Blood Letting

I took a friend out to lunch today.  Walking back to the car after eating, I saw on the ground a little Japanese doll pendant.  It is made out of plastic or rubber.  Some kind of material that is squishy, yet firm.  I took it as a sign of good luck coming my way.

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I have been struggling a long time.  My whole life, actually.  I made decisions based upon emotional needs.  I wanted to do things my way.  I needed control.  I couldn't let things go.  Last year I made a decision to not ride the merry-go-round anymore.  I was tired of the same lessons visiting me over and over again because I didn't want to learn.  That involved deep protracted surgery on my psyche and what stopped me in the past was knowing how painful that would be.  The thing is is that I also knew I couldn't continue to live my life the way I had been.

It wasn't going to be an overnight excursion but instead a long distance voyage into really seeing myself.  What did I need to change?  What did I need to do differently?  I never EVER wanted to run around the same circle again so I pushed when I wanted to give up.  I ran when all I wanted was to inch along on my hands and knees.  I allowed the knife of truth to open me up and I bled.

I'm still learning but the hardest part is over.  Recently a situation presented itself that I knew I had to handle much differently than I would have before.  I made sure to not repeat old patterns.  I consciously made the decision to think and act differently.  Instead of drama and hurt, there is peace.

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I had an appointment with my doctor's assistant this past Friday.  Tiny infections, the size of single pores, kept popping up in different places on my skin.  Antibiotic ointment didn't cure them.  Anti-fungal cream was keeping them under control.  For at least a couple of months I had been feeling awful.  Tired. Wanting to sleep.  Achy.  I told the nurse and showed her the weird examples of what I had no name.  She ended up prescribing a month long course of antibiotics made specifically for bacterial infections.  I started it yesterday.  When taken on an empty stomach, this drug makes me so nauseous I want to puke.  Now I take it with food which isn't the preferred way but if I want to function the only way.  I am already feeling better and doing better.  She was right about what was happening inside of my body.  I listened to her and relied on her knowledge.

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The tiny infections in retreat is the physical representation of the healing of my heart.  The tiny Japanese doll pendant is a gift; a representation of future good luck.

Old Soul

My massage therapist, Eric, has to be the sweetest person on the planet.  It is his spirit that I connect with and find comforting.  Being around him I feel peaceful.  I want to talk, which is not my normal behavior.

Last night I treated myself to a birthday massage.  When I couldn't keep quiet any longer I blurted out to him how sweet he is, twice because embarrassing myself once wasn't enough.  He replied with, "Thank you.  I try to be," and then continued to educate me on the wonders of digestion.

That in and of itself is sweet.  He didn't deny it.  He didn't say he thought I was crazy.  He didn't stop the massage and walk out.

I can feel his caring nature through his touch.  He is a healer.  As a matter of fact he is going back to school to become a nurse.

I think he is an old soul.  I also think we've known each other in past lives.  When I first met him, I instantly felt comfortable around him.  He probably isn't aware of this but the first couple of sessions together he was finishing my sentences.  Even last night I was blabbing on and on trying to explain something to him.  Finally giving up on it I said, "I'm probably not making any sense."  Eric replied sincerely, "No.  Not at all.  I know exactly what you are talking about."  He wasn't bullshitting.

My soul is drawn to his even though there is more than a twenty year difference between us.  I think he acts older and he admitted last night when I told him how old I will be this birthday he thought I was younger.  

His hair is dark like mine and when he sports a beard it makes his impossibly blue eyes pop even more.  Frosting on the cake.

Mexi-Ghetto Regulations!

If I don't recognize the number displayed on my cell phone, I won't answer it.  However, when Restricted lit up my phone late Saturday afternoon, I picked up.  It was the animal services officer that last visited the family up the street.  She was responding to an email requesting I call her.  She gave me good and bad news.

1. It is not against regulations to have a dog in a crate in a doghouse.  During each of the three visits the officer saw that water was being provided for the dog and on one of the visits the owner was outside playing with the dog.  I told her that is rare and I could count on one hand the times I have seen that.  I also think it is pretty convenient that that happened when it did since the dog was a crying mess when I heard and saw it.

2. The dog was found to be healthy.

3. Having a piece of plywood in front of the door with about a foot of space at the top was not against regulation because there was air getting in.  When I said there was no way there was air circulation and it was more like a hot box she said she would have to witness it and make a decision at that time.

4. When I asked about the dog getting exercise she said that the officer could talk to the owners about it.  Here again, being in a crate was not against regulation.

It ended with her telling me she understood what I was saying but that they must abide by the regulations set forth even though it may not be the way she or I would treat our pets.  She also reassured me that I should call animal services whenever I think something isn't right and they will always go check on the dog.  At least she didn't think I was being overprotective and ask that I stop calling.

That's about it in a nutshell.  Kind of anticlimactic but at least she listened, was respectful, and I knew she cared.

I Told You So

Taking out my compact, I powder my nose.  With a click it is closed and I toss it back in my purse. I hear metal on metal.  Panicking, I remember the safety is engaged.

It's time to leave.  The blood stains in my cuticles don't bother me.  It is the bloody tear in my heart that hurts.

I told him if he ever cheated on me he would be sorry.  When he laughed at me I should have known he didn't believe my threat.  Not his fault.  I did say it with a smile on my face.

If anyone asks tonight I'll tell them it's red paint.  No one will, though.  An artist's life is dirty and they wouldn't want to offend "Mimi, The Magnificent".

The vultures circling above are impatiently waiting for me to leave.  Looking at his dead body I feel no regrets, only an overwhelming aching slightly appeased.  I hope his dangling hands fluttering with the current attract hungry gators.  Extra treat tonight, my friends! Enjoy.

She walked away.  The thud-thud rhythm of her boots on the dock disappearing with her.

Mexi-Ghetto

Politically incorrect but true

I have written about the positives about my neighborhood in spite of the illegal activity and low income that surrounds me.  Since I am the minority, I make myself as invisible as possible and interact only when there is no doubt it is welcome.  For the most part this is a "Hear no evil, See no evil, Speak no evil" zone not only for me, but for the others, too.  There are quite a few people living across the street from me in housing that has been split up to make apartments, some of which are probably one room studios, using the term studio loosely.  They don't want any trouble, either.  Life is hard enough.

If you would please look at the above map, I live in the Mexi-Ghetto/Ghetto-Lite section.  What is a white girl sliding into her mid-fifties doing living there, you ask?  I have a whole house to myself and my rent, which I can afford, includes wireless internet.  Utilities are very low, too, as sometimes my landlord doesn't even charge me for my part of the bill.  He's got his office in the attached garage and pays the first $100.  My mother finds it very disturbing that I live here in this neighborhood.  I don't blame her for feeling that way.  The only way I live with it myself is to not think about it until I am forced to by events that happen around me.  Lately there have been a few events that, duty-bound, I have had to poke my head out of my shell and acknowledge.

Fairness has been big with me going back to when I was a child.  Everything had to be fair.  Is this a middle child syndrome or because I am a Libra?  I don't know.  It just is and I have had to accept it and, at times, temper the drive to force it.  Even though it makes me crazy, it is not always possible to bulldoze fairness into a situation.  Other people don't always see things as I do and while I excel at debate and friendly arguing (I've been told over and over that I should have been a lawyer.) not everyone is going to agree with me all of the time.

Two doors up is a Hispanic family (hence the "Mexi-Ghetto") with a son that is probably around 13 years old and a younger son and daughter still in single digits.  I liked them until they got a puppy.  It is probably a Chihuahua/Terrier mix larger than Poppy with the same colors.  The kids used to take the dog for walks until it wasn't fun anymore.  Now that it has been one year since they got it, I have seen some disturbing activity and so I've called Animal Services on three separate occasions.  I'm actually calling the Sheriff's non-emergency number since it was after hours but in the end they have the authority to dispatch an Animal Service's Officer.

This is way outside of my rule of invisibility.

One day I noticed the family had bought the dog a pretty yellow doghouse.  Then I noticed the dog in a crate in the dog house clearly upset and barking its little head off.  It became commonplace to see a mop and mop bucket drying outside their door.  Well, maybe this was a one time deal.  It wasn't and after seeing the poor dog locked up a couple of days in a row I had to call Animal Services.  I didn't see any water provided and this was outside in the heat when it gets to a real feel of 105 degrees.  Their yard is completely fenced in.  What is wrong with letting the dog run around?

The next day the crate was no longer in the doghouse but not much longer afterward it was back and so was the dog.  On to my second call to the Sheriff.  Once again a change was made but it didn't last.  Plus, it was worse.  Not only was the dog in the crate in the doghouse, add to that a piece of plywood in front of the doghouse so that not only could the dog not see out but people couldn't see in, either.  There was about a 1 foot space for air to get in and I am sure there was no circulation.  This was solitary confinement.

At this point I am seeing red.  I don't care if those kids prostrate themselves on the floor crying their eyes out to the animal services officer.  I want this dog to stop being tortured.  I explain the situation for the 3rd time adding the new development.  I am so upset I am on a tear.  Again I am promised Animal Services will be sent out.  About 20 minutes later when I take the trash to the road for pick-up I see the officer walking up to their door.  I hope this will finally get the dog out of there and to a better life.

The next day, which was yesterday, I see the dog outside in the yard running around.  I have more than one call into the officer to find out what is going on.  They can't give me the information over the phone and I can't leave work to walk in and ask for it.  I leave a message asking for the officer to call me. It is now 6:15 pm I have heard nothing.  I was assured earlier today that the officer has my message asking her to call me and she will.

I am mad about this for two reasons.  The first is the health of the dog.  The second is what this is teaching the kids.  I want them to know that this is not the way a pet should be treated.  I want them to become defenders of the defenseless, not continuing the chain of cruelty.  I don't want this behavior perpetuated.  By allowing this to continue, Animal Services is just as guilty as the adults in this family.

I'm sure after reading this you aren't in the mood to hear about how I was woken up at 2:30 in the morning a few days ago by door banging, yelling, and cop activity across the street.