while I Maddie sat. Yeah, after her puking up that—all I can say it looked like was a perfectly round ball (like a coke bag people swallow)Y-U-FUCKING-U-K—I am nervous about leaving Maddie alone too. And she fucking at the mucous ball or whatever. Gag. Ugh. I digressed.

My point was that I asked him to stop and get me my frozen yogurt treat. I have to write a note to the kid behind the counter, because Dad cannot work those things. But he can build a foundation for a 12 x 24 foot shed. I asked him in my little girl voice and then kissed him and thanked “Daddy.” I treated Arthur and T like that too when I wanted something. I don’t know if that is bad. That is my way of getting what I want. Women with wolf tattoos still kiss and thank their daddies, but they DO NOT treat them like little girls.

A dragonfly is delicate and shimmery. A wolf is strong and will fight to the death. The wolf can be soft, like the dragonfly—the wolf likes his belly rubbed. And, the wolf is beautiful. But the wolf cannot be smacked down. If a dragonfly senses danger, it will fly away; if a wolf senses danger, he will stand his ground. After my first nuthouse stay I got a dragonfly tattoo near my hipbone. It is pink and surrounded and seven purple stars. The dragonfly was demur and easily covered... But, for Act II, I am getting a “big,” visible wolf tattoo over my heart—below my collarbone.

Biblically, Angels can be soft and they can be warriors. I can be a Dragonfly and a Wolf. A little more wolf in Act II.

Since the beginning—Mom and Dad took on my problems as theirs. They never had to help me this much. I RECOGNIZE and I SEE the work that both of them have done and will do for me. Yeah, the least I can do is vacuum.

How do you express gratitude for a debt so great? Forget repaying the debt for a moment—cause that will never happen. Not for all the combined money, time, and support they’ve given me. How do you even express gratitude?

I am blogging and boiling spaghetti noodles for Dad and me. So I am multi-tasking. Not a wise idea for me to multi-task in the kitchen. Left and returned. Multi-tasking definitely stupid. I wondered what that sound was. I had the tea kettle burner on too. Yeah, I don’t do food. And I just drained the water from the pot. I ain’t washing a strainer. I digress.

What Dad is doing and has done for me—the hard physical labor…what Mom has sacrificed, obsessed, and lost sleep over…how express gratitude?

Maybe, it’s by choosing to live and…well, we don’t want to set the bar too high. We’ll stick with choosing to live.

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.

PS: Chris, this time I am going to be "packin'" when I run. Different blog post.

Grateful For:

Mom’s brownies

Chilled Coffee

Health

Family

Faith

Cigarettes

Movies

Mom

Dad

Gaia (sorry Johnny—I have a good number of things for which I am grateful for. 10. You’d be 11. 10 is a much better number.