Medical Team to Haiti
Source: Mission Statement
Medical Team to Haiti
Source: Mission Statement
I have to admit, he looks a little like what I imagined Santa would look like. A soft round faced man with warm summer peach skin and a smattering of snowy white facial hair neatly trimmed. His hair not being controlled with any sort of gel product was an unruly mess of curls just as brilliant white. At least, that’s how Google images brought him up along with strange art.
I tried again yesterday. I love being drunk. It’s my favorite intoxication. I took a pull from the tiny rum bottle in my freezer. Sweet spicy burning filled my mouth and caressed my olfactory senses. As I swallowed it slammed into my soul like a string of fire crackers. The beast whipped around its head from the slumber and sunk her talons in deep to my heart. I stretched out my neck long, pulling to the left and every so slowly to the right, feeling the craving aflame in blood that pumped through my heart. My brain hummed with elation and drown out the world. My sex smoldered at the rapid promised of rough soul connecting intimacy. My darling barbarous beast poised to take me over, ready for my primal pendulum to swing heavily into the complete opposite of keeping her caged, politically correct,.. domesticated.
I put the bottle back into the freezer and walked away. I climbed into bed and held the blankets close to me. My chest and throat tightened and eyes brimmed with the threatening tears. I trembled in my sobriety, afraid to go back downstairs to the freezer. The storm outside picked up turbulence matching my tornado inside. Lightning broke over head and lit up the room. Rain beat against the window. Wild, free, unrestrained it called to me. I hid under the covers and tried again to block out the famished beast. My mind slipped in between awake and asleep. The appetite subsided for a brief moment. I thought the light flicked on and I opened my eyes. It was the sudden brilliant waxing moonlight shining and not indoor lighting at all. I sleepily gazed through the window and smiled. Just one more night. Just one more day. I can do this.
I sat down in the bathroom behind the locked door with my dollar tacos and cheap wine. Fuck I just wanted five minutes to myself without responsibilities. Working seven days a week from 7am to 9pm is wearing on me. I’m not normally lacking in compassion, but damn, if the people in my life could just fuck off for a day while I laid in bed, that would be spectacular.
I really missed being me. Who that was anymore I don’t really know. I do know that I was suffocating in my current life I created. Without time to myself to explore this almost “forty-something-life”, how was I to grow as an adult? I can only read so many fluffy memes on social media before I roll my eyes and decide it’s garbage. I can stomach so much “be positive” before I start to verbally retaliate the monitor asking if they’ve been outside lately? I can only do so much domestic chores before I cry at the constant overwhelming of it all. I can only be so optimistic at work carrying the star lit torch of creating better situations. I can only do so much…
I need a hobby.
Drinking is not a hobby it turns out and is also REALLY bad for me physically. I’ve wrote about that before. I did try to flirt with the idea of it last week. Thinking I could try something different. Experiment a little with what wreaks havoc on my heart and what doesn’t. It all does and my heart says no. That little stunt cost me four hours in the emergency department and a mile of saying sorry to my body. So, what now? How do I deal with the daily of life and not let it smother me? I can’t smoke weed, take head drugs, and therapy really is about as good as the runes that I pull out of my bag.
Even water wears down the strongest of rocks.
I’m not particularly miserable. My heart is heavy and life is what I make it. (I’m pretty sure that is a meme somewhere.) Sometimes life decides to make it, “Hey, how are you going to deal with death today?” And I don’t cope well. I’d like to. I’d really really really like to. Instead I lay here and day dream of traveling to far off places. I read to see what far away places others have escaped to.
Literally. Hold on to me. Let me know life will be okay no matter how many people die. I will too. Hopefully not until I’m 120 years old. I think I will be done with what I’m trying to accomplish by then. I want to live so long because I still haven’t figured out what I’m supposed to do with my life. There hasn’t been a lightning strike guiding me to some epiphany of life passion.
Life really is what you make it. It has taken me a bit to balance in between blowing sunshine up my arse and my fellow friends and being a ruthless non compassionate bitch. By a bit, I mean years and I still slid back from time to time as new situations arrive for me to be challenged to become a non reactionary person. The happiness came to me after a week of sobriety. While to some this may sound normal, however being semi-retired and bored wasn’t good for my soul, or body for that matter. I craved projects and ideas. I wanted to watch them flourish within my finger tips. Passing the time in a fog was SO much easier and began to be a normal functioning state. Then the heart palpitations came, the shakes, the irritability. Lack of focus created a monster and my dreams washed away in the end of the bottle. I will always carry this need with me. I know there is no denying that. I also know, I don’t really like being an asshole. Sadistic occasionally for pleasures sake, but not truly harmful. That is exactly where I was and I didn’t love me anymore. I don’t know when that happened. I do realize that it had and I pushed away some really terrific people. My demons and I now live together and every morning I get up I make a choice to enjoy the sun, my family, the sweet little sounds the earth creates. I want to live in love, be love, radiate love. That is my choice.
I am posting this link below because it helps me see that there is more out there. A world connected by need, hunger, adventures, life, and community. Yes, I’m trying to sell you on a simple multivitamin. (Only part time! 🙂 The choice is always yours!!) Yes, I want so much more for you. Yes, I really do believe in my core, shit is actually going to work out for the best. Don’t give up on yourself or your dreams. Become your Personal Legend. Follow your heart and your intuition and know WHY you are doing what you want out of life. Sing your song my friend. Be well. Be authentic. Don’t give up. You CAN make that change happen.
It is so quiet here. I can hear the snow fall gently on the heavy branches. Tree tops touch the grey sky, caressing forth the ice. I keep walking for fear the cold will reach my core soon. He said it was only 32 kilometers west after I had reached the ridge line. I could drive my auto to the top and would have to walk the rest of the way. I thought of the way his eyes lingered on me. The pull in my gut ached. I was getting closer. My extremities were numb. It was only a matter of moments before I was frozen here in this beautiful setting. Some distance away I hear branches break beneath the weight of the snow. I shift my backpack and keep going. Follow the sun. It’s hot white blaze masked by the thick blanket of alto stratus. Greatly in denial of how the elements would affect my lissome body I stumbled to my knees. Arms too cold to catch myself, I tried to toss my right shoulder out as to not land face first. I watched my breath freeze as is escaped my lips. I should be sleeping with my own kind in the oak trees. Not madly pursuing this.. this .. half beast. The snow from the ground seeped into my ribs, into my stomach. I could feel my heart and breath slow. I watched the sweet snow drops pop out of the ground, desperately trying to give me hope of regaining my footing. A striking contrast to the white earth fluttered down to chirp at me. I tried to move to touch the little redpoll, but my fingers would have none of it. In a tiny red burst it fluttered off. The ice burned close to my heart. Warmth giving way to winter. Frost delicately licking the life beating in my chest.
Gatrey flew as fast as he could to Jeremy. He knew that foolish little thing wouldn’t survive the snow. Stupid woman. He wished Jeremy would stop going into the city looking for mates. Although, he had to admit to himself, she was different. Perhaps he didn’t find her in the city after all? It would surprise him. Jeremy loved to go to the disco techs and see how many human women he could get to buy him libations. Each woman hoping at a chance to bed him. Of course they would get too sauced to remain conscious and he would make off with several bottles of liquor to bring home. He would finish them at all hours of the night until the sun came up.
The window was open slightly for Gatrey to slip through. Jeremy was making something fleshy for breakfast that turned Gatrey’s stomach. The heat from the cast iron made the room smell like death as it browned the meat from some poor creature that died.
“Jeremy. There is a woman in your forest. She’s probably dead by now from the snow.”
Alarmed, Jeremy thought hard of whom he had told where he lived. How could he have been so careless? Hot stirring in his belly and lions reminded him of the woman in the park. She was sitting so delicately in the tree reading. As if the tree was made for her small frame. He watched her intently as she slid a foot down. Just within his reach. Delight twinkled in his eye as he saw the she was barefoot. She gasped as though struck by something hard. He felt it too, like a heavy magnet in his chest forcing him to her. He watched as she floated out of the tree and came face to face with him. He couldn’t pry her away even if he tried with all his unearthly strength. Her eyes held the glittering sun passing through new spring leaves.
“Jeremy! Did you hear me?” the little red bird exasperated.
“Yes.” He put on a coat for show purpose and made his way out into the woods. The weather had turned wicked. Ice poured from the sky and would have stung against his skin, if he were fully human. He took in a deep breath. A faint scent of sweet blackthorn berries came from the east. She wasn’t far. Another fragrance of snowdrops aroused his curiosity as it was too early. The wind picked up and he lost the smell of the berries. The exquisite snowdrop illuminated is way to her. She was as white as the snows that surround her. The magnetic pull he had felt the other day was not felt. Panicked he scoped her up carefully and held her jacked chest to his ear. It felt like millennia went by until one beat of her heart faintly murmured in his ear. Her skin was iridescent from the frigid weather. Within a blink they were back at his cabin.
Jeremy undressed her and placed her into his bed and went to the fire pit. He stoked the flames to a great height. The warmth became a sauna. He pulled up a chair and watched her intently.
I could hear faint whispers. The searing warmth was beginning to make its way to my skin. My skin! I was nude!
I can’t get her out of my mind. The way she was spontaneous and lacking boundaries. The way her lips always tasted like booze and her clothing rank of cigarette smoke. I missed helping her the next morning after watching each night as she destroyed herself over and over again, never feeling connected in the world because of her insane insecurity and a fear of failure so deep and dark it began to create its own personality within her. She never really loved me. Not in the conventional way; or really in any sort of way at all. I was there in passing. For her to mock and spread lies about. After she was done screaming and proclaiming she’s the victim we would fuck. That’s all she felt she was worth. I don’t know when or how I became so entrapped in such a self entitled narcissistic psycho bitch who had few moments of compassion and humanity only the sake of getting what she needed. I knew she wasn’t good for me, but I still thought about her. A lot.
I gave her my time when ever she would call. Crying, sobbing, and pissed drunk. The world was against her and she might as well just roll over and point her heels to the ceiling because she was just a piece of ass. I grew tired of her need for humiliation and craving for constant validation that she wasn’t a terrible human being. My biggest regret was loving her. Loving her so hard I thought I could help her see that she could do it too. Unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way, and she was diagnosed with an incurable disease that shortened her life span significantly. That simply fueled the, “Whoa is me, I’m the victim of circumstance” and “I might as well keep getting pissed drunk and eating this shit food.” It was really hard for me to realize she liked being that way and it wasn’t my place to change that.
I’ve tried so many times to let her go from my heart. From praying, crying, burning sage, counseling, and many nights thinking I could drink her away. I resented myself for the fondness I felt for her. She would ignite the sun in my soul. I felt so ashamed that I had allowed myself to be her kicking stone and no amount of rum was going to cure that. Some nights in my stupor, I wanted to scoop her up in my arms and make the world perfect for her. To open up her heart and let her feel the love I had for her. I wanted it to be powerful enough, good enough, brilliant enough for her to share. That brilliance would slowly be snuffed out by the bleak reality I tried desperately to drown in liquor. Now when I think of her it is to open her heart up, rip it out, and eat the bloody cruel thing with my own bare hands.
With time, this will pass. Emotions are funny that way. They become less of a driving force as the hours, months, decades tick by. What I was so joyful about just the other day seems like a foggy dream. One day she will be too.
We’re raising a generation of pussies. There. I said it.
When I was a junior in high school, I had the most amazing AP English teacher. Her name was Ms. Wei. She prefaced the class by saying that she would grade us fairly, and that these grades would not always be A’s.
“I get that you and your parents all think you all are ‘special snowflakes,’ but I will grade you based on your writing, and if your parents email me complaining about these grades, I will ignore them.”
Now Ms. Wei was a little blunt for some (I freaking adored that woman, and I don’t know anyone who didn’t), but she brought up a good point.
Millennials: your parents won’t say it, and your peers won’t say it because it seems every little thing is sending you all to a therapist because you’re just sooooooo victimized, but
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