getting started

nothing is more terrifying than the cursor blinking on a blank page.  if i look at it long enough i know i will never start writing.  seems like that's a lot what life is like too.  if you look at it long enough, you will never start anything.

i am addicted to the long shot i think.  i don't go to vegas, don't bet on the horses, don't "waste" my money on the lotto.  but i'm sitting here in a tiny (<3000 people) town in the mountains in arizona, in a one room apartment i can barely afford, i'm 48 years old, i'm crazy, i'm sick, and i've got a boyfriend who is a charming guy but really feels more like my kid (what can i say - it was fun dating a younger guy for the first few weeks).  i know i fucked up.  every choice i've made has been reckless and none of them have paid off.  yet i can't seem to stop.

on the other hand, i can't help but keep going, even though i don't want to.

i'm really stumped.

some other post i'll write about how many ways i'm crazy and how many ways my body is fried.  after 21 years of clean living, i have to say i'm disappointed.  for a long time i was convinced i was doing everything right, and when i realized i was miserable, i ripped the underpinning out from every single part of my life - somewhat unintentionally, all at once.  and that didn't work either.  i suppose another way of saying i'm addicted to long shots is to say i'm a creature of extremes.  whichever way i go, i'm all in.

and i'm in so much pain.

i dedicated this blog to my cat.  she died in my arms in a small motel in new york state after suffering quite terribly for about 24 hours.  i had just started a move.  i had an old pick-up stacked full of my belongings, and just enough cash to get west.  i could not afford a vet.  i could not help her.  i still cry every time i think about her because i miss her so much.  it was the last big loss (not the last loss, just the last most painful one) at the end of a long string of horrible losses - my marriage, my family, my career aspirations, my home, the shreds of my self-respect - in the prior year.  somehow she is the hardest one to let go.  i suppose if i'd ever had kids, i wouldn't be so attached to my pets, but there's a good reason i don't have kids.  fuck it, why do i feel like i have to justify my extreme love of animals to anyone, let alone to you?  if you don't get it, fuck you.  if you do, i don't have to explain.

boyfriends tend to think i'm antisocial.  i'm really not.  i don't like people much, but i love all of them.  i love people so much i can't stand them.  being around people is like being in big, sweaty, hair suit all of the time.  it's not their fault.  it's me.  i totally understand that.  but being 48 and having tried to fake it 'til i make it my entire life, after nearly two decades of therapy and investing trust and love with at least two long-term therapists, i've accepted that's just how i'm built.  the older i get, the more it takes out of me to be in any social situation.  the thing is it's BECAUSE i care, not because i don't.

animals, on the other hand, don't seem to have that effect on me.  when i spend time with animals, i feel good. i feel energized.  i feel hopeful.  i feel calm.  i feel loved and loving.  i feel brave.  i am everything i want to be.

people judge.  animals don't.

if it was you, where would you spend your time?