I’m off to rehab..court madated almost 15 months ago. How do I feel about it? Honestly..okay I’m going to be all about the truth in the coming days..so here’s the truth. Does the song ’Rehab’ as in ‘I don’t wanna go to rehab..no..no..no’ by Amy Winehouse, ring a bell.
Yea..well..that comes pretty close to how I’m feeling at this..the 11th hour. The song itself can sometimes be nasally, self-indulgent, and just a tad whiney. If Ms. Amy spilled these lyrics the night before she had to go into rehab..she damn straight hit the mark on how this gal feels on the eve of her invalidation. Throw insecure, edgy, tense and overtired into the mix, and well you have to know, I just don’t wanna go to rehab..I said no no no!
To work on just me for 4 weeks.it has never been done. Despite all the positive optimisim and words of encouragement well-wishers without an addiction, have offered up today; when alone with my thoughts and an irritating ticking clock a constant reminder of change on the horizon..I would almost rather do anything else.
And yes..I do know that is the drug addict in me speaking, feeling, conning and resisting. She’s had control for many decades, and she’s running scared in the deepest recesses of my mind. Wish me luck.
“See That My Grave Is Kept Clean” written by Blind Lemon Jefferson
Dylan’s Rendition
It’s not the first time since your death that I’ve sat in front of this screen trying to put words to these sputtering heated emotions. I’ve started many posts..but each seemed more scattered than the other..more confused..more desperate.
How does one ever really understand death, it’s the kinda thing we wing isn’t it, we do in the moment. Funerals are something we plan because it’s the only thing we can do when it comes to death.
Sucide is another.
Maybe your shame killed you, your lifelong inability to let pride take a backseat. Your shame along with our apathy, and so many other balls dropping led to the hour of your death. It wasn’t pretty your passing, the floors, the rooms wreaked of havoc , helter skelter bodily fluids, a testament to your final death throws.
And I feel so beaten inside, to know all that I wished..every deal I made..bargin I bargained with the Gods who sit on high..that your life was still yours, that no..it could not be so..denying every fiber in my being when they screamed you were gone, had fallen on deaf ears.
I can’t even recall when it was I first stopped listening to you..it happened so slowly and over a long, long period of time. I think we all do it to some extent, stop listening I mean, to those we spend alot of time with or have known forever. It shouldn’t be so..the poets warn us that fleetingness could destroy us, people tell us we will one day wish we had more time, we ourselves notice it when others do it to someone else. Still, we don’t seem to head the warnings do we..or at least I didn’t. Because here I am..understanding more than I want to, exactly what all those forboding words of wisdom mean now..trying to absorb the finality of your passing, yet trying not to. I can’t get back all those precious minutes..over 35 years worth. I had you right in front of me..and just like that, a future with you in it is no more.
Just like that..so difficult..so real.
So fucking disorienting..this walk I take through your death.
The pounding weight of how badly I will miss you hits daily..my hand reaching out for the phone to call you..my question was a fast one, one I knew you’d have the answer to..had the answer to..and perhaps still do somewhere inbetween the pieces of time and space that we still breathing have yet to understand. But here on this earth..our bodies gravity grounded..guarded..cannot know what the dead know. Only the print of your voice on an answering machine greeted me..my heart skipping a beat as I heard it..as if you’d stepped out to get cigarettes, a drink or something ridiculously sweet..as if in a moment you’d get right back to me.
As if..
———————–
Gone to the Unseen
At last you have departed and gone to the Unseen.
What marvelous route did you take from this world?
Beating your wings and feathers,
you broke free from this cage.
Rising up to the sky
you attained the world of the soul.
You were a prized falcon trapped by an Old Woman.
Then you heard the drummer’s call
and flew beyond space and time.
As a lovesick nightingale, you flew among the owls.
Then came the scent of the rosegarden
and you flew off to meet the Rose.
The wine of this fleeting world
caused your head to ache.
Finally you joined the tavern of Eternity.
Like an arrow, you sped from the bow
and went straight for the bull’s eye of bliss.
This phantom world gave you false signs
But you turned from the illusion
and journeyed to the land of truth.
You are now the Sun -
what need have you for a crown?
You have vanished from this world -
what need have you to tie your robe?
I’ve heard that you can barely see your soul.
But why look at all? -
yours is now the Soul of Souls!
O heart, what a wonderful bird you are.
Seeking divine heights,
Flapping your wings,
you smashed the pointed spears of your enemy.
The flowers flee from Autumn, but not you -
You are the fearless rose
that grows amidst the freezing wind.
Pouring down like the rain of heaven
you fell upon the rooftop of this world.
Then you ran in every direction
and escaped through the drain spout . . .
Now the words are over
and the pain they bring is gone.
Now you have gone to rest
in the arms of the Beloved.
I think I’ll reserve Tuesdays for all things feline. It may come as a surprise, but we junkies do more than just use drugs.
Taken of the kittens born 6 weeks ago at my place. They are simply adorable.
Bear (gray & white playing with Twisted Sister (silver tabby/tiger cat) and Little Sister in the background. Howwver me thinks Little Sister may now be Big Brother. I’m not completely sure, but the kitten in the background was the smallest of the litter, 6 weeks later she/he is now the biggest.
If you have, or have had older indoor cats, then you know finding ways for them to exercise and keep fit can require some imagination. Not all of us have the time or patience to help them get it either. Although in truth, it’s not all that time consuming and can greatly improve not only their quality of life, but help extend that life as well.
Here’s an article that provides ideas and reasons as to why it’s a wonderful idea to toss a ball with your cat.
Interactive play sessions are beneficial to an adult cat.
These sessions help to:
build trust
build confidence
strengthen the bond you share with one another
reduce fear
provide exercise for an overweight or sedentary cat
encourage a normal and healthy appetite
ease tension in a house with multiple cats
build confidence in a nervous or shy cat
diffuse aggression
correct inappropriate biting and scratching
ease reactions to traumatic events
ease discomfort of a new environment
provide beneficial stimulation for depressed cats
accelerate acceptance of new family members
allow you to interact with an unpredictable cat without the risk of being injured
When owning an indoor only cat, the cat must be provided with opportunities for exercise and encouraged often to play games. Some welcome diversions you may offer to your cat are large, strong cardboard boxes, (be sure they never contained any hazardous material), corrurgated paper and tubes of cardboard. You may also wish to purchase an indoor ‘climbing tree’ from your local pet store. To remind a cat of its hunting skills, catnip mice and other similar toys will do nicely. Be sure to also provide some kind of a scratching post as it is essential.
I’ve aso found rolled up balls of paper (newspaper, foil etc.) have been some of my cats fav toys to chase, just throw them or flick the with your finger.
How to tell if your cats are playing or fighting:
It can be difficult to tell the difference sometimes between cat play or fighting. The following are a few general guidelines to help you determine which is which:
When cats are playing, they may each hiss once or twice, but if your cats hiss several times, most likely they are fighting.
Cats who play with one another tend to take turns in the offensive and defensive postures. While engaged in fighting, there’s usually no role reversal.
No yowling or screaming should be present in play.
Cats should not get hurt during play, unless it’s by accident. Cats fighting may give or receive a bite or scratch wound.
When your cats are done playing they should act normal with each other, not avoid each other. After fighting, one or both of the cats will tend to stay out of each other’s way.
If you have cats who don’t tend to get along with each other and they look like they’re playing, they may actually be fighting. If you are not sure, try to distract them with a positive noise, like the can opener or shaking the treat box. Be sure to keep it positive however. You don’t want to discourage a possible friendship if they really are playing.
Written by Laurie Buckley, a longtime cat lover and owner of currently five cats.
My bare feet drag themselves down the cold, dark hallway floor. Rubbing the sleep from my blurred eyes I can still taste what’s left of the late night snack in my mouth and on my tongue. Forgetting in my drowsiness to swallow the last of it as the dope slowly took me under..depositing me into a land of nod for the midnight and beyond hours.
Oh the disgusting reminders of an opiate stupor, they are what nag at the coherant mind when it comes up from its influence…what reminds us of a life before them.
All around me the dust is flying, it’s everywhere..my apartment is filthy. Lighting a 3rd cigarette in almost as many minutes I check for messages on the phone, there is one…I enter my 1234 password..easy enough to remember lest I forget. I hear my mothers voice on the other end..she sounds happy on this day and gleefully informs me of her pending noontime visit. “I hope you’ll be up schatz..if not I have the key.” I hear her blow kisses before i delete the message.
I’m starting to get edgy, I slept on edge, I woke up on edge, I am now on serious edge. “Fuck” I mutter to no one “fuck fuck fuck..there’s just no way I can clean this place before she gets here..I just can’t.” Working up the courage to let her down once again..I resolve to call and say I’m too sick to see anyone…but I already know her answer. “I’m you mother Mary..I’m not ‘anyone,’ if you’re worried about the place don’t be..it’s me..I know you sweetie, I know you before even you know you.”
Putting the phone back down in its cradle I give up before I even begin. The cats pace nervously..tails twitching, all too aware of my mood..7 pairs of uneasy emerald..gold & copper slitted eyes watch me from out of their corners, they are hungry for breakfast. I do not heed their wants. Today..today has not started out well. I plug in the kettle for coffee, cats tredding all over the counters, still waiting, wanting breakfast, I stare at them..hostile, swear through my lips, bang a few things around, they scatter, they run, paw prints left in the dust where they were but nano-seconds ago. They’ll be back soon enough. Water is raging and boiling, demanding my attention..I roughly yank the electric cord out of its socket and all but throw a spoonful of instant into my cup..missed grains scatter all helter skelter like on the counter..on the floor…leaving little pools of greasy lakes where some have landed in spilled drops of water. I poor the boiling water into the cup, ice cold milk impatiently waiting to combust in the bottom. It all melds & blends together..reminding me of my lifes blood as it mixes with the heroin in my syringe when I pull back the plunger, swirling together until the darker red eats away at the golden liquid. Shaking my head to loosen the webs of confusion..I raise the cup to my lips and take a long but hurried sip, more like a gulp really. It’s not hot..I haven’t the patience for hot..for it to cool down..hence the milk going in before the boiling water.
It tastes like shit..like you’d expect it to taste, oily something floating around the top..a grain or two still visibly bobbing about in defiance..refusing the melt into oblivion that ate up its brother & sister grains. I laugh as I imagine even coffee grains, genedred coffe grains at that, fighting to live..resisting death. Survival of the fittest coffee grain..yea right..but my good God girl..are you losing it or what.
One of the cats creeps back in, looking quickly at me..making..but not keeping eye contact, used to my erratic behavior, she knows I’m not ready, she sits..looking downwards..pretending to busy herself with grooming. She waits ever so patiently, statuesque like.. safe in her knowledge that inevitabley I will get to her and the others. She..the matriarch of our tamed, housebroken pride has surely telepathically related this back to the other six..for there is an air of stillness all about the house. Not a creature was stirring, no sir-eee not even a sacrificial mouse.
Somewhere deep inside my heart I feel pangs of guilt at her kindness..her patience..her catlike understanding. She who once saved my life by licking & howling me back into consciousness while my mattress smoldered heavy smoke besides my head..or so I will believe until my dieing day. By the time I actually got up I could see nothing..not even my hand in front of me..her howls led me to the front door.
My Baabsy..my Baabalicious…my briiliant, tiny but very tough..black domestic heavy lidded..copper-eyed cat..who at no more than 6 weeks old found me in the woods one late August after-noon, picking the last of summers sweet plump strawberries. I hadn’t the heart to leave her for some fitter carnivore to toy & make supper of. Seventeen plus years later she’s earned her place hundreds of times over..being a far better friend to me that I too her. Gently rubbing her ears as I leave the kitchen..muttering I’ll be back soon Baabs, be back real soon.
Slowly I make my way over to the computer..coffee cup & methadone in one hand..cigarettes..lighter squeezed in place under one armpit..I switch the power bar on. Without warning the smell from the litter boxes assault my nostrils, burning them. I really can’t take living like this for much longer. God please, a heads up, what is wrong with me? The puter revs itself into life, screen flickering, waking too for another day, it is my lifeline, of late anyway.
I light my fifth cigarette of the morning…the smoke curls & dances up around my face, the cats prepare for another day of lung assault, I look away and close my eyes. A familiar voice pierces the silence….
Not quite sure what to do with all those left over fruits & veggies from your magnificant garden? I mean delicious and fresh as they are, we can only eat so many juicy tomatos and lucious salads right. Well fret no more Veggie Trader has come up with a fast and easy way to ring all proud gardners & fresh veggie/fruit wating Americans together.
How it works:
Using Veggie Trader is free, and as easy as 1,2,3. It works like a classified
ad. You post a listing describing the excess produce
you have and what you’d like in return, and then you wait for
a response…
Or, if you’re looking for local produce, you simply enter your
zipcode and see what your neighbors have available. You can
also post specific produce you’re looking for in our Wanted
section and see which of your neighbors answers your request.
It is no measure of health to be well adjusted
to a profoundly sick society.
~Krishnamurti~
Take away love, and our earth is a
tomb.
~Robert Browning~
My crazy mad, vocal, ubelievably soft & tres
comical Figo
A Taste Of My World
Such that it is, not everyone will like or care to
understand my life, but that is the nature of our
differences. Among other things, it is exactly those
differences of character that often distinguish us fom
one another. My goal, to embrace as many differences
in other's as I can without bias or judgement. Hard
to do but worth the try.
See the below page post titled 'Mi Vida Loca' for
more.
"It’s the good girls that keep the
diaries;
the bad girls never have the time.”
~Tallulah Bankhead~
If what Ms. Bankhead says is true..then I still stand
a chance.
