Tuesday, October 25, 2011

No thinking Just typing ---

They say the best time to write is upon first waking up. Well, I fell asleep earlier woke up and started to go back to sleep and now I have thoughts in my head. Since I don’t have a notebook by my bed but do have my laptop near it is going on my blog so as not to lose my thoughts.

Had it been this time last year I would have lite a cigarette and been writing while it just burned in the ashtray. However, the fire took care of my smoking even though that is not what started it. Hard to smoke when you are sound asleep.

Anyway, as I was lying in bed falling back to sleep a familiar feeling shrouded me. Like an old haunt whispering that it is still there even if I you have become better at ignoring it. It’s that loneliness that hits ya. So I was laying there pondering that and that and speculated if that was ‘born’ into me. I was born into the world alone; left to find my own way at least until I had permanent parents. Through the years that imprint never left. It seems to always loiter there just outside of reach.

It’s not like I don’t have friends I do and good ones. I have family, some I can say anything to and not get castigated or be treated less than or that there is something wrong with my perception or whatever. I have my faith. That should be enough. Yet, it’s not. There is something not there. Is it something not done? What is the objective of all this, not to mention this random stream of consciousness coming out through my fingers right now.

For me so many of these questions never seem far away and more and more are constantly added. Maybe lonely is not the right word. I can’t really explain it. Some would say it’s a deepness that lives in me that has been screaming to exit my body in one form or the other. Sometimes I feel like I have lived many previous lives. I sometimes feel things I should not know how to feel or understand. Love of history and my wish to save the world all culminate into this mess in my head that struggles to be free but the words just don’t flow easy. I remember just about everything. Many have a hard time imagining I can remember in detail almost everything. At least the most momentous ones to my mind.

In my mind I always think to myself if they only knew maybe they would understand more. I love working with the teens that yell and scream at you that I “don’t understand what they feel” that is until I would sit them done in the office and very bluntly tell them just how much I did. I knew what it was like to have parents ill equipped to handle me and be sent somewhere else with staff even more ill equipped. I knew what it was like to do only what you had to do, nothing more nothing less. Play stupid to lessen the expectations. At least for them they then knew at least one adult on this planet understood them.

I don’t know where any of these convoluted thoughts are going tonight. It just seems my thoughts as of late have been not only been somewhat reflective but philosophical as well. Maybe these types of things are the fillers in all those books on all those shelves in stores and libraries are made of, the segways to the next part of the story. Which leads me to the thought how do you write honestly about things when others will refute, deny, scold, have a different perspective or just out right say it’s shit because they internalizes it in a different way. It’s a push and pull relationship. I want to but I’m afraid. I want to but I don’t know how and am not good at asking for help. It’s my stubborn independence. I don’t hold on to the past with both hands frightened to let it go, but there are times I feel like I am trying to hang on to myself with both hands; one over my mouth and the other binding my hands. Lord knows everyone that knows me knows that they pretty much know where they stand with me and where I stand on issues in this world. I have always been like that.

Maybe this is the second part of why my grandma always called me her passionate one. She saw an angry lonesome, scared little girl but told me it was passion and if turned in the right way it could change the world. That hardly seems possible anymore especially when I have not only seen but experienced my own mortality first hand and the only one to ever change the world was Jesus and I am far from Him.

Maybe what my grandma was telling me was to just do it regardless of anyone else. They will spit you out and trudge you down but if it is your fervor let it out. People in the church tend to use the human body as an analogy for the church family. Some are the hands, eyes, feet etc… I have always been told I am a mouth. Well duh? Really; quick call the National news stations and bust in with breaking news NOW! Kristina is a mouth!! I know return you to your regular programming…..

All I do know is the more I search for my purpose the farther away it seems. The deeper the echo chamber sounds. The higher the drop and the lower the fog settles. I’m not anything special. I wonder if I have made a difference in anyone’s life or the world thus far, anything that will last when I am gone.

Wonder what this will read and sound like in the morning. I venture nothing but a discombobulated jumble of arbitrary things that have no connective tissue what so ever. I guess that will be up to the reader.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

BTW M & D the new background is just for you. I hope you understand the subtlety?

So it's been awhile

OK so it has been a spell. OK OK over a year. In my defense I have had more than a little on my plate. Putting pen to parchment has not been on the forefront of the to do list. However, thru some gentle prodding from 2 very determined people here I am.


To give a general update: November 26th, 2010 at 2:20 AM my house had a major fire. It stole a lot of things but most importantly it stole my Sasha, my mini schnauzer- 5 yrs, Kiki, a Maltese- 4 yrs, we fostered in the winter, Ashley, cinnamon tabby cat - 15 yrs, Coco, Siamese cat - 5 yrs, and Missy, blue calico - 4 yrs old. Sasha was my dog. I got her as a puppy and proved everyone wrong who said mine and      the dogs personalities would clash and I would have an awful behaving dog. Give me a challenge and I may just rise to the occasion.


Almost a year after having her life stolen from me I am not sure I have yet to come out of the darkness. The tears are always on the edge of falling hot down my cheeks. My heart has yet to rebound. The animals died alone. Granted they were in the house together but only the 2 dogs were found together, but I was not there. Well I was but I wasn't. I went back in to get them all and passed out from the smoke. (I was told this when I spoke to police officers to thank them I was found 2 feet from the dogs in the kitchen) I was prepared to go with them and see my dad again. I would be lying if I said I have not wished I had on several occasions since. Only due to the sheer grief of not having the lives lost here not having a death wish myself. Been there, done that, years and years ago.


( Let me jump ahead a moment and say we have since gotten another dog - Tally, a male Teddy Bear - it's a hybrid / designer breed a mix between a Bichon and a shih tzu. Yes, he is adorable and I love him. I got him from the humane society, he's 5. We also have gotten a new cat - a siamese mix 4 yrs) pictured below.

I ask myself almost daily "where does that part of my heart go now?" Recently I had a discussion with a friend of mine and confessed that I don't love Tally the same as Sasha. However, it's not that same love I had / have for Sasha. I can't explain it, but it left a hole in my heart. I don't know if I will ever be able to re-write the message to myself since the fire "...Sasha saved my life and I didn't save hers..." Yes, I tried the police reports confirm it, but the fact remains I DIDN'T. She died without me to comfort her, albeit I was prepared to go with her and the other pets, it's not the same. People try to comfort me by telling me to remember the peace I felt last and know that is what they felt. I want to shout YES, AND I REMEMBER THE PAIN IN MY THROAT, LUNGS, FEAR, TERROR I FELT BEFORE I FELT THAT PEACE!!!"

My friend told me everyone has that one "heart dog" and no other will ever fill that. Well, Sasha is my heart dog!

We are back in the house now. Granted it had to be gutted to the studs and even some of them had to be replaced. It took 7 months to do so and it does not look exactly the same as there have been some big and small changes done but I still see the ghosts of the lives lost in the fire in places they spent much time or had funny memories attached to them; even if the area does look different now.

Will that part of my heart ever come out of the dark? Did the fire write the epilogue to this book of mine that has been churning around in my head for years upon years? Or is this the epilogue and prologue to the sequel to the one not yet finished.

I don't know if this is really finishing the thoughts I indented to convey but I am hitting post.