REPOST: For Grace.
The dog thinks I'm a fucking god... Or a magician at the very least.
A piece of my heart has left this proverbial building that we all share. Though she was not my dog, she was one of my dearest friends and forever a part of my recovery. She was always there for me.
My rambling here is still relevant as well.
My heart goes out to my dearest friend Skittles who truly had the biggest loss out of all of us.
I’m sure there are treats on the other side of that rainbow. RIP Hippo.
I have a roommate named Grace. She is a healthy and hungry pitbull that tips the scales a little over 100 pounds. She loves my cooking and listens to me when I need to bend an ear. She also thinks I am the greatest magician that has ever lived.
I’ve had a few days off to take care of my toe, appendage follow-up if you will, as well as took some time for myself and desperately tried to escape the current political environment by tuning out and turning off or dropping in or out… what the fuck ever. I tried to get away.
Escapism seems futile right now. You can’t really even have a light conversation anymore without our current American state being brought up in one form or another. It’s on everyones lips and minds and flying from the back of their trucks or floating in their social media feeds. I can’t even scour for recipe ideas without getting hit in the face by some Washington/White House bullshit.
I have friends on both sides of the fence and I am open to conversation and level headed resolution in just about any situation. I have also done my best to pull my emotions away from American politics because the fucking stress of it became way to much. It put me in a dark place for a while when I was already in a dark place. The last thing I needed were white men in suits making my life worse. I was fully capable of doing that on my own.
Still am.
I just don’t.
I still vote. I still make sure I read policy and understand the black and white of it all. But for the most part I try to do my best to just not politic in public anymore. Does that make me a terrible person? Does this make me a non state actor? Am I an unAmerican, communist, Marxist, snowflake piece of shit?
No. I’m just fucking tired.
And sadly, I know a lot of people that feel the same way. It’s exhausting. We are the contingent of the newly classed Embarassicans. We are the vessel that holds no water and cannot float. We are a joke, the goof, the “Did he really just say what I think he said?” country.
And even more fucked up is that we went through this once before yet it feels more fucked up this time around. That’s a lot of even more fucked up to deal with. I know. I’m sorry for that.
My heart breaks mostly for my LGBTQIA+ friends, family and community. And without question in any given moment I will stand with and fight for any one of you.
All of this shit is scary and real, real scary if you will, but it is our reality. I managed to run away for a moment and it was a nice little breather for sure. But I still have to keep my eyes open and let it sink in that this is simply what it is. I can ingest what I feel necessary, immediate and important in the moment. All the other stuff will fall away like dead skin after a really bad sunburn. Big crispy flakes of skin.
Delightful.
Every morning I peruse the headlines sifting out the garbage and nonsense, trying to grasp the all to real shit and pretend like everything is gonna be okay. We aren’t quite to that dystopian future we have been warned about, right?
After I tweak my brain, burn my eyes and beat my heart into submission with words and photographs, taglines and hashtags, I walk into the kitchen to find an audience of one wagging it’s tail with warm eyes and drool filled with hope. She watches carefully as I reach into the pantry to produce a bone shaped delight that she adores.
More drool of hope.
I wave it in the air like a prize she has never seen before covering it with my other hand.
More drool of hope.
I slip it into my sleeve, hiding it from view and reveal not one, but two empty hands.
Drool of hope intensifies.
Her face explodes with confusion and amazement as she searches my hands and the air for that bone shaped object that she knows for a fact did exist. There is no doubt, but where? Where could it have gone???
Drool of hope reaches faucet status.
Then I quickly reveal the golden nugget of dog treat delight and she looks at me like a god. For a brief moment I am the greatest thing that exists on any plane, and none of that other shit matters.
That my friends…
…is magic.
REAL QUICK! Two things.
My very dear friend, brother from another mother and master tortilla maker (yes, you heard that right. He is the disco biscuit king and social media master. If you can’t get his tortillas, follow his socials. He’s a fucking treasure. Click here.) suggested that I have a playlist of songs I link to for my posts.
A good idea, but that’s a lot of playlists. So, I made one big one… and it’s big. If I linked a song of a record here, it’s on the list. I will post the link from here on out. Go rock your socks off…
And second…
Drool of hope. Nice. You ARE magic.