A Cold, Wet, Dark Street

Cold, wet, and dark, well, except for the security light above my head. As I pulled my collar up around my neck, I realized I should have brought a heavier jacket.

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the dark, rattling the door behind me, and the rain increased. A sudden gust pushed the drops horizontal, slapping me in the face, and I swiped at it with the back of my hand. 

The street beyond the wide sidewalk was void of traffic and I watched debris rush along the gutter, carried on swift currents, toward the drain somewhere in the dark. The waiting vortex would suck it down, into a cold spiral to a subterranean pool and from there to wherever useless things go. I suppose the ocean eventually. Someplace exotic? A fish's belly? A subduction zone, crushed and roiled into a mix of molten rock?

Thunder exploded with a blinding flash that blew out the sensor on the light and cast me in to utter darkness. The rain became a deluge. I stepped back toward the doorway, trying to shelter against the building. The light struggled back to life after a few moments. Once restored, the glaring light made it nearly impossible to see beyond its circle. I felt trapped by it, like some bug in a glass.

Yeah, that's what it felt like. Someone had dropped me in a glass and put a light over it. Where it was warm and dry and light reigned. They were probably sitting in a chair with a cup of coffee, feet on the desk, watching me in my damp, dark test tube.

I sighed. Too much imagination.

We measure our life by our success, and if we do not perceive any, we deem ourselves a failure. But perception can be flawed. Only we won't realize that until, well, until we're standing in a cold rain on a dark street, drowning.

I'd sort of considered myself a failure at many things, but not the things that mattered. A job well done, a happy family. They were marks of success, right? I didn't have any plaques. Just a lot of photos that showed smiling success. But photos are an imperfect view of success. They're what you see at the moment. And sometimes the smiles aren't real.

The wedding photos, filled with lots of laughing, smiling people, were a prime example. Everyone there had a secret pain. A failure. Or would have before the day was out, before the week was out, before the month... you get it.

Why is disappointment a requirement to everything? Do we really expect so much of ourselves that even a slight bump of it totally derails us? Or is it we expect so much from our successes, more than they can deliver? And when they don't, we blame ourselves.

A streak of lightening flashed across the sky, turning the street an inky black moments later. I closed my eyes. It felt safer than that dark street. I blew out a deep sigh and opened them. The light over my head flashed and came back on. I wonder why closing my eyes felt safer.

I sighed. Too much imagination.

Stepping away from the wall, I stuck my collapsed umbrella out and popped up the canopy and raised the cover of bright cherry blossoms over my head, cutting off the downpour. The street seemed to lighten as the umbrella dimmed the glare from the security light. I turned and started my walk back to the real world at the end of the street. I could see the lights, cars dashing back and forth, people crossing the end of the street, not turning down this long dark one. The sounds of horns were faint but grew louder as I approached the intersection.

Didn't seem to matter much now if I was a success or failure. I was the only one who knew the truth. Others might surmise but smiles hide many things. If you looked happy, people believed you were. If you looked successful, people believed you were. You had to walk down cold, wet, dark streets to know for sure. Most people never make that trip. They don't want to know. I was a rebel, I suppose. My laughter echoed against the buildings, a laughing audience mocking me. Well, them's the breaks.

I stepped from the dark alley, onto the brightly lit sidewalk of the boulevard, the lights reflecting around me from the rain like a pageant catwalk, as if someone wanted to make me feel special. Maybe I was. I smiled.


**  Published on my Life on the Ledge blog in error. So, I'm just sharing here, too!

One Day in the Park

 On July 12, 2015, I posted a short story that I didn't finish.  Tonight, I wrote the ending. I am sharing it here in its entirety for those who wanted an ending. I wasn't sure where it was going and tonight I let it go where they wanted it. I like it, although readers may not. I hope you at least enjoy the finished product, even if you disagree with the ending.

Every day she came and sat on the bench beneath the oak tree at the edge of the playground, ate her lunch, and watched the children play. No one sat with her. No one intruded. It was as if she had this wall around her that kept everyone out. She never spoke to anyone or sat anywhere else. The only days she didn't show up were when it rained or the temperatures were too cold to allow children to play outside.

It was June, and the weather was usually nice this time of year. She must have come early today. When she finished her lunch, she sat back, crossed her ankles, folded her hands in her lap and with a small smile, she watched the half-dozen children clamber over monkey bars, swings, and spin on the merry-go-round. They screamed and yelled and giggled, but she just kept smiling.

I'd watched her for several years now, and I knew no more about her today than I had when I'd first seen her one hot August day. She never seemed to notice me. I don't remember what drew my attention, but after a few weeks of seeing her, I found myself about her. Weeks grew into months and months into years. I still hadn't figured her out.

A friend of mine asked me once, after I'd told them about her, why I didn't just walk over and talk to her. I couldn't explain it to them. I just said I couldn't do that. I wasn't embarrassed, well maybe I was a little, but that wasn't it. There was something about her, something... that felt fragile or... oh, I don't know. That wall I sensed, maybe it was more like a bubble, a glass bubble, that would shatter in a million pieces if I approached it or touched it. So, as she watched the children with a smile, I watched her with a frown.

Today was a rotten day. Most days, like the lady on the bench, I was just here to enjoy my lunch. Today, it lay unopened on the seat next to me. It didn't matter if I ate it or not. I'd lost my job and there was no rush to get back to work. So, I just sat there and stewed and fumed over the injustice of the universe. I'd worked so hard to get that job. It had taken me ten years to reach upper management and in less than two I was canned. I still didn't know why they fired me.

Oh, they had all the right phrases to hand me. They said it was the economy. They said I was talented, and they hated to lose me. They said they'd give me a great reference, but they zeroed my job and I had to go.

I sighed and watched the children going down the slide. They laughed out loud and cheered their friends and slapped them on the back for their success at conquering the mountain. Today they had no worries. Today they could enjoy the freedom to spend the day in laughter with friends. Someone would feed them, shelter them, and kiss them goodnight. They'd enjoy worry-free security.

Something else was different today. The lady on the bench was absent. I was early, so perhaps I'd just beat her here. That rarely happened on days like today. I looked around the park. There were lots of mothers seated on benches or on blankets on the ground. A few brought lounge chairs and were reading with their children nearby. She was nowhere to be seen.

I got up and walked around for a few minutes, never losing sight of her bench. She should be here by now. I ran my hands through my already disastrous hair. I rubbed them on my skirt and crossed my arms. I walked back to my bench and sat down on the edge, clutching it on each side of me so tightly that my fingers hurt.

I relaxed them. I was overreacting. I was way early. She'd show up any minute, walking sedately to her bench where she'd sit down carefully. She'd open her bag and take out her sandwich and eat it while watching the children. She'd sip her water.... I got up and walked a dozen yards and came back.

Where was she? She had to show up today. I stared at the toes of my shoes. Why was this even an issue? What did I care if some strange woman came to the park? 

Tossing my hair back with one hand and smoothing my skirt with the other, I returned to my seat and stared at the empty bench beneath the oak tree. Something was wrong. I knew it, but what could I do about it? I didn't know her name, where she lived, where she worked. I had made it a point not to know those things. At any point, in the last half-dozen years, I could have  walked over, sat down, and introduced myself. I could have taken one moment to ask her who she was, where she worked, and why she came to the park every day and watched the children. 

The squeals and laughter pulled my gaze from the vacant bench to the playground. The children. The children drew her. Perhaps she didn't have any of her own and had always wanted them. She came to enjoy the thing she wanted most but didn't have. Perhaps she wanted to just enjoy her lunch in a quieter place, where things moved slower and beauty surrounded her. 

“Or maybe she couldn't afford a restaurant and this was the only place she could sit down to eat without being called to her desk to do something for someone.” I sighed. “Is this what gall taste like?”

I shook my head and gathered up my trash. The waste bin was next to her bench. I dropped my trash in it and stared at the spot she should be in and sighed again. 

I couldn’t express why it bothered me so much that she wasn’t there. She was always there. Just like my job. What was I going to do? I had a small savings account that would tie me over for a few months, but not more than that. 

I looked around the park again. She wasn’t coming. Another sigh slipped out, and I headed for home. If I planned on keeping a home, I had to look for a job.

The next two weeks seemed to slip past me without my realizing. On Tuesday, I left my last interview feeling good. They liked me. I think. I hoped. 

The new job was only three blocks from my old job and two blocks closer to my apartment. On nice days, I’d save on transportation cost. Charlie’s Deli was just around the corner, and I often stopped in to buy a sandwich and a drink. The park was across the street. I felt as if the stars were aligning. 

A smiled tugged at my lips as I sat down on my favorite seat, slightly later today than usual. The crowd of kids with their accessory mothers had thinned. I glanced at the bench where my friend usually sat. It was empty. The stars slipped a bit. I probably missed her already. 

My friend. Really? I hadn’t even bothered to speak to the woman to wish her a good morning. What right did I have to call her friend? The smiled faded, and I chewed my sandwich, which seemed to have turned to clay. I should have made friends with her. I’d lost my job the day she didn’t show up. 

If she’d just come. It felt important that she show up today. I narrowed my eyes and stared, focusing my thoughts on the seat, my sandwich forgotten, imagining her there, eating her lunch and smiling at the children. 

She didn’t come. A feeling of disaster trailed me home. 

Friday was a beautiful day with sunlight pouring in my windows and a clean blue sky stretching to the horizon. They called me early and asked if I would start the job on Monday. I agreed. Then, I packed a lunch, grabbed a book, and my handbag and headed for the park early. I would use my last vacation day reading and enjoying the beautiful weather. Maybe she’d be there today. 

She wasn’t. The empty bench almost mocked me. I’d hurried all this way for nothing. I sat down on my bench and for the first time I cried. I don’t know why. One minute I could see the bench and the next it disappeared in a blur. I covered my face, clenched my teeth, and ducked my head to hide my tear-streaked face. I don’t know how long I sat like that. 

Several people walked by, but no one said a word. No one stopped and asked, “Miss, are you all right? Can I help you? Do you need help?”

My breath caught in my throat, and I swiped my face with my hands. I sniffled and grabbed napkins from my lunch bag. The tear wouldn’t stop, but at least I had the sobs under control. More people strolled by, gave me concerned frowns, and moved on. No one stopped. 

Eventually, I dried up. How can anyone pass someone by in obvious distress and not offer assistance? And why in the world would I care? Did I really want strangers poking their noses in my business?

The tears filled my eyes again, and I looked at the shredded napkins in my lap. They’d do me no good now. The truth was, I did want someone poking their nose in my business. Sometimes you needed someone to whom you could spill your grief and guts. 

I looked bleary-eyed beneath the tree. Someone had sat down on her bench and was eating lunch. I didn’t recognize them. Anger welled up as easily as the tears. They had no right. That was her bench. She’d want to sit there when she came back. She loved that bench. 

I jumped up and flung the napkins top the ground and stomped along the path until I stood in front of the woman seated on the bench. She looked up at me and smiled. I stared, open-mouthed, tears mixed with anger on my face. 

“It’s you.” What a stupid thing to say. 

She stared up at me, slightly confused and slightly frightened. “I . . . beg your pardon?”

I laughed and swiped my face clean. “You’re back.”

“Oh!” She laughed a lovely lady like laugh that my mother used to use. “Well, yes, I am.”

“I was so worried about you. I waited every day, and you didn’t come. I didn’t know your name or where you lived. I was afraid something had happened to you.” The last was a muffled sob, and I felt my face burn. She’d think I was a lunatic.

“Oh, my!” She stood up and caught my arm. “My dear, you’ve been crying. I hope that isn’t on my account?”

Swiping again, I shook my head. “No. Well, yes, I mean, no, not really.” I cried. “I don’t know! I always enjoyed seeing you there every day, enjoying your day. And then I lost my job, and you were gone and….” I groaned out loud. “OH GOD! You will think I’m crazy!”

“I tell you what, why don’t we sit down and you can tell me all about it. I’ll get your lunch things and we’ll have lunch together. Will that be all right?”

I looked at her and she was smiling a lovely gentle smile and her eyes sparkled, kind, lovely cornflower blue eyes. I nodded.

In a few moments she returned and handed me my purse, lunch bag, and bottle of water. She took the seat next to me and said, “My name is Martha, by the way. What’s yours?”

I looked at her extended hand. “I’m Sally.” I shook her hand. “You changed your hairstyle.” 

She laughed. “I did! I got so bored with the old one. I didn't like the gray, either. Besides, this is much easier to manage.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, that’s why you didn’t recognize me.” She laughed again.

“Yes. I was ready to kick you off the bench.”

“How lovely!” Casting a sidelong look at me, she qualified her comment in a serious tone. “And of course, totally inappropriate.”

I nodded. 

“Now,” she gathered her sandwich in  her hand and continued, “from the beginning, Sally. Tell me everything. It sounds like an adventure. And I love an adventure.” 

Her grin was that of a 12-year-old. I grinned in return. 

“Me, too.” I said. “I lost my job.”

Day 30 of Quarantine

We've reached the 30 day point at last. I was hoping we'd be done with this thing by now but the politicians are so busy trying to milk this thing for as long as possible I think. You can't believe anything the news media say about it. Numbers are being manipulated, or they're not. People are dying, or they're not. China lied, or they didn't.

I'm keeping a check on the numbers released by Indiana State Department of Health. Not near as many hospital beds used as I expected. Not near as many ventilators either. In fact, the numbers are about what we've seen in China. In Indiana, just over 48000 tested and of that, 8000 have the virus. Of those there are just over 400 deaths. That's 5%. I think the expected was 3% but that's not surprising either.

We've stayed in and only do shopping when we really need something. Doesn't mean we're not stir crazy. Neither Sarah nor I are gadabouts. We like staying home but there are times we want to just go somewhere and have a sandwich or get a drink. Not having the choice is hard.

I haven't been writing. The computer crashed and I've spent a week trying to get it back online. At the moment, everything seems ok but does one ever know? I'm also homeschooling Sarah. To say it is challenging would be an understatement. She's such a sweet kid, but she has challenges that seem to overwhelm her. When faced with difficult material, she just becomes overwhelmed and want to quit. Fortunately, I've dealt with both her uncle and her dad with this issue so I'm aware and can handle it. That's not to say I don't have an urge to brain her at times.

Overall, I'm feeling much better. I'd love to go back to the gym and work out, but the pills I bought seem to be helping with my pain. It is considerably less and I'm sleeping better most nights. My hips still ache and make walking hard but that shooting nerve pain was worse and it is such a relief having that get better.

I'll make this short today. I haven't focused on writing topics, I know, but I'll get back on track as soon as possible. Was I ever on track?

Stay safe and stay home until this is over.

The End of Day 14

Today is the 14th day since we shut ourselves in. Who could have dreamed it would go on this long? Who could have dreamed that it could even happen?

People continue to get sick. The death toll continues to rise. And our doors, at least mine, stay closed. I go out for necessities only, but each time I am afraid. How many times can I throw the dice and win? How many spins left on the wheel?

I had to take my son some food a day ago, and it shocked me to see so much traffic, even in the grocery store. People aren't staying in. They're still going about their business. Parking lots are less crowded, but only at places that are nonessential. The road traffic is actually heavier I think.

Sarah and I can't afford to go anywhere. I have a suppressed immune system, and she has a history of asthma. So, we stay in and each day we wonder if, when some break will come. She goes for short walks on the street. We've been on the patio twice.

I've done a bit of writing, but not what I could do. I've been doing cleaning and laundry when I can. I'm still having back problems, but far less since I bought the new mattress. I've tried a few exercises to help with it, but nothing works like the weights. I miss the gym. I've worked on the rebounder some, but not as much as I'd like. I've watched two videos that showed me some routines and now I just have to do them. I may take it into the garage since the ceiling is higher, but the floor is concrete and I'm nervous to try that this soon.

The only news we're getting is what I go scavenge on the web. I don't watch television news anymore or read newspapers. I got online and search as many sites as possible, focusing on Reuters and the AP, both are the main source of news distributed to networks and publications anyway... probably before they add their spin. I also look at sites that discuss the C-19 based on the science, rather than folks' suspicions. I read the other too, but I want what they science says.

I hope you're all protecting yourself and others. Stay at home! Please! You can catch this. How many spins do you have left before you get it? Will you kill someone by your actions? And will you survive? Don't risk it.

The Rest of the Story

My morning started at 7:24 a.m. when some nebulous sound woke me. I'm not one to stay in bed if I'm wide awake, so I rolled out. The sensation of little pain when I did it surprised and thrilled me. Compared to the last three weeks, my pain level felt like a 3. That's manageable if I'm careful. 

Yesterday I still could not accomplish much but felt I could go to my Monday night Shut Up & Write meeting at Panera. I'm glad I did. I wrote for an hour and got just over 1300 words. It feels wonderful to be writing again. I don't know if it's any good, but telling the story is so awesome. 

The meetings are relaxing and fun. We write the first hour, and the next hour we talk. We've had new folks join us at nearly every meeting. My experience is that writers are some of the nicest folks you can meet. I'm truly grateful to be able to join in.

Now I have a story to tell. Some of you may know that I adopted two kittens from the Humane Society several months ago. They're about 6 months old now, and I really enjoy their company now that Sarah and Chaz are gone.

Jet & Kiki both fell ill about 2 weeks after I got them and I spent a small fortune on vet bills. Kiki got well with the meds, but Jet had to go back a week later for a secondary illness and get more meds. All together it was over $300 for two strays. What can I say? I don't believe in letting an animal suffer.

They both recovered eventually and wreaked havoc on my life.

Kiki is sneaky and a curtain climber. She's getting better, but punishment has been pretty harsh. I've thrown pillows at her and dish towels. She's smaller and daintier than Jet and has a very sweet disposition. You don't pet her unless she wants to be petted, and she'll leave the room if you try.

Jet, alternatively, is quite the lover boy and typical male. The constant attention when he was very ill turned him into a demanding boy. He loves being petted and sleeping on your lap. When he plays, he plays hard, running, jumping, and tossing mylar balls for up to an hour. I'm usually a wreck by the time he's done because he insists that I play ball or he gets it hung under my chair or behind something he's not supposed to mess with.

In fact, he messes with anything he's not supposed to mess with, and that's pretty much every knick knack I own. Some are special as they came from all over the world. Oh, and anything dangling such as yarn or power cords is irresistible to him. He's everything I hate in a cat. But he's absolutely adorable when he's good. Well, let's face it, we all love to be loved. Jet loves me. His love is centered in gratitude, and so I tolerate the odious behaviors. He too gets pillows and towels and quite a few yells.

Jet is also an unrepentant thief. He steals everything; Chapstick, hair ties, phone styluses, and my eyeglass repair kit (which I found under the file cabinet ). Kiki watches with interest from a corner of the room. Sitting there like a tiny Sphinx, wondering if he'll use up a life this time or if he'll get away with it. He often gets away with it. He's even started getting on the counters, an absolute no-no, and Kiki watches. She's too small to make the leap yet.

This last two weeks, Jet has been sick again. He's had a terrible bout of diarrhea. I've wracked my brain trying to figure out the cause of it. There's been no new food, no trips out of the house, nothing that I can find that he could ingest. The mouse traps are out of reach. I keep the counters free of foodstuffs because of mice so there wasn't anything there. I also worried because I take some pretty toxic medicines and I'm always afraid I'll drop something they might eat and it would kill them. My search revealed nothing that could be the cause. I decided it was probably a virus and next Kiki would be sick. They insist on using the same litter box no matter I put two down.

But Kiki didn't get sick. In fact, she's fine. Jet, on the other hand, has diarrhea the consistency of soft serve ice cream after about 5 minutes and he's barely making it to the box. The hideously messy substance smells like an outhouse. I'm cleaning the box several times a day, including wiping down the sides with bleach wipes! It's so awful I keep the Lysol spray handy. I decided this week I should take him to the vet. I delayed because I was sick with a cold, in a lot of pain with the back and hips, and the expense of the $400 heating repair overruled me. 

This morning I was getting coffee ready when I notice a cup on the stove I keep my bacon drippings in. I keep it tightly covered with a heavy foil cover, and it has never been a problem. For several days now, I've found the top off. I figured I'd dislodged it moving things around, but I couldn't believe I'd leave it open all night. I don't have bugs or mice at the moment, but I've had issues in the past and I'm careful about leaving things open or out. No food and bleached counters keep them away.

Suddenly, a glimmer of light appeared. I picked up the cup. I haven't cooked with bacon drippings in some time, and as I said, that lid is never off unless I take it off. I created it, and it's worked well for years. I make a new one regularly. It's been off at least 4 times this week ... that I can remember.

I studied the contents. I can't be sure. I turn and look at Jet. He must sense something because he looks back from a crouched position and then darts into the den. The effects of bacon grease on a cat's intestinal track can't be good. I mean, I don't think it will kill him or anything but ... it can't be good. In fact, I suspect it could cause diarrhea the consistency of soft serve ice cream setting out for 5 minutes. 

After a discussion about this I may have said something like, "Well, if you did that, you deserve what you got." I put the cup in the fridge until I can clear it out.

Now I'm going to have to go buy bacon and fry it up to get more drippings. Imagine the trouble that's going to be.

Light in the Tunnel

We've made it another day, but what a few weeks it's been. I've been more or less crippled by hip pain for more the last three weeks. I'm not sure why it suddenly flared up so much. I've been having problems in my lower back for months and didn't know what was triggering it but now I suspect it is actually my hips. I'm sure there are also some pinched nerves in my lower back, but that's been secondary this time around.

For two of three weekends I've needed a cane to walk when I got up in the mornings. I've missed going to the gym because I feared I'd make the problem worse, but to my surprise, working with the weight machines made it better. I stayed home the last 4 days. The pain was just too much.

Today, in the late afternoon, I realized it felt better. I've thrown everything at it: medicines, both topical and pills, heat pads, hot showers. Nothing seemed to help but the acetaminophen, which probably helped the inflammation. I'm not supposed to take it because of the risk to my liver. I can only say that taking it is the lesser evil. Today, I hope, is a turning point.

Since I felt better, I went to the writer's meeting and knocked out 1412 words. I've been attending the Shut Up & Write meeting on Monday nights for three weeks. It feels so good to write again. So far, I've written just over 3000 words at the meetings. I've avoided trying to write at home this last 3 weeks because I wasn't feeling well anyway and thought trying to make myself write would only lead to further stress and more blocks.

I've met several new people at the meetings, too. We use the last hour to chat and get acquainted. That's a bonus for me since I don't get to socialize much these days. 

I can't get too optimistic but it feels like there is light at the end of the tunnel. If I can keep going, I might get something accomplished.

If you're a writer, looking to connect and write with other writers in person, I encourage you to look up Shut Up & Write to see if there is a group in your area. If you're in S. Indiana, look up our group.

Be Nice or Shut Your Mouth

I ended the Facebook "fast" yesterday. I was having some real problems with severe depression and abysmal loneliness all accompanied by the never ending pain. My state of mind was toxic and required action.

Taking off Facebook seemed counter intuitive because I felt it would further isolate me and make the situation worse. However, the day before I went off, someone made a thoughtless comment that really hit me at the worst point in my mental state. It was a trigger, and it worked.

Let me tell you people something. You need to watch your mouth when you know someone is struggling with personal issues, regardless of what form they take. I'm not a person who will go out and kill myself. I have religious beliefs that make that difficult for me. It is just one more thing to deal with and I'm not inclined to add to my grief or other's. However, you won't know that. Even I don't know.

I have a history of clinical depression. It was 20 yrs ago at least. I was suicidal and got right down to the planning stage. But God was so merciful to me and got me help (I learned to self medicate using supplements and herbals) before I did something stupid. Because of that experience, I'm highly susceptible to depression. Depression, for me, is the beast lurking in the dark.

Secondary to the depression, they diagnosed me with PTSD at the death of my husband. I presume the ramifications of that are clear, without my having to explain it. I'm certain I'm not the only person in the world like this. So you need to shut your mouth if you have no tact because you could cause irreparable damage to someone like me.

I left the comment on the site but the person who made the comment can't see my posts now. I've unfollowed them. I never delete comments unless they're obscene. I figure your mouth is my best defense. I never delete people either unless they're crazy or obscene. Again, better the world see you for a fool so I don't have to explain it.

I went off intending to do a month but stopped at 17 days. I will probably do more soon. I've done this before, here and there but with my state of mind this time, the whole thing surprised me a bit.

What did I do? Other things. I've been doing some crochet and more reading. Played some games here and there. I went to the gym but a nasty turn in the weather this week disrupted my system and my pain escalated to where Sunday I had to have a cane to walk. I thought the gym might be a bad idea today, even though I'm better after many applications of Pennsaid Solution. Well, I don't need the cane now. So.

I've been on Instagram some, posting photos but that isn't really my thing much since Sarah left. I enjoyed looking at other people's photos more and found some crochet patterns I want to try. I've been going over some writing things but once the weather shifted, writing wasn't possible again. I discovered some new podcasts, too. Mike and I have been spending more time together since he's had places he needed to go and he always spends time here when he does that. The cats are thrilled, especially Jet. They have a real bromance going on.

After about 10 days, I realized my mood was slightly better, but the depression was hanging on. Until yesterday I just couldn't shake it. Today isn't so bad.

I've learned that one personal failing, or one comment, however well intentioned, can send a person into a nosedive as fatal as a plane crash. That's what living with depression is like. The things that trigger an episode are so stinking random.

So, be nice or be scarce. And if you really hate reading about people's problems go away so we don't have to bother with you. You're adding to the problems. My blogs all state what I'm dealing with and that the posts are about those things. I suppose I should label Facebook but I've laid out my position very clearly in the About section. I should review it I guess and update it.

One negative of the whole thing is that I blew my diet out of the water. Totally sunk the boat. But I didn't gain any weight. So, a bit of silver lining there. Oh, I bought a food scale, too. I think it will help me keep track of the little things like nuts or fruits. We'll see.

Have a great week. It is just getting started, and I'd like to believe it will be good.

Black Holes

I don't know what is going on here but they've been at it for several days now. The door goes into the garage and no one lives here but the three of us. There was no sound that I could hear.

If you note, just above Kiki's head (the one on the left) there is a dark spot. That's where the baseboard doesn't quite reach the door frame. We had a new door installed years ago, and the trim is narrower than the original door. I'm not changing out a whole baseboard for a quarter of an inch crack. This crack seems to be what is holding their interest. 

A side note here. We've always had a problem with field mice getting in. This crack used to be one of the places they could access. There is a similar crack on the right side of the door. A few years ago, I figured this out, and on the garage side I filled the very large openings with spray foam. And I kept rat poison at each point. We've not had them coming in there since then. So, I don't know what they're seeing, hearing, or smelling. I don't think they do and that's the draw.

They're a great comfort these days when the depression is more than I can handle. There is something calming about a kitten hopping onto your lap and snuggling against you. Usually, I'm feeling exactly the same way but there is not a lap for me or shoulder.

Today, I went Thorton's to get a drink to go with the burger I was having for supper. As I walked out of the store, a thought almost stopped me in my tracks. I don't really know who I am. I went to the car and sat there for several minutes thinking about it. Aloud, I said, "I knew at 17 more about who I was, what I wanted to be, and what I wanted to do than I do now. I'm 63 and I don't have a clue."

No one responded. They never do. I fleetingly wondered if I should see a shrink.

I suppose, this is all tangled up in that skein of grief that unravels every year during the holidays. I don't know. In fact, I don't think I know anything. I came home to the cats peering into a hole.

I have a feeling that I am, too.

Revelations

I'm off Facebook for the moment, well, actually for January. I might stay off longer since I'm finding the hiatus soothing and relaxing.

My church does this "social media fast" every January. That isn't why I'm doing it. I'm doing it for me. Because I'm sick of Facebook. I love those real friends I'm made there but there is so much nastiness that I really don't like it.

So why am I there? I have a large family scattered across about 7 states. Keeping in touch is easier on Facebook. We even have a group page. I have writing groups that are interesting and some local folks that I consider friends. There are people I met through my writing I enjoy chatting with. Oh, and because "they" said if you're a writer, you need a page. So, here I are. . .well, there I are.

The thing is, the absence is having an interesting effect. No, I'm not working on the novels. I'm still blocked, mostly. I am, however, finding my other creative outlets coming out. I'm crocheting more if my hands aren't bothering me. I'm getting to the gym a tad more. I'm reading more. I play with the kittens. I get the laundry put away more often. I am on Instagram but that's a different thing altogether. They have a lot of craft ideas and so does Pinterest.

All around, my life is shifting back to center. Probably a good thing.

Does anyone remember what people were like before social media? Before the internet?  I know we think it's a wonderful thing. It might be if it were an actual tool rather than an escape or a platform. Look at that! The people pushing it even call it a "platform". It's designed solely to push agendas. Of course, it's marketed as a way for people to "connect" but that couldn't be further from the truth.

The reality is it drives a wedge between people already separated by distance. They're not close enough to hug you ... or slap you, so you can say what you want and consequences be damned. And the nicest people become rude and cruel. Me included. I try very hard not to be nasty, but with so many snowflakes around, no matter what you say someone gets offended. 

Think about the people you know on Facebook. I don't have thousands or even hundreds of friends. I'm very particular and have never sought to add people. I even have relatives not on my list. But how many do we really know? I'm fairly certain I know or am related to over 50% of my contacts personally. It's probably closer to 75%.  Can you say that? If so, that's great but I'm guessing that most people can't say that.

We're people who want to connect. And TPTB have sold us a gimmick that promises to do just that. And then your "friend" unfriends you because they disagreed with you or found your values offensive.

The fact is that you never connected at all. Real friends can accept differences in opinion, values, and colors without making a big stink about it. Real friends just ignore the irritations that arise between them or they approach it reasonably and without malice. They understand your stresses, pains, and troubles and if they don't, they need not take you to task over it. That thoughtless person who continually says hurtful things is not and never was a friend. I may very well fall in this category on someone's list. That's just the realities of Facebook. We aren't friends if we behave like antagonists.

None of this occurred to me until I separated myself from Facebook. I'll admit it is a kind of revelation. I seldom unfriend people, unless their material is so offensive I can't in good conscience keep them on. However, I've been unfriended a few times. I can be brutal in my statements. By that I mean direct and unpolitically correct. I don't hide behind masks very well. So, folks get annoyed and offended.

I rarely delete comments unless they're obscene because I figure if you want to make a fool of yourself, I won't stop you. My policy is to unfollow and see how that goes while taking steps so they don't see my post much if at all. I've blocked some post from certain contacts. Eventually, they'll drop me. I never get offended by this.

The realization that Facebook is a negative force in the world is probably not new but I think I've only recently realized the depth of the negativity. It isn't really a nice place, but it's convinced a lot of us it is. I'm going to have to reevaluate how I use it and how frequently.

If you've not taken time away from social media, and I mean more than a day or a week, I urge you to try a month-long fast. It may surprise you. Be advised, it is not as easy as you think. In fact, I suspect most won't be able to do it. Give it a shot, anyway.

Wish Me

The new year arrived with a fizzle. I prayed it in and then sat and watch YouTube videos until about 2 a.m. Somewhere in the distance there were fireworks, but I didn't look out.  It didn't matter.

The kittens woke me at 8 as they do every morning. Jet seems to think he will die if he doesn't eat something. He's a stressful eater, bolting the food as quickly as possible. I suspect in his previous life before the shelter he had to compete for food. I need to get one of those things that slow them down but Kiki is a laid back nibbler. They have their own bowls but she even waits sometimes for him to begin to eat first and a few times I've seen her sit and watch him until he's done. She takes what he leaves. She typically won't eat without him though, so feeding them in different areas is out. When we give them treats, we do separate them or she won't get any at all. 

I'd like to start the new year with a list of resolutions. You know, those things we all promise ourselves we'll do but then don't? Yeah. I'd like to do that this year. I won't. I can't stand liars and living with one would be impossible.

So, no resolutions for me. I could try a list of wants, I guess.

I want to pray more.
I want to write more and for that writing to be something worthwhile.
I want ...

Nevermind. That won't do anything but depress me. I want nothing. Nope, nothing. If I survive this new decade, I will consider myself infinitely blessed and have no need of anything but what I have now.  Food, shelter, clothing, bills paid, and abundant books and writing equipment. Even if said equipment is underutilized. 

Here's how things stand. I'm working on my weight. To lose it, not gain. I am trying to do more crochet for other people. I never do it for myself, anyway. I am trying to write, despite my block and hand problems.

That's it. I wish you a Happy New Year. 

Wish me a year of no heartbreak and no pain. Yeah, not very promising, is it?