the crook of a smile
is the path to happiness.
the trail leads to you
– by Naaria
Dedicated to my husband, who has shown me what love truly means. ❤
the crook of a smile
is the path to happiness.
the trail leads to you
– by Naaria
Dedicated to my husband, who has shown me what love truly means. ❤
Even though I “know” that not every journey is smooth, it’s still kind of disheartening when I reach those inevitable road blocks. You kinda expect (and/or hope) that it’ll be smooth as butter but that’s just not how life works. Of course, in this particular case I’ve been ignoring signs that were saying “road block ahead!” or more like “there will be a road block ahead if you keep ignoring those aches and pains!”
Well, I ignored them and now my knee is in pain. It hurts to walk up and down the stairs and squatting is out of the question. God damn it, self.
Luckily we have a great chiropractor in town and, while the pain hasn’t subsided much yet, I feel a difference in my body and I am looking forward to working with him to restore balance in my body. I can also feel the pain “moving” which can sometimes be a good thing in that I feel that as one area gets better, the pain “moves” to another spot that needs a bit of extra attention and what better way to bring your attention to an area than “ow ow ow ow ow ow”… lol. 🙄
Anyway, seems like I’ll be hobbling on my journey for the next little while…
do you recognize
the light in us that burns bright
even with no sun
can you see that which
has no form, but the power
to sway hearts of man,
the minds of women,
avert the gaze of children?
that light is precious
that light is your own
to harness and command, if
only you’d see it
– by Naaria
Alright! One month has already gone by in 2017. Mine’s been… a learning experience. 🙂
All in all I’m pleased with how the first month went, despite a couple of bumps in the road. Physically I feel motivated, mentally I feel determined to make some much needed changes, and spiritually I feel… okay. I’m itching to go outside and be with nature and breathe fresh air, especially being in the countryside. I’m not used to staying indoors as much as I have been lately, and it’s kinda wearing on my “connected” feeling, if that makes sense.
Back in the city, I’d have to go outside and walk to go to work and such so I was able to commune with nature albeit slightly, but at least I did at all. Even on cold, snowy, rainy days I’d have to brave the weather whereas here, I’ve no pressing matters to tend to so I mostly just stay indoors. It’s kiiinda been nice but I feel cabin fever around the corner. That’s going to change come Spring!
As for now, I’m working hard at sticking to my weightlifting routine and I’m happy to say that results are starting to show! I’m learning not to expect a crazy amount of change in a week, month, or even a few months. It’s easy to see other people’s transformation pictures and not take into consideration the amount of time that passed between the two. You kinda just look at the pics and subconsciously think it must have been some form of instant, you know? Well, I do at least. BUT again, I’m learning to stay consistent, accept and appreciate the little changes my body goes through, and take the mental change that can’t be captured in a photo much more seriously.
Happy February all; may it be even better than January!
the scent of this place
makes me sick
it turns my stomach and leaves behind
memories I can’t forget
the familiar air of the songs
we once sang to
held hands to;
leaves filth in my mouth that
can’t be washed out
I’d give an arm and a leg to be rid
of your scent still stuck in my mind
instead I sit here intact
all places but my heart
– by Naaria
Can you tell I’m in a bad mood? 😆
You know how they say that scent is the strongest sense tied to memory? That it can practically take you back to the moment you smelled it? Well as cool as it is for good memories, it really sucks for bad memories. Reliving moments both in similar experiences plus having the fortune of smelling it too? Yeah, I’m in a bad mood.
Ten ways to say that
you make me so happy that
I could fly away
This is really hard for me to write about because the wound is still pretty fresh. It’s really long but I sincerely appreciate anyone taking the time to read it.
My whole life I wanted a dog. Finally at 24 I got my first dog, Bossco.
Everyone says they have the best dog but nope, sorry–I had the best dog. 😉
Gods, he made me so happy. He stayed by my side every moment I was home. If I was on the computer he was passed out in bed. If I had to go to the bathroom he’d wait for me at the door. If I was in the kitchen he’d lay at the kitchen entrance. He knew every time I thought to sneak him some food because he’d perk right up just as I turned to hand him some.
He was dog-defensive (he’d get scared and be on guard anytime another dog passed by instead of wanting to attack them) and because of that, taught me how to be a fearless leader for him. I had to learn to be strong so that he could feel comfortable in his day to day. I had to learn how to handle his fear, and teach him that I would protect him, always and forever.
Until I was faced with a cruel reality of life: he was sick and needed surgery and I did not have the financial wellness to take care of him.
See, when I first adopted him, he had a growth on his leg that his previous owner had had removed before I took him in. She and I kept in contact and would visit from time to time. He remembered her every time and loved playing with her, and it was truly wonderful.
Just under than a year later, the lump grew back in the exact same spot and it grew quite quickly. I knew in my gut that there was no way it was “just a lump” now. I spent nearly $700 on tests and biopsies for him, and a month prior I had spent another $500 on an emergency vet visit for Zorro (PSA: 24 hour vets are scams). Needless to say, I had tapped my (meager) savings dry and was facing another $1200 bill for surgery, because the tests determined that the big lump, as well as some of the little ones spotted around his body, were cancerous and needed to go.
It took me months to save up what I had blown through in a matter of weeks, and I was terrified that waiting that long again would be extremely detrimental to his health. I wanted to take care of him. I wanted him to be healthy above all else, and I was terrified (and had plenty of evidence) that I couldn’t provide that care for him.
I will regret this decision for the rest of my life, but I decided to rehome him.
I contacted the previous owner (as per our agreement that she be the first to know, which I understood and respected) and told her what was going on. Her mother graciously took him in and got him the surgery less than a week later. I lost my job a few days after they took him, so I knew… I just knew I made the right choice.
I was so happy–so relieved. In that moment I felt I made the right choice and that no amount of pain I felt would take that away, no matter how much I missed him. After all, he was being taken care of where I severely lacked and could live a long, happy life from then on. The mother also said I could come visit any time. It was a win-win situation and I thanked the Universe for giving me the strength to do what was right.
It grew back again, this time within about eight months. I was reminded that I did the right thing. I must have done the right thing. They removed it again, and again I counted my blessings that he was in a home where they could take care of him.
I was able to visit him once, and had another visit planned for the Summer, which fell through due to emergencies in their family. A couple weeks later, the previous owner called me and told me that her mom and Bossco were at the vet and that he was going to be put down. He had apparently been very sick the last few days and told no one, until it got to the point where euthanizing him became the best and only option. I told her I’d be right over if she could tell me where it was happening.
She told me her mother was refusing to let anyone be there, including her–her own daughter.
I will regret this decision for the rest of my life, but I respected her wishes and instead cried in my room. I was devastated. I am devastated. It still fucking hurts and I imagine it always will.
I should have gone. I should have fucking gone. I should have told her to shove it and stop being selfish, that her daughter and I love Bossco too, that we deserve to be there, we took care of him too, and that he deserves to have people who love him surrounding him when he’s sick and terrified.
Instead all I could do was cry. I was afraid of stirring the pot at an already stressful time. I wanted him to go peacefully. I played out shouting matches in my mind, that if I showed up to the vet to an emotionally charged, very upset woman who asked for privacy, she would just lose it and I didn’t want Bossco to experience that as he was dying.
Fuck. I should have done a lot of things. I should have never let him go. I should have tried harder to raise money. I should have begged on the streets. I should have begged my family. I should have begged any friend who would listen. I should have sold everything I owned. I should have moved back in with my mom. I should have saved up despite the time it might have taken. I should have done so many fucking things that I didn’t do because I was terrified that time wasn’t on my side. And it wasn’t, because he was put down about a year later anyway. That year could have been with me.
I should have done a lot of things and those “should haves” will haunt me forever.
After all, didn’t he trust me to protect him? Didn’t he place his trust and love in me that I would be there for him no matter what? Why did I let the fear of his sickness and death push me to having him leave my life? He got sick and died anyway… it should have been with me. He would have been surrounded by anyone who would make the time during his last moments. He would have been receiving a million pets a minute from a seemingly endless amount of hands, happy as can be, wondering why we were all crying even though he was having the time of his life. Instead I let fear control me when I was supposed to be protecting him from it. Fearless leader my ass.
The picture above was the last time I saw him alive. It is my treasure and my burden that I will gladly hold on to forever.
Forgive me for the foul language you are about to experience.
In light of all of the politically charged bullshit spamming my Facebook (and reddit, which I’m also quitting), I’ve decided to step away from the masses. Does blogging count as the masses? Oh well.
It feels like very few people choose to be respectful, or to engage with the purpose of having a back and forth, meaningful and possibly educational or enlightening conversation. I admit I’m not completely innocent about not starting things, but I do so with the intent and hope that someone will speak to me as I do with them: respectfully share my opinion, present facts if necessary, and apologize when wrong. Gods, is that so hard?
I do know it’s partially my fault for poking the bear that’s already enraged. Perhaps I’m naive, or perhaps I just enjoy debating. Perhaps I’m just a hopeful idiot thinking people on the internet, who can hide behind anonymity and/or sit far away from consequences, might play nice while talking about an emotionally charged topic.
But then it goes back to “why can’t people just respect one another”? But then it goes back to “why can’t I just bite my tongue”? Much to my dismay, I can’t (and won’t) bite my tongue when I see bullshit like this happening.
The problem isn’t Trump, or Hillary… it’s the assholes. The ones who wreak havoc on the streets during what should be a peaceful protest. The ones who call people names based solely on who they voted for. The ones who bully the children of public figures simply for even daring to be related to a particular person.
Don’t even get me started on that last one. Oh, that last one…
When a grown man responds to an article saying that “we should leave kids (this one out was specifically talking about Barron Trump) of political shittiness and respect them”, with “there aren’t many children I would punch in the face upon meeting. This guy however…” it gets my blood fucking boiling.
I called him out on it, and he did delete the comment to his credit. Then posted an article about how the Obama children were also bullied. So apparently, he found the bullying of the Obama children so abhorrent that he decided to take it out on Trump’s kid? I called him out on that again, asking why he would want to punch a 10 year old child who has done nothing wrong.
Silence for several hours.
And then proceeded to wonder out loud why I had so much animosity for him despite having never met him… and then blocked me. He’s an expert at deflection, apparently, but not in human decency. Good riddance, but holy mother of all that is holy–my blood has been boiling since.
When you preach peace and love, and about how awful Trump and his supporters are because he and they are all hateful bigots and blah blah blah then talk about how you, as a grown man, would punch an innocent 10 year old child in the face? That’s so fucking wrong and so god damn hypocritical that my head might just explode.
Some of the most amazing people I’ve ever had the blessing of knowing voted for Trump, and some of the most hateful, despicable people voted for Hillary. The opposite is also very, very true. I don’t give a flying fuck who you voted for; your vote’s recipient doesn’t change who you are, or dictate how you act, or treat your fellow human being. It isn’t the candidate that’s the issue, it’s the extremists on either side.
Anyway, the encounter with this person was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Even though he blocked me and I could go on tra-la-laing as I have been, it won’t stop the hate from other people cramping up my news feed. It won’t stop me from poking my nose in business that just stresses me out all day, even if I feel I’m in the right. It never feels like that during since it gets my heart rate going in a bad way. The only way to stop all that is to step away, and that’s what I’ll be doing.
I’ll be focusing on my family (husband, two cats, and one incoming kitten… more on that next time 😉 ), and the beautiful area of the Earth that I’ve been blessed to inhabit, and have yet to explore. I’ll still blog, and I’ll still be on Instagram (since the feed is very easily customizable) but Facebook and reddit need to get the fuck out of my life. 😆
So, goodbye Facebook, goodbye reddit; my two favourite places on the internet. It was fun, but it just ain’t no more.
The universe provides, and always will.
Part of that “agreement” is remembering to invite what you want into your life. It’s one thing to want someone to come over. It’s one thing to want someone to come in for a tea or coffee. It’s a whole other thing to actively invite that person over, and greet them with a “welcome, come on in!” when they’ve made the effort to see you.
Too many times I’ve laid in bed after a long, sleepless night, desperately wanting this or that, but never asking for it.
Too many times I’ve come face to face with something I’ve asked for, but was too afraid to accept or open the door to.
I feel like a lot of us want that “fairy tale” type of event to happen; where a magical twist of fate suddenly changes everything for us without us lifting a finger… I know I wanted that more than anything because it meant someone would realize just how amazing I was, without me having to prove it or make an effort to show it.
Then, it would (somehow) show up and I was so poorly versed in love or even decency that I wouldn’t even open the door. I’d peek through the blinds or the peephole and judge whether I wanted anything to do with this thing or event or person.
It wasn’t until I really, truly realized that I was actively pushing people away while simultaneously pining for someone–anyone–to notice me and really love me, that I was able to spark a change.
It’s a work in progress, but I’m now making the effort to text or call that which I want in my life, and invite them over for a nice, hot cup of coffee. Oh, and to open the door for them too. 🙂
Alright! After the wonderful weekend I had at the beginning of the month (a weekend and-then-some of heavy indulgence and slacking on strictness), it’s time to get back on the wagon and really whip it good!
Sometimes for our sanity, we do need to indulge. We do need to loosen the reigns a bit. Sometimes you restrict yourself so far that your body damn near forces you to eat a bigger helping, or a second dinner, or a
third fourth snack. I’ve gained a bit of weight but now I don’t feel that undying feeling that says “FEED ME DAMN YOU FEED MEEE” in the back of my mind anymore which is honestly an awesome trade off for me, personally.
Time to hit those resolutions hard: wake up early to coffee and a light jog, some yoga, meditation, get some creative juices flowing a la blogging or guitar, eat a healthy, hearty breakfast, and then tackle each and every day as it comes!
As always, the prompt is perfect for what I’m thinking!
So, I’ve been learning guitar lately, very slowly. I practice maybe 15 minutes a day or so which is a great pace for me.
When I sit and practice, I inevitably get to thinking of all those who have learned guitar before me. How many hours were put into it. How much their fingers must have hurt–and how many of them sucked it up anyway and practiced til they bled.
How almost all of their efforts are unseen.
People–myself included–tend to judge people by how well they can do at a certain point in time; whether it’s on stage at a concert, or for the test with your instructor, or when they serenade their love, or whatever.
If they do poorly, we might think poorly of them or their skills. If they do well, we tend to think that they must be born with this talent. We likely rarely think of all the hours spent alone–frustrated that they can’t get this or that, or elated that they finally did it!
A lot of life is unseen, isn’t it? It’s amazing to me.
Next time I see someone performing their art, I’m going to try to take a deep breath and appreciate all the effort they’ve put into it so far, even if the results aren’t 100%.