Life & Death, with Flowers in-Between

Having a restless one... I work hard,  I think, rolling over in the bed for the n-teenth time.  I deserved that avocado . I was sleeping great until 47 minutes ago, when my housemate finally made his way to the bedroom.  An on-call night is never an easy sleeper, I could sleep for an hour and be woken up by the call of duty, or I could sleep deeply for 10 hours and wake up so refreshed that I wonder why I ever thought a glass or two of wine was the ticket to a good rest.  That's a topic for another tangent, but one that somewhat relates. No, what's keeping me awake is the avocado .  The symbol of all that is frustrating me about this living situation right now.  Last night, I cuddled down for a good sleep (or not, it is never certain) with the certainty that whatever tomorrow (or an hour from then, whatever) would bring, I would greet the day with a piece of wholegrain toast with a perfectly luscious avocado on top.  Some cherry tomatoes on the side fo...

A bit of sunshine goes a long way... Making small steps to improve my environment today, and with an unexpected surprise: there are now plants in the backyard!  A pot of knockout roses, a cluster of swamp lilies, raspberries struggling to find purchase... my Love has sensed my distress (or seen me staring morosely out of the window in the morning) and has provided me something to stare at.  I love him more than he can possibly know, for that.  But I can't tell him because that would mean admitting how deeply hopeless I had been feeling before. I don't want him to know how much I have been suffering since we moved in together.  I'm not sure it's a We problem, but a Me problem. Today I sat in the sun and admired the treeline, trying to feel more at home in the space.  The weather was lovely and the breeze made it perfect sitting outdoors weather.  I am now ensconced on my old couch from home, admiring the space that is... not perfect, but tolerable. I ate too...

  This should be a happy time.   Springtime: the weather is warm and the world is new.  The road leading to the house where we live (WE, at long last, I have settled down) is dappled with sunshine and good smells, and meanders gently to a break in the woods where a house shaded by big trees, surrounded by buttercups, sits charmingly off-center in the big yard.  There are no more apartments.  There are no more 14 hour days with the deceased, since there is little to come home to but the cats.  The two oldest persevere on, I promised them I would never suffer them a move again, after the last to a yellow country cottage full of light and surrounded by wild raspberries and honeysuckle.  I have suffered them to move, yet again, in the interest of We.  We have been dating for two years, and now are several months engaged.  He had to move in March, my lease was coming up for renewal, I made a decision on impulse and am regretful of the choice ...

 Only a Fond Wish I find myself digging yet another grave in the cemetery of my heart.  A small one.  A pretty one, somewhere aside from the world's worries.  Somewhere that I can hold him safe, forever.   Endless kissu on the nose and head.  Never any bites or scratches. I hold you close in my dreams, and when I wake up, I slowly let go, letting my dreams turn to memories. It's been three days, and I still carry you in the pit of my stomach, wondering why our time was so brief, so dislocating and brutal, the full stop so abbreviated.  My eternal boy, ended. Spike came to me on August 26, 2016, during a very tumultuous time in my life.  My drinking was spiraling out of control, I was sprinting towards my degree and licensure in my field of choice, I was in an extremely toxic relationship and starting to break free, and my mental health was crumbling. The first night, I held him on my chest, this dehydrated, scrawny flea-ridden scrap of fur, a...

What do I say?  I wish I could have saved you?  I'm glad that you're no longer in pain?  I miss you? See you, Space Cowboy... "See you on the other side."  That's what I ended up saying to him. And then the frail weight of him was out of my arms, off to the needle.  I couldn't bear to be there with him, for the Dying.  Death... I stole him back from Dying once before, and these 4 years, 9 months, and 29 days with Spike were a blessing.  But here, in my fresh grief, it was not enough time . It's too fast.  Just one more minute, please . But it's time to hand him over, over and over in my brain, and when I start to panic, thinking about his small body in the cold darkness, awaiting immolation, I remember the red and black checked flannel I insisted be cremated with him, in some small part.  They said only a little piece could be cremated with him, and I said that was fine, because I knew the pet morticians, those with an even sadder job that mi...