So apparently the Chupacabra goes shopping … for black clothing? for gnoshing? Ida know. She came home with only one friend and they stay alone overnight, save for another friend that we briefly thought, hopefully was the toddler, but no, it was the friend’s son chasing the poor dog.
This morning at dawn, the earplugs had fallen out again … and I could hear the birds chirping. One sounded like a happy baby bird, still, crying for Mother bird, but happy. La Chupacabra let forth the least bit of crying, and I suppose, was comforted by her girlfriend.
Yesterday morning, when I didn’t hear the toddler running around, only La C. getting herself ready and cleaning stuff, I played Feist. Rather loudly, not super loudly, in the bathroom getting ready. See I was mad. Had I been nice I would have played Einaudi out of respect.
This morning I selected Florence and the Machine. BECAUSE IT WAS WHAT I WANTED TO HEAR. And Damn ME if shuffle didn’t pick Seven Devils right off. And I let her play it. It stung right proudly as I took my bath and I let the two of them shiver and whatever the hell the two girlfriends, La C. and her girlfriend the day after, in the bed, wherever the husband and the teen are this morning … yes, whatever the hell, if they are going to grieve for Daniela the cheerful toddler this morning. NOT ON MY DIME. I say.
My counselor said that even if I kicked Chipper he still would love me, and I can’t even dare imagine hurting my dear friend. She said that to try to explain how I coped with the abuse and the love at the same time growing up, that bad people do good things, growing up, to me. The mix. The awful mix of things. How the very next day, this past Tuesday night only it was, La Chupacabra was drunk and on her knees injured and Daniela the toddler saw she was hurt and ran to her Mommy and was hit by her instead of … whatever should have happened there La C. … and the next day, like a darling little bird, at dawn, Daniela was chirping and saying Mommy mommy for La C. like nothing had happened …
Today we went for walkies, Jason and Chipper and I huffing it and saw that they took about two-thirds of the wildness. They took the back of the center of the bog for whatever reason, I suppose they must have needed to for drainage or aesthetics, for there is a huge drain and more reeds and water plants they added to the right years ago.
Jason tried to assure me to look at the positive and all I could do, knowing me, and the way I am reacting to things, the way my memory works — could flash back to when they were taking it — the wildness — like that rabbit — not knowing — what they were going to take — now it will take some time with their gates and fencing and noise and trucks and gravel, concrete and such for me to adjust. I’m just that way.
So I have been reading more in the Seven Spiritual Laws of Yoga, and thankfully, on Wednesday, decided to Google the list so I could have them handy so as to get on the wagon, to get grounded in this … to get grounded in the book as I’m reading it, at least get grounded in something meaningful to me spiritually for a while, try it out, at least?
And Wikipedia has this handy list —
So, I just started with Sunday and wrote in the days of the week, and there I have it. Printed it out for my counselor and took it to session. Put two copies up in the apartment and have been kind of monitoring each day since then. My counselor is more than into it for me. It makes “supersense”. So we’re cool. More on that later.
Because you are reading this you are in the supersense as well. You know ssshhhh that my painting is finitti before everyone else.
You should just be in the same room with this one — it is hugely present and glowing. Me likey.
You should also know that Jason has just made linguini with clam sauce. Must run! Enjoie!