Stormy night

Spring has arrived, and as they say, April showers have begun to buffet the Midwest. It is thundering now, and I can hear the sudden downpour.  It is a time of contemplation.  It is a time of meditation and purging and cleansing…

It is time to write again.

It struck me that I haven’t written in months, yet my mind has been many places worth writing about.  Physically, even, I’ve been many places. My life as a guest speaker in the aquarium club circuit has taken off, and so I’ve been traveling. Not to terribly exotic places, yet, but even engagements around the state have me on the go enough to be exhausted.  So much to see and to do; always. I’m…terribly exhausted, in general.  On top of my usual mental woes, I’ve discovered a nasty OCD habit worsening.  Now, I look at my food wistfully, as if it weren’t actually in front of me and ready to consume. As if it were in the pages of some 50’s cookbook I scanned once upon a time. There’s this mental block, and I struggle to get around it to stay alive at times.  Which is highly detrimental. I require my energy reserves now more than ever.  The brain can be a fickle thing.

It strikes me in my quest for human contact, a particular thought this evening: I am a stubborn woman.  I am incredibly stubborn.  I know I should look after my basic needs above all else, yet here I am, all ambitious and junk.  Choking on an oreo cookie, because the nerves have gotten to me. I feel like the walls are closing in and I’m running on fumes, at times.  At other times, I feel so happy and accomplished and fulfilled.  That is not now.  Right now, like any other stormy night, I am lonely.  I’ve a trusty cat companion, who provides sweet kisses and not-so-sweet mischief.  But I’m stubborn, and stubborn women rarely submit to men.  It’s a shame, too.  Because I really thought I liked men.  It is a manly thing to be dominant, and I refuse to submit to even my own physical limitations.  So why would I submit for a lover??  I won’t, though nature almost dictates I must.  Human nature cannot evolve fast enough…Not on this night, and probably not ever.

I ponder what my life will be one day. I never imagined it would be what it is now.  For instance, I never thought such basic things like eating would be a challenge or that I would be on a wait-list for anxiety treatment while simultaneously booking talks and trips.  It may be telling, however, that I often think I wouldn’t be alive if humans weren’t so prone to saving their weak.  I think my body is frail, and my genetics not the best. Though I consider myself weak in many regards, I am not the slightest bit reserved in my convictions.  This is apparent. There was a time I might’ve changed myself for a man, but I didn’t. Now I know I couldn’t.  Though women being strong willed and empowered is encouraged nowadays, it still doesn’t solve a residual dominance men expect to exert. They subconsciously desire dutiful women who look pretty for them and bare children. The reality may be that I scare men off with my convictions and stubbornness without even trying. If that’s the case, I suppose I could imagine more cats in my future….

Stubbornness will be the death of me.






The Struggle for Survival

In honor of the countless documentaries I consume on mother nature, I look upon today as a fight for survival.  It is the selection for fitness that occurs in these blustery winters.  I have the will not to perish.  But the desire to go away for a bit.  To fade into shadows and stray far from disease-harboring crowds.  What makes the task impossible is the need to attend classes and the necessity for jobs and wages.  Humans in this climate have not yet taken on the hibernation period our fellow mammals endorse.  I sit back and watch when I can have the luxury of indoors the events that unfold in the lives of others.  People are fairly sick.  Newborns have many problems this time of year.  Haven’t we learned to foal in the spring yet???  No?  Well, of course not.  the scourge of the planet cannot afford a season off.  So our offspring get sick.  we crowd into small, warm spaces.  Dust collects.  Life is a struggle.  


It makes me sick to speak of it even in blog form.  I’m restless.  My head is straining from the constant exposure to cold winds and my skin breaks upon itself into sores to bleed.  It is much too dry.  It is much too unforgiving.  The stress wracks my muscles and bones.  Every day of beauty snapped up by conditions worse than tolerable.  I want to die a million times over on days like this.  Because survival is so meaningless at times.  Yes, I still question my role.  I know well what nature intends for me.  But I fear what man intends.  I fear what I intend, when my wishes are to disappear.  More sleep would do.  More comfort would do.  Less people would be even better.  But we are all busy with survival.  Which means driving on slippery streets and also cramming into tight warm places where germ ridden breaths are shared by all.  It means dying to survive.  To all survive.  


I know I’m being cynical.  I do indulge on many occasions.  I could never hurt a fly.  but I see what is unfolding.  And I contemplate what it means to accommodate more with less.  I suppose it is good to know…..the struggle befalls many.  And many will fall who cannot cope.  I am coping.  But for the purpose of keeping quiet and keeping pulse.  When the thaw comes I can only hope…..