Makes me think of the kitty we accidentally ran over š¢

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Not today Justin
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One Nice Bug Per Day

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@alightfilledmind
Makes me think of the kitty we accidentally ran over š¢
My boyfriend and I hit a cat on our way home tonight. I told him we had to turn around. Neither of us saw it or knew what it was until we got close enough to see. Poor thing was not instantly killed. It was in a rural area so I moved her to the side of the road and she died then, when I moved her. I stroked her fur for a long time, she had obviously been loved and cared for. My boyfriend took his time to apologize to her as well. Last year I watched my cat, my dear Titus, pass away after 14 years together. He was not well and in retrospect I think he was just hanging on for me whenever I was ready to let him go. His spirit was very strong, just his body was so weak. Watching the light leave his eyes was horrible. I donāt know what it is but I feel that being there for that cat tonight as it died tonight was very important. I cannot stand to see animals of any kind ran over and over and over on the road, so Iām glad we at least got to move her. But I hope kittyās soul had an easy passing. I just donāt know where she came from, neither of us saw anything at all, just a sudden, jolting bump and a body in the rear view.
I desperately need people to read. Jesus Christ. Eleganter? More elegant. MORE ELEGANT.
Meet Pando, not a forest but a single tree. Every trunk of the Quaking Aspen is genetically identical & connected by a single 80,000 year old root system, making it one of the largest and oldest living entities on Earth!
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to walk through the body of a God?
stop deactivating
i thought we all agreed we were here forever
People who decide to deactivate are just quitters. Iāve been on here since 2010, and Iāll probably be on here in one form or another until Iām dead. This blog is my pƬece de rĆ©sistance.
Been here since 2009 or something disturbing like that. I aināt going nowhere. I survived thru the furry porn era!
I used to have a cabin in the woods. With ugly hardware on the cabinets in the kitchen. And three acres and plenty more of public land behind it. With a fireplace and snakes in the basement and a fire pit I nearly broke my back to build. And a nook upstairs where I was sure I would finish my novel. And this is truly one of the biggest losses of my whole life.
In second grade, my best friend Danielle and I were two peas in a pod, we did everything together. As much as you can in second grade. And then one day, she ran away from me at recess.
I thought I was getting dragged into a game. Spontaneous games of tag and chase cropped up often. But it wasnāt a game. She kept avoiding me. I thought maybe it was a misunderstanding and we could talk it out. But she wouldnāt even talk to me. I asked other classmates and friends if they knew what was wrong, if I did something, missed something. All I got back was āshe doesnāt want to be friends anymore.ā
Surely, this wouldnāt go on for long. If there was no reason, it wouldnāt persist. But it did. We were in school together through 8th grade and never spoke again.
I am 36 and I still donāt understand it. Itās a betrayal and a severance and a lie. Iām an āuntil the next best thing comes alongā kind of person to other people and I really donāt fucking get it.
i should be sitting on the kitchen counter being flirty while the love of my life makes dinner not whatever this is
@theguelphpoet
One AM again. I donāt get it. How am I someone who regularly goes to bed at 9 and 1. Iām tired and shutting my brain off into that sweet little interval of unconsciousness sounds lovely. Too many thoughts and feelings run through me every waking hour, yet Iām slow to sleep. Iām numbing myself by scrolling endlessly, I know this. Iād probably get to sleep quicker if I actually sat with my feelings, but I also donāt want to cry.
To be held. My god. I struggle with choosing what I know is correct and what I know is right. There is a difference. This time is for standing on my own two feet, killing that need for a savior once and for all. And yet, how am I to turn away from love? I am always always always turning towards love. I guess to my detriment. An indulgence of fear, that if I donāt make it number one priority, I will be punished by the one who āloves me.ā Yet he never does. He never punishes me. He holds me. He Loves me.
Iām trying to trust this time, this unfolding of events, this āisnāt what I planned,ā and I am scared. I am scared. Am I to believe that pursuing or choosing something thatās choosing me that takes me further from my love, that I will come to know love more deeply? I hate it, I hate what that idea implies about the impending struggle. Yet. I know it in my heart.
Itās almost like I am receiving an assignment. I donāt want to do it, but it is here nonetheless and it is For me, and the quicker I lean into it, the better. I donāt know. I canāt even pretend to know at this point. So the hope-apathy remains. Itās neither absent or full, itās āwell, I guess weāll see.ā
He had wise words about hope and youthful excitement. Perspective brings both understanding and acceptance, gratitude and resignation. For a very watery astrological being, I donāt love the ambiguity, it seems to increase as life goes on. Maybe itās just my own awareness of my agency, or my naĆÆvetĆ©.
Iām scared. Iām scared. My self doubt is pooling at the surface, leaves stuck in a pool filter. If I pick them out, one by one, will it all make sense then? I suppose not. I suppose Iāll always have leaves in the pool filter, and just when I think Iāve got them all cleaned out, they pop up again when Iām not looking.
We are lifting each other out of our dark soggy holes bit by bit. To be raw and held. To be the one holding. To see the raw bloody self of someone and hold them. A gift. A gift. Profound, tearful gratitude.
I used to delight in things. I used to have this lovely, misty green hopefulness for life. Nothing feels very hopeful anymore. I havenāt had that feeling for a very very long time. Sometimes I think maybe it is coming back, but it is just the memory of it, the ghost of it, haunting me.
I seem incapable of doing any of the things I say I want to, or need to, or ought to. The words of my father haunt me, too. Iām not working hard enough, Iām entitled, I donāt know what Iām doing. I really donāt. I am terrified. If it was possible for me to shrink away into the wilderness and become the leaf, the grass, the mushrooms, I would. I would take everyoneās memory of me too so they wouldnāt have to feel any pain.
My lover told me to ādo something for myself for once.ā I donāt know what he means. I thought all of this, all of this stupid independence Iāve been acting out was the something for myself. Maybe he means do something without thinking of anyone else first, without considering how my choice will impact the relationship. This feels like blasphemy, a trap, I know that it is not. But I recoil just the same. Again, my fatherās words ringing in my ears.
How does a girl go from popsicle stick crafts to COO? Itās agonizing, I can tell you that much. I want to be doing popsicle stick crafts, lying in the grass, playing with dogs and babies. Am I on my way to becoming a gray haired woman who tells people, āoh well I had a lovely career running a business but I hardly ever found time for my passions. Donāt waste your life, dear, do what you love!ā
I say it all now. I canāt take my own advice. I hate the constrictions of the world, my world, the one I chose and made for myself, the one unfolding before me. Will I ever be free of the frantic feeling of wanting to hit pause? Grasping wildly at any lever or button that looks like stop on this hideous roller coaster Iām on?
35. I thought Iād be kinda done with these thoughts by now. How does one find what they want and act on it? Iāve never known. Will probably never know. All my life I seem to be doing the next right thing and I donāt see that itās gotten me anywhere I want to be. But I never know what is right or wrong, an argument can always be made for both.
Nearly 1 am. Iām writing on a platform Iāve been on for 15 years. I donāt want accolades or encouragement, or a fat paycheck or a fancy title. I just want someone to hold me while I cry.
someone take me out to a field at dusk and release me
what a shame doctors donāt prescribe vacation to secluded seaside towns like they used to