i'm sad - this is why...

i didn't write yesterday.

but that's not why i'm sad.

when i woke up this morning, i found Cheyenne (Mouse Mouse), my 19 year old cat, hadn't left my side. not only had she not left my side, she kept trying to snuggle closer and closer. she hadn't slept with me for weeks, and likely months.

she's been sleeping on the couch and until yesterday, i just thought she preferred to sleep there because she was getting older, more fragile and sleeping next to me seemed more dangerous to her. but i'm starting to think that she was just keeping watch.

she also started this yowling around the same time she'd stopped sleeping next to me. terrible mournful screeching at all hours of the night. sometimes she'd do it during the day, but mostly, she'd do it between midnight and 4am. it was awful. i did research and it seemed to be related to her health and her age. but now. . . now, i think she was just trying to tell me something.

and yesterday, she stunned me.

yesterday we took her brother, Willie, of 13 years to put him to sleep. i brought her with me because i had read that maybe her yowling had to do with mourning. and sometimes, if you have an animal present when the other one passes, it helps them with the understanding about why they are going home alone.

i got Willie 13 years ago from a Montana no-kill shelter where he'd be for a year. i had been volunteering, helping to walk and train the dogs. every time i spent time training and walking dogs, before i'd leave, i'd go to the cat room and hang out with the cats for a half an hour. Willie would creep up every week and stretch his long body across my lap. he was timid and nervous, but never failed to make it to my lap. his left eye was like a blue marble and the reason he'd been there for the entire year of his life. the shelter told me that most people want a kitten or a perfect cat. one eye that didn't work was definitely a blocker to him getting adopted.

Willie and a beer - he never judged my Miller Lite choices

i convinced Alistair we needed a third cat. .  .we did not need a third cat. and Alistair didn't really want a third cat. we already had CJ, a pretty crotchety old man cat (he came with the Alistair package) and Cheyenne (mouse mouse is what i call her now since she squeaked), so another cat was not something high on the list of "needs" especially since Alistair was already in love with these two cats.

Willie was hard not to fall in love with, though. since his blue eye didn't work, he had depth perception issues and couldn't always see us coming and he'd drop his head any time we'd go to pet him. but he snuggled like no other cat. he loved being loved. and he'd roll over and expose his belly after only a few minutes.

Willie's totem when we visited Astoria and the Goonies hour

Willie wasn't his name when we got him from the shelter. it was Adobe. it was a dumb name and we decided on naming him after the Goonie Pirate - Willie - the one-eyed pirate from The Goonies; a favorite classic movie of ours. we'd call him Captain Willard and Willie-man.

about a year after we got him, we had moved to Seattle, he was running around in the house, likely due to vacuum terror, and he ran into something and, like most times he'd get spooked, ran under the bed. about three hours later, he hadn't come out - which was actually unusual. when we found him. . . his eye had burst. . . i know, it's gross, but apparently it had been swelling and that is why he didn't like us to pet his head. . . it hurt. we quickly took him in and had his eye removed and he became so much happier. . . and loved getting his head pet after that. in fact, he would shove his face into your hand any chance he could get.

eating pizza

if you didn't offer the doritos, there was a lot of swiping

he became a very healthy, happy addition to our family for the next many years. at his peak he was 20lbs. and i'd call him Fatty McFat Fat. . . he would eat Doritos, Dick's burgers and pizza. not that we gave him any of that. . . he'd steal it. there was this one time i had two slices of pizza on the table and i left the room for a minute. when i got back, my pizza was gone. i asked the other HUMAN in the house if he'd eaten my pizza as this was a pretty educated guess as to what was likely. after a short investigation, i discovered Willie under the table with a very large piece of pizza.



his favorite, though, was water bug; translation dungeness crab and shrimp. Alistair would get a whole crab at Pike's Place Market and he'd prepare the crab for me to cook but the entire t
ime he was prepping the crab, Willie would talk to Alistair in the kitchen. "feed me. feed me. feed me. feed me." Alistair liked to spoil Willie and that meant morning shrimp. lovingly purchased at Costco, thawed every day and cut up to bite size pieces for Willie. it took me a long time to get Willie to stop begging once i finally convinced humans in the house this was a bad idea. Willie eventually learned that my alternative of kidney friendly food was a better choice.

seriously - 20lbs. . . look at that crab scavenger

when we lost Alistair, he slept with me every night, curled up next to my neck. purring to try to make
us both feel better.


Mouse Mouse never seemed to like Willie. her domain was the bed and when Willie would try to get up in her space, she'd hiss. but the feeling seemed mutual. in the middle of the night Willie would trap her in the litter box room. there appeared to be no love lost between the two of them.



but a few months ago, Mouse started sleeping in the same proximity as Willie. hissing stopped. i didn't actually think anything of it at the time. Willie got sick. . . and i knew he'd be leaving us soon. just how soon wasn't clear. but soon.

then one night i caught Mouse snuggling up near Willie. it surprised me so much i took a picture.

and then the yowling when Willie was in the hospital for a week. she stopped when he returned.

she started again about a week ago. i think she was telling us it was time for Willie. he was sick and sad and we weren't doing enough. we'd been giving him IV fluid every morning and giving him any food he'd eat. on his last day, i woke to find him hiding in the bathroom, a place he'd been going to for a day or so. i gave him a little tuna, which he got up off my scarf and ate a little. i promised him it wouldn't hurt anymore.

so, i brought her with us. it was me, Mouse, Ciara and Cassidy. i was worried she'd be a big distraction but wanted her to know what was going to happen. so, she'd be prepared to be alone at home.

she was amazing.

she laid down next to him; curled up  and when they gave him the sedative, she got up, turned around and laid across him, like protecting him. everyone in the room was stunned. i moved her fearing she was causing him some pain by being on top of him, but she didn't move away, she snuggled in closer. a few minutes later, the doctor came in to help Willie pass. Mouse put her paws on this back legs, by his tail. i cried. hard. she knew. she knew exactly why she was there. the doctor asked me, "are you ready." through my tears, i said, "he's ready. it doesn't matter if i am or not."

animals are amazing. she knew it was time and she new to comfort him. and frankly, me.

on the way home, she didn't make a peep. and that night. she slept with me for the first time in months. no yowling.

so, while i broke my habit of writing. . . that's not why i'm sad. my family changed again. and it will again. and it will be ok. but today. . .today, i'm sad.

good-bye Captain Willie

30 for 30 has gotten me totally inspired

today is day 11 of 30 days of writing.  it's been so helpful in getting me unstuck. i've been stuck for months and months and months. and for some reason, at the end of September, i was ripe for change. Dustin asked me to go to this "open mic" night at the Hugo House to see him read some of his work. i hadn't seen him in months and i always leave our writing groups with so much excitement and inspiration, i thought it would be good to see him (miss him so much!!) and see what he'd been working on. i needed out of this funk.

it was the exact right time.

i found this note on the table we were sitting at and it hosted a graphic that spoke to me.

i thought it would be a good idea for Dustin to do since he was so good at being regular with his writing (he's totally my hero on this. . .). but a few days later, he emailed me, telling me he had taken a look and maybe we could do it together. i don't even know what possessed me to say yes since the previous three or four months i'd been completely terrified to open up my computer or my notebook.  the thought of writing anything made me want go into a fugue state. so, when i said yes, i think it surprised me more than Dustin.

and so far. . . it hasn't be horrible. the complete opposite (for those of you following this horrible pattern are likely screaming at your screens, "seriously kp. you fucking say this every few months. .. " continue. . . ). it's been great. i've written about Laffy Taffy (a caper at work), what it's like to have to arrange a funeral, the rivers etched into your skin when you take a shower, college reminiscents, parts of a novel i've been desperately trying to rid my mind of, part of a novel in my brain i want to let ruminate in that same brain, and the weird parallels between the global warming conspiracy and when a democrat is in office while the economy appears to be booming. . . all weird, but all good. the two things i wrote related to my novel. . . it's amazing. i'm so excited to finally be actually writing about it. 

i even went to the open mic night on 10/5 to read something from one of the novels. it was liberating! i even auditioned a story for a storytelling night. .. and i cannot wait to edit it if they choose it. and even if they don't, i'll now have a place to send more pitches. 

so. . .not so bad for 11 days. 

oh - and this whole thing is to raise money for the Hugo House.  I don't know if any of you have heard of it, but it's amazing. when i went to my first open mic in September, to listen, it reminded me so much of the play from San Miguel that parroted what it must have been like back when Kerouac and Burroughs had done readings in front of their friends fueled by the alcohol and camaraderie.  it felt like home. i think i looked over at Dustin at some point in the evening and said, "why haven't we done this before??" it was a question asked that seemed so . . . late - i mean, it felt so right to be there with these other people. 

i became a member about a day and a half later, as soon as i had a second to go to their website. and i never want this place to go away. so, if you feel so inclined to help support a community that supports me as a writer, i would be extra grateful (as i am already grateful you are here reading this). many thank yous. i'm hoping that out of this 30 days i'll get something i can submit for publishing. . . or at least something that's fit to post here as a fiction. but nothing has totally taken shape yet. but keep me doing it. which means i'm about to do a weird ask. . . and give. . . 

if you decide you can donate some cash - $20 or more, i'll totally write you a micro fiction of any topic you want. and send it to you. . . really. it may be horrible, but you'll get me writing. holy crap - i'm terrified. . . ready?

set?

go!!!!!

best florida yoda bartender

she makes the one on the left a drink, it’s vodka and something, the resulting color is still clear. he’s asked for a lime. a lime squeezed into the vodka concoction. don’t put the lime in there, he says. just squeeze it. so she’s doing that. and while she’s squeezing it in there, he repeats, squeeeeeeeze it. . . yeah, don’t you put that lime in there. i don’t want it in there. a little under her breath she says, yes, i know, you don’t want the lime in there. she finishes squeezing and i see that she brings her hand up a little more than necessary to show him she really isn't putting that lime in his drink. i smile a little with the side of my mouth. the one on the right tells her that they want to close out. she goes to the register, tallies it up, turns around and informs them that the total is $31.46. the one on the left says WHAT??? like he’s being funny while he pulls out money from his wallet. the one on the right laughs. . . like’s it’s a thing the one on the left must do often. it’s not funny. it’s actually annoying. she's been very patient. they’ve been a bit loud and annoying the whole time. but you know, it’s florida, it’s vacation, they’ve had alcohol. they pay, the one on the left sucks down the vodka drink with the squeezed-but-not-in-the-glass-lime. they walk past me and the woman behind the bar starts washing their glasses. oh my god they were annoying, i hear. i look up. she looks at me. so annoying, still washing dishes. i snort as i laugh out loud.  i tell her she’s my new favorite person. she repeats. .. just so annoying. she comes over and in a low voice she shares with me that the one on the left went and got the snacks meant only for the people who buy coffee. showing me the length of the snacks with her two index fingers. with a look only a mother can give her kids when she disapproves, she says, some nerve he has. she has just become florida’s best yoda bartender. 

damn those dots

not sure if i ever mentioned it, but i have been reading tarot cards. in fact, i took a class. it is endlessly fascinating. most people think that it’s about predicting the future, but really it isn’t. . . it’s about reflection and looking within.

but more on that in some other post.

i actually do a reading every morning - a one card reading. i usually ask something like, “how should i guide myself today.” the accuracy of my situation reflected in the cards borders on the ridiculous and absurd, but always nails accurate.  today was no different. 

this morning, i am sitting here in the airport on the verge of a reset button while i wait for my plane to take me to mexico where i will be infused with all things writer and artist and become whole again. i need this trip more than even i probably know because the last year has been less than stellar (this is the king of understatements).  i have been nervous to go this year because i don’t have my personal interpreter (she really isn’t. . .but i have had the good fortune to travel with her so many wonderful times) and i am doing this solo, so i haven’t really let it sink in that i’m going to this most amazing bubble in San Miguel where i will be healed.

it hit me this morning when Terri came to pick me up. i hugged her, put my bag in the back, and got in the front seat. as soon as the door closed, i actually started crying. a flooding of relief and exciting and exhaustion - but mostly - relief that i am on my way to getting filled back up. 

i hadn’t actually done my tarot reading this morning because i was too busy remembering to put shit in my suitcase, take shit out of my suitcase and forget to put shit in my suitcase. so, i thought it would be a good thing to do while i was eating my glutinously delicious mcdonald’s breakfast (yes. yes i did) - so i shuffled and shuffled and shuffled, breathed in the cards, put them to my forehead and asked, “what should i remember to do on this trip?”

it really never does cease to amaze me what comes up. today it was the ace of cups.  i could go into all the fancy ways i read the cards, but here’s what this one means in one simple sentence. . . 

be open to receiving 

yeah. . . so - that happened. 

so, yes, i’ll be down in mexico -  being open and receiving. . . damn those dots like to hit me in the face.

it was rough and amazing. cuz that's how life is. . .

and it’s that time again. time for me to put goals out there and then promptly not meet them. i’m a great beginner, and a terrible finisher. this time last year i decided i was going to “live the Ray Bradbury way.” it was my hair brained idea that i could read something every single day of the year. and to add to it, i also said i’d read a whole bunch of other shit and go to a bunch of shows and visit the library - oh, and of course, write a whole bunch. on the blog, not on the blog. . .oh, the goals i had.

i don’t think i made it to the library one time. i almost went last month when my parents were in town, but i am not sure that would have counted at all.

i feel like i failed. . . again.

i looked back at how many postings i did in 2014. and it’s less than 2013 (which was less than the year before that). . . and i wonder why on earth i can’t keep up a writing habit. i love to write. it makes me feel right, normal. the gap in the middle of the year makes complete sense to me.  so - here’s what happened.

at the beginning of the year, i had just moved back into my house. i had moved out (this was the second or third time) because of a major disagreement of how a marriage should work. i had high hopes, i posted 5 times in january. that was amazing for me. at least once a week i posted something. 

in february, i went to mexico to a writing conference and - it was an amazing time.  i was inspired. i felt renewed and invigorated and i thought i would write and write and write.

San Miguel Febuary 2014

however, my return was ruined by the fact that another marriage disagreement (of major significant factors) occurred. details don’t necessarily matter, but know that i don’t deserve what happened. i have enough self esteem to know i am a good person who deserves an equal partner willing to participate in life. and not just in my life. in their own life, too.

i wrote a blog posting in march about how i needed to forgive myself about what i hadn’t done. and it’s true, i did need to forgive myself. i was depressed. so depressed it was hard to get out of bed every day. i had tried very hard to write, to read, to be inspired, but it was hard. when your marriage is dissolving before your eyes, it’s hard to focus on much else. it would be short sited to not look back at that and think - shit - she should forgive herself - she did all of that during a very difficult time. 

that time lasted for a long time. my breaking point was in the middle of may (probably at the beginning of may, but i hadn’t found enough courage to do anything). there is a quote by Meg Cabot -

“Courage is not the absence of fear but rather the judgement that something is more important than fear; The brave may not live forever but the cautious do not live at all.”

it’s a quote i’ve told to others, on many occasions, to help them know they are more important than any fear they have. so hypocritical of myself. it’s always easier to give others advice - you can see the problem so objectively when it isn’t you. but this time i had to see my own problem. it was hard and it was terrifying. but i had decided that i was more important than my fear. more important than my fear of loneliness, more important than my fear of being hated, more important than my fear of thinking i could never find my center, more important than the my fear that i deserved this unhappiness and disrespect.

i didn’t leave my house this time. it’s my house. on June 1^st, i got my space back. my house and safe place. i was mercifully and terrifyingly alone. i thought it would be enough to break the depression. but it didn’t get better. it got worse. and along with it came some other scary things. 

i woke up one morning, in july, without being able to put a hair tie in my hair. i couldn’t grab things correctly. and i knew this mean there was something wrong with my neck. and i had been through this. two and a half years ago i had my disc removed and my spine fused to get rid of this problem only to find out that well - there are these canals that were being pinched by the disc but that are now narrowing so. . . disc or no disc, my nerve was very angry. two neck injections later and i’m better. . . but. . . just better. it comes and goes.

a month after that i woke up and found  this crazy creeping red thing going up my arm.  i waited all day because it didn’t hurt or anything, but after work i went to the doctor and she sent me straight to the ER. they promptly said i had a blood infection and needed antibiotics - oh - and hey - i guess i’ve developed an allergy to that antibiotic (WHAT?). they sent me home with two OTHER antibiotics and said if the red moved outside of this marker line they drew on me to come back in the morning. and it had.  and they gave me another antibiotic that i promptly and painfully found out that i’m terribly allergic to. only to be told to take the antibiotics they gave me in pill form. WHICH I AM ALSO ALLERGIC TO and had to go into the ER for a THIRD time in 48 hours to get treatment for anaphylactic shock. it was fun. and they have no idea what the blood infection was. and all of that led to more depression. so much so that my best friend came into my house to make sure i was ok. i wasn’t returning phone calls or text messages or emails.

blood infection

then came the panic attacks. i was receiving emails and letters from my estranged husband. each and every one caused me to have an alien bursting from my chest episode. i could hardly work and would cry at the drop of a hat. i needed to file for divorce but the mere thought of having to think about him made me spiral into these horrible panic attacks where i felt like my chest was going to explode and i would end up in a lake of tears. it was crippling. i spent a lot of time hiding in my house. avoiding things. avoiding places. avoiding people. going to work was an enormous effort. and i would be so exhausted when i got home i would just want to sleep. and while i could fall asleep, staying asleep never worked because if i woke up for even a few minutes, i would start thinking about what i had to do. that would become completely overwhelming.

and so it went for months. and months. then my friend moved in for a couple of weeks. it was amazing. i felt like i had a purpose. i had to get up every day. i had to make sure the house was clean. i had to be a good roommate. and i wanted to do things with her. having her live there was sort of like having a booster shot of b12 those celebrities get when they are overwhelmed with their schedules. but if you have ever read anything about that kind of thing. it’s very short lived. it gives you a boost, but it isn’t a solution. and that is sort of what happened when she moved out. i fell back into the old habits.

but the healing has started. i think it’s started because i finally filed for divorce and asked that all communication go through my lawyer. there are few emails here and there that still give me panic attacks, but for the most part, i find myself doing things like going to the grocery store regularly. cooking. walking. seeing my friends instead of watching endless amounts of investigation discovery. it’s not perfect and i haven’t quite figured it out, yet. but it sure as hell is better than i felt the first part of 2014. 

and how did i do in 2014 with the Ray Bradbury way? Actually not to feakin’ bad for not finishing. i didn’t have goals for the entirety of all the things i’m about to show you, but i am going to use it. i’m going to improve on what i did. 

Category	# of items	% of goal completed
Poem	30	8%
Short Story	31	8%
Novel	22	183%
Essay	15	8%
Show	25	208%
Story Idea	8	15%
Film	7	13%
Blog	10	100%
Non-Fiction	5	100%
Written Short Story	2	4%
Writing	25	48%

a quick % explanation

• Poems, short stories, and essays were out of 365 (one a day)
• Novels were out of 12 (one a month)
• Shows were out of 12 (one a month)
• Story ideas were out of 52 (one a week)
• Films were out of 52 (one a week)
• Blogs were out of 10 (mostly because i didn’t give it any goals. . . so anything more than 1 was good)
• Non-fiction was out of 5 (because i didn’t have a goal and shit, i did five, so fuck - yeah!)
• Written short stories was out of 52 (one a week - that was ambitious, wasn’t it?)
• Writing - in general i wanted to write every week. . . so, this is out of 52 (at least once a week, right?)

The funny thing is that i was pretty disappointed in myself when i saw how “little” i wrote. so, i went back through all of my writing over the last day, blogs, journals online and written long hand, and letters. oh, the letters i wrote. i actually wrote more tun 40,000 words. that can seem like a lot or a little, depends on who you are (an author might say that is shameful, a non-author may be amazed). the point is, if i say (which is pretty reasonable and accurate) that i didn’t write enough, i should call myself a liar. most paperback books have between 250 and 350 words per page, i wrote the equivalent to a 114 to 160 page paperback book. while it’s not the next american novel - shit - that’s a lot of pages. it’s a lot of words.

not sure if you care, but there were some amazing things I saw, read and wrote. here are some highlights:

• poem - Anna Akhmatova - Drink my soul, as if with a straw. Ciara gave me this author. she's amazing.
• short story - Neil Gaiman - the goldfish pool and other stories. a sad tale about how hollywood just forgets.
• essay - Cynthia Ozick - A drugstore winter - lovely lovely sad story - so reminiscent. 
• novel - John Scalzi - Agent to the stars - just fun. and funny. love this novel.
• shows - too many i love to name - Amanda Palmers book tour (me and a friend sang and cried like there were no tears left on the planet - it broke us open), Blood Countess (my roommate was amazing), Rose's Pawn Shop (best song ever and a great boy introduced it to me), It's a Wonderful Life - omg - I can't pick and there are 21 more. . . .
• Non-Fiction - Kathi Diamont - Kafka's last love. i left her seminar with mascara down my face. amazing.
• writing - well, everything i ever wrote my mother. it's more inspired and amazing than anything i've ever published. 

it helps me think, every day, i’m not horrible. i’m not less than. i am good. i am trying. and some day i’ll get there. i don’t even know where there is, it’s just not here. and i think if i keep striving to be better than now, better than here - that’s something. the second i stop caring, then you need to be worried.

the most significant thing that happened this year (yeah, something more significant than divorce and blood disease happened) is that i turned 40. it was amazing. my parents came (they won't let me show you pictures, but they were adorable and everyone loved them). i had the best time and here's one of the many many days i celebrated. so - onward to the next 40, because, fuck - life can only go up, right?