We are a people of dreamers, innovators, crusaders, and more. Our principles of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness embedded with equality are absent when those who dedicate their lives to serving and protecting their fellow citizens and the vulnerable and youngest of our citizens who pledge their allegiance to this country every school day are shot down and killed.
Walking through the city today in some ways felt like the calm before the storm. Maybe this is the week that we wake up? Maybe next week we realize what guns have cost us? Maybe when we bury the souls that are surely ready not ready to leave, we’ll be moved into action? Maybe? March 20.
I remember living like that many times throughout my life. Worries and fears stood tall and proud at forefront of my mind and tongue. Chronic anxiety resulted, evidence of the illness was seen in my entire physical and emotional state that I allowed to be hijacked by worry that was born out of fear. Xanax helped quell it, but it didn’t stop it.
How I thought my day would play out, and how it played out were two different scenes. And I loved the latter. Especially the fantastic and unexpected Saturday surprise, from a kind and generous stranger no less. The compliment’s impact is real and lasting because it came from a place of authenticity, and not ego.
I’m feeling anxious and accomplished about my progress writing every day for 90 consecutive days. I’m more than halfway through my commitment. This mixed bag of emotions has me back to a betwixt and between morning, so taking a queue from Comfort Prayers this morning, I’m going to share the angels who graced my WordPress Reader this morning.
The truth is, February is a game changer. I felt good that a marriage, a friend’s birthday, moving to Springfield, and so many positive events offset what happened in 1990. That was when I went to my resident adviser at Marquette University and told her that I sexually was assaulted by another student.
The movie disturbed me for days after. It was chilling. I felt that grief and anger watching Three Billboards yesterday with Bridget, and without saying it out loud, the thought “My God I pray that I die before you” was omnipresent. I touched her knee, physically connecting myself to her, looking at her, reminding her that she is a part of me.
XRT’s #AllVinylSaturday reminded me of the beauty of the record album. The reason why an artist makes an album is the same as me making a photo album. It’s a collection. There’s a theme. A common thread that runs through it. And listening to an album in its totality, you can fully appreciate the breadth of the artist’s talent. What a gift.
And writing through this, I realize that it’s not the moon that really frustrated me, it’s the hour and twenty minutes that I spent listening to the President last night. I watched him use American heroes, victims of crimes, ambitious and loyal Americans to prop up his own agenda.
Sometimes, I feel like the battered wife, always coming home for more, but I have the role wrong. I should not identify with the one being battered, I should identify with the batterer. How many times I have questioned fate, and blamed God for the present and past.; decisions I made, yet wanted to distance myself from.
Every day Bridget and make at least one comment about the stench or frequency of their farts. I imagine an intestinal version of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate factory churning away emitting poisonous gases. Speaking of it now, I think that the Department of Defense should jar their farts and use them in combat. If you could intensify the odor, you’d likely knock down a whole country.
I remember once sitting at my Aunt Mary’s table on a Sunday morning after mass at St. Thomas More. I told her I hated something. I have no recollection what it was that I hated. I only recall her response. “We never hate,” she said. “We only dislike.”
Melancholy. Numb. Ambivalent. Nothing good in those words. On most days I can flip those words inside out and find a bright side or silver lining, but today it’s just not there. Last Tuesday my friend had a bad day. She woke up angry. She could not put her finger on it. She thought maybe she was letting too many people manager her time. She went to read her usual pick me ups. She tried to journal. Nothing worked. I told her she was having an “I’m so bitchy I can’t stand myself” kind of day.
We need gray, rainy Mondays for without them we’d never appreciate the brilliant, sunny days. Yesterday, a winter thaw set in, the melted snow uncovered a shit ton of landmines in my backyard. Rose-colored glasses would neither camouflage dozens of newly revealed dog poops or mask their smell.
I don’t remember the last kiss, hug, embrace, or touch. I wish I could remember just one. Because at his best he was the most sincere, and caring man. He loved me. I loved him. We had plans. Until we didn’t. One day we stopped planning. Life took its course. Throwing curveballs. Job losses. Foreclosure. Ends upon ends. Until our marriage halted.