Sunday Morning Chill

Sunay is my recharge day.

I’ve been fairly stable these last few weeks. Not sure exactly why, but I’ll take it, God I’ll take it. Any small win in my life I grab up. I’m greedy like that. I look around and think perhaps people aren’t greedy enough. Let me rephrase that, perhaps they aren’t greedy about good things enough, like love, friendship. Breathing.

One day in a lifetime of insanity that I stuff so deep down it is just par for the course when I do something batshit crazy like hide everything of value in the house because I’m going out to dinner and no one will be home for three hours. Nuts. The other day I stashed all my jewelry in a sock and wedged it under a piece of furniture only to come home and find the sock in the middle of the room and my jewelry scattered on the floor.

Fucking cats. Fucking thief cats. They don’t even like to wear jewelry. They don’t have pierced ears and their tiny cat paws are too dainty to wear my charm bracelet. Even if they figured out how, it doesn’t have any cat things on it, like mice or laser pointers. Fucking cats.

It took me all day to find all of it and right up until the end of the day I was in a blind panic that one set of earings in particular were pairless. Until my son came over to me and asked if this was what I was looking for. Apparently the cat carried it away like some kind of bling prize into the other room and stashed it under a stool. Fucking cats.

I have been reading a lot of posts here, even if I am not commenting. I don’t have a lot to say lately regarding ending your life or me ending my life. I’m on cruise control right now, until I am not. Which could be today, tomorrow. Next week. I roll the dice daily and it keeps coming up stable. I’ll take it, I’ll fucking take it any day of the week.

I’m out of love right now. Which is to say I don’t have enough love to go around for all the folks in my life. So I am saving it up and parceling it out in lumps of love. Yesterday the oldest gets my undivided attention, three days ago the youngest gets me all day. The autistic boy always needs part of me. So the 100% for the other kids is more like 76% or 41% depending on his level of functioning. How engaged he is with navigating his life and the people around him. My husband gets maybe 11% on a good day. It is more like 3% on average.

Painting has been strangely gratifying lately. I’ve never in my life painted flowers or realism. This year I just decided that I would start to paint beauty, because deep inside there is a pit of shame and doubt that will never be cleared away. So I’ll paint how I want to be. A flower on the beach. A flower that looks so very fragile but can withstand a hurricane. A flower in the yard that patiently waits to be noticed by that little blue bee that keep laying eggs in the tiny holes left open when the shutters were taken off the side of the brick house the bee lives next to. A glorious orange cactus flower that can’t be reached by any person, but that little green anole perches on top of it each morning grabbing up the little flies that land in the flower to lap up a little nectar.

Those white cluster flowers folks think are weeks but are just so beautiful, I need to look closely to see their beauty, but it is there. Weeds are only flowers growing where selfish folks don’t want plants growing.
Folks here, we are the worlds weeds. Growing where we aren’t supposed to be growing, but who says that we are weeds? Certainly we call ourselves weeds. Point fingers at ourselves and accuse ourselves of all manner of societal wrongs. Pretty tiny white flowers growing where folks don’t want us to grow. Where we don’t think we should be allowed to grow, or where we won’t allow ourselves to grow.

I look out in my yard and I have so many plants others consider weeds. Towering sunflowers eight feet tall, a century plant that has sent up into the sky a 25 foot tall flower stem in a swan song of beauty. Prickly aloe with red bell flowers. All three considered weeds by regular folks out there. Folks who would rather have store bought beauty than the wild of my yard.

Which brings me back to all the folks here on SP. You are flowers each of you. Flowers growing where you don’t think you should grow. Growing in places others would rather you not. Unnoticed many times. The little blue bee sees you. I see you. But do you see you? Do you see your beauty? I do. I wish you would too.

Be kind, love yourself.

HDS