What a bummer, man.

"Don't turn your head. Keep looking at the bandaged place. That is where the light enters you."
-Rumi

Through my grade school years and into junior high my mom suffered from an undiagnosed mental illness. She was newly divorced with two kids and an entry-level job that kept us just outside of poverty. She was stressed, and I always seemed to add to her furry. I would walk very slowly to school each day, enjoying the silence. I would walk home even more slowly, unsure of what I might find when I opened the door. Most often she would rage at me for something left undone or had not done well enough. I was too much this, or not enough that. Sometimes, she would be wild-eyed, almost spinning manic, and we would have to submit to her will. Last minute trips to Memphis. A margarine and cracker picnic. Her lows were more terrifying than anything. Coming home to find her wedged between the mattress and box spring. Weekends she spent in bed, catatonic.

Funny thing is, my mom was my safe place. Weekends at Dad's were spent watching him sleep, watching him drunk, roundly ignored, or with unwilling family members. Our life with Mom was sanity by comparison.

So it's no surprise that I am where I am. I was groomed to be co-dependent and have a high tolerance for crazy. I still feel anxious coming home to the unknown. Will there be mess and madness? Or, will the funk of self-loathing permeate the air? I'm convinced that if I can hold on tight enough for the both of us I will be able to keep this thing together. But does love really have to be so much work? So much worry?

Let's catch up.

I remember the promise I made to rock the world with my wit and drollery once the semester let out. I do remember. I've just been too busy having fun!

Here's photographic evidence that I am a huge dork.

dork, originally uploaded by Darwin's Daughter.

I was out celebrating my friend Melanie's bridal shower with friends from the ER. In this one I'm jamming some classic rock on my guitar pool cue. Later I broke out my Michael Jackson moves. Yeeow!

Here's the bride and groom-to-be. I like the way they communicate with one another. Makes me think these kids might just make it.

Here we are together. I like this photo. Mel had gotten one of those fancy spray tans and looked lovely, glowing, and vibrant. I, on the other hand, look like I might live under a bridge. Or, have a slight case of eosophobia. I like it though; it's genuine.

Finally, we have the ladies of movie club. Movie club started like this: "You haven't seen Gone with the Wind!? Do you live under a bridge!? Come on over to my place and we'll all watch it" Then it turned into: "Let's chat for two and a half hours, then watch a movie." We're getting together in a few days to watch Breakfast at Tiffany's. I can't wait.

In this photo I tried to create that old Hollywood softness so we look like a bunch of movie stars.

Did you buy that? Actually, I took out some of the color saturation to reduce red eye. My camera LOVES red eye! I have to hit the red eye reduction button each time I shoot, which is a pain. If that's not an excuse to buy a Nikon D40, I don't know what is. My point-and-shoot is great for nature shots and bright light settings. But, get it inside and it doesn't know what to do. It wets its digital pants. My camera has nyctophobia. We aren't a good match.

(Did you read that, honey? A Nikon D40.)

Chick-a-wow-wow

I don't mean to romanticize the lifestyle or create any meaning behind the action. Because, it was a fruitless labor. In fact, the labor yielded withered, rotten fruit. But,...the trappings!
OH! The trappings!
Getting pretty. The instant gratification of a well moneyed fist. My partner; the pole. And, the shoes. Good lord, the shoes.
I did love the trappings.

*Sigh*

This blog is made of whole wheat

Here are some photos I took in Edna on a walk with Tuffy.

found art, originally uploaded by Darwin's Daughter.

I found this scrap of paper, just as it appears, near the school. I thought it was cute. Like, Mother Earth was showing off her new advertising campaign.

Here are tender shoots.



Don't they look like they might start wiggling?



Duck! Duck!



Silly Goose...



What lives in here?



Home again, with muddy feet.



Like my vein? Gross.

At the end of our walk, Tuffy stepped on a snake. It was just a little-bitty, plain old snake, but it made my skin crawl, so we went home. She stepped on it, and then over it again. Totally oblivious.
It would have been funny if she went to sniff it and the snake clomped on to her nose, and then she jerked her head around to get the sucker off, his tail hitting the ground like a whip.

This is how my mind works. Horrible.

Maybe now I'll stop shitting blood.

I have no more juice to give. I'm the dying man with his gnarled fingers wrapped around the baton, one hand across the finish line. I finished my anatomy practicum today, and I am spent, lover.