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Don’t Blink

Cheryl, Nancy, Stu, Ron, Robin, Carol, Lenny, Larry (from left to right)

“They talked in the shorthand of old friends and shared memories.”
― Dee Henderson

Larry and I should really have some regulations around our morning conversations. 

It’s early. I’ve only had a few sips of coffee when Larry feels compelled to share his thoughts on none other than the NFL, which is not of particular interest to me, but obviously associated with our ancestral proclivity for conflict.

Larry says, “Do you know the most-watched NFL game last year was on Christmas day?” 

Without giving him a single verbal acknowledgment, he continues unabated, “In fact, they’re going to do something they have never done before, which is play on a Wednesday because that’s when Christmas falls this year.”

He says this with the enthusiasm of a child about to unwrap a present.

I say, “Clearly, men are still influencing the world with their primitive interests.”

“Women watch too.”

“Really? Then who’s cooking Christmas Dinner?”

I get the look.

These are the kinds of conversations we have during the week when we’re having our ritual coffee, listening to the news, and browsing our social media accounts. 

It is neither inspirational nor conducive to our well-being.

Interestingly, I was just spewing something important about retirement and how difficult it is to reallocate our time after an active working life. And to complicate matters, if you happen to have a partner, you’re also adjusting to their questionable usage of time. 

You might ask, how’s that going for you two?

Not well. Thank you for asking.

Larry has the classic type A personality. He’s active and absolutely despises sitting around twiddling his thumbs, engaging in deep conversations, or rubbing my feet. 

I am a type B, which means I’m more creative, patient, and rarely feel the need to rush. In fact, my favorite pastime is deep philosophical conversations and having my feet rubbed. Bahaha.

Brewery Art

We are polar opposites in terms of lifestyle, personality, and interests.

This was all well and good when we spent most of our time pursuing our own interests, were inundated with kids, and locked in a suburban lifestyle. Now we’ve been set to pasture—I mean retired—and it’s been shockingly illuminating as if our field of dreams has been electrified. 

I make what I consider an astute observation after his NFL fiasco and share, “I could easily slip into the sloth lifestyle.”

Larry looks up from his iPad, squints his eyes at me as if he’s trying to rectify his vision, and says, “I don’t think so.”

“I love to write, which means my interior sloth is driving my interests instead of the other way around.”

“You also like to move.”

“Only when forced.”

“Or you’re out of coffee.”

Now I’m squinting at him. Okay, glaring might be more honest, but in my defense, they are similar. 

We just returned from a weekend with friends who are all retired except one of the women, and what was interesting to me is that all of us are essentially dealing with the same damn issues. 

We’ve become ridiculously judgmental about how our partners have chosen to spend their surplus time.

It’s tricky because there are no absolutes anymore. I don’t have to be anywhere at any given time, and neither does my partner, which is total mayhem for those of us who have been driven by schedules for most of our marriage. 

Maybe it’s instinctual for humans to judge what others do, a survival skill that has evolved over time, especially if what he does differs significantly from what I do. The whole hunters and gatherers enigma. 

Finding your tribe is essential. 

Speaking of tribes, this particular group of friends is unusual in that our husbands have been riding (cycling) together for decades, but the wives also enjoy each other’s company, which is imperative if you want to hang out together. 

Right?

We used to live within a mile of each other when our kids attended the same elementary school, and in a way, we all grew up together, along with our kids. 

Ron and Carol’s yard

One of the couples recently sold their home in the Bay Area and moved to a beautiful community on the outskirts of Sacramento to be near family. They invited us for the weekend, a chance to show off their new home and enjoy some meals together. The men had plans to ride the trails along the American River, while the women would consume excessive amounts of coffee and catch up on each other’s lives. 

Fortunately, their home is huge, with five bedrooms and lots of land, and it is located near charming shops, restaurants, and wineries, all of which we took full advantage of. 

And yes, our morning discussions were quite juicy. 

What was interesting to me was how similar our experiences with unemployment have been. 

For example, sleep issues become more pronounced after retirement. Larry and I have been sleeping together for forty years, and suddenly who snores, sleeps in, and/or hogs the covers has become a pertinent issue. Who’s a restless sleeper, browses their social media at night, or gets up to use the facilities repeatedly is also under intense scrutiny. 

These are disruptive issues, no doubt, and left unaddressed, can lead to meaningless feuds and other shenanigans (like someone leaving snore guards on their partner’s pillow, unscrewing the light bulb in the bathroom, or hiding your partner’s cell phone—of course, these were all derived from market research and NOT personal experience).

At this age, we’re all set in our ways, and when you’re forced to spend most of your time together because there is no job to hide behind, it’s as if we have to start courting each other again.

And believe me, no one wants to date a cantankerous old lady narrowly defined by her own self-interests and a passion for sitting on her ass for hours so she can write. When did this happen?

The transition is difficult, humorous on some level, and it happens in a blink. 

One of the best ways to overcome this conundrum is to maintain your social connections, plan activities that you both look forward to and create routines that are mutually satisfying. 

Initially, it was easy. When Larry went out for a ride, I wrote. We juggled our social commitments when possible and tried to slip in a few weekends at the lake. We’re a work in progress, making some headway and adjusting as we go.

I try and write every day, walk the hood with my girlfriends, have coffee with Nancy, and tandem cycle when it fits Larry’s schedule (okay when forced). Larry attends Boot Camp every morning, cycles with his friends a few times a week, deals with the rentals, and writes when forced. See how that works. 

To complicate matters, Larry is on a new diet, and we can not seem to coordinate our divergent needs around food, which frustrates me to no end. Eating is our thing—or used to be—since we started dating at fifteen, and now that Larry has retired from food, what is left for me to look forward to? 

Here’s the lesson I’ve been slow to glean and quick to reject: What we think we understand about each other might be different from what is actually happening. Maybe Larry is not trying to avoid breaking bread with me; maybe he’s becoming more health-conscious. Maybe I’m just being stubborn because I do not adjust easily to change, and it feels that is all we’ve been doing lately. 

And this, maybe I’ve forgotten how to live for someone else now that the kids are grown and on their own, but doing so is what makes life worth living. 

So here’s my belabored conclusion. 

“Often when you think you’re at the end of something, you’re at the beginning of something else,” as Fred Rogers wisely noted. Retirement is the beginning of something new; it requires a lot of creativity and the agility to make frequent adjustments. The thing is, living has to be an act of love, and therefore, a fair amount of generosity is needed in our mutual pursuits and interactions. It’s complicated because we’re not only influenced by our predecessors and how they managed this stage of life, but we’re dependent on a limited amount of resources and our physical abilities. It means practicing generosity, taking turns, and laughing at the ridiculousness of it all because this life—is over in a blink! 

I’m Living in the Gap, figuring it our as we go, happens in a blink. How’s your week going?

Larry, the bartender? We’re all trying to Grow Damn It!

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 25 Comments

What’s Chasing You Down the Hall?

Photo by Sasha Martynov on Pexels.com

Early this morning, when the sun is peeking over the horizon, I leap out of bed, well sort of, with this thought chasing me down the hall, “there will never be a day exactly like today.”

Larry is taking a training course which starts at 6:00 am sharp, I faintly hear the alarm go off before it’s quickly shut down, he rustles into a pair of sweats as beloved as a teddy bear, and just as shabby. I appreciate how quietly he shuts the door. I hear him setting up computers at the table in the living room, then the faint voices of people around the world greeting each other, “good morning, G’day mate, buenos dias,” before he slips on headphones, and all goes quiet.

I try to return to my dreams, but my bed is a little bitchy, she wants us all in, or all out. Sitting up, I reach for my glasses, and mumble something about rumpled attitudes. She absolutely does not give a sheet. Okay, blanket apology, I’ll linen up! Bahaha, love a comforting analogy, don’t you?

Not bothering to dress, I amble down the hall in my wrinkled pajamas, wink at Larry (because I don’t want to alarm people from around the world by smooching on my man during a Zoom call), before disappearing onto the back deck, I run back in for a warm blanket, my appreciation gene on overdrive.

Truthfully, there will never be a day with the same cloud formation, the same rippling on the serene water, or the crispness of the air after a brief rain last night. I watch the sun rise, the dazzling colors emerge as if watching an artist in motion, and an arresting idea comes to mind, nothing is stagnant (aside from these thoughts pooling in my brain).

This is pre coffee, go easy, and besides I have absolutely nothing else to write about.

Okay, it might not be arresting for you, but it’s the last day of the semester, and I’m plum tuckered out. One whole semester on Zoom has finally come to a blessed end, it was a arduous learning curve, but we held on, and although no one is enjoying this ride, we’re coasting comparatively. I have a million papers to grade, I feel as if I’ve become an indefensible thesis, with unsupportive topics, and no application.

As you can see I am doing all I can to avoid the inevitable grading frenzy, it’s my gift, I might clip my toenails next.

In the meantime it’s as if the entire world is having a post inauguration marshmallow roast around a roaring bonfire, it’s been happening since the beginning of time, not the marshmallows, this love affair with fire, raw, etherial, efficacious as a sacrament, and now you’re all warm and sanctified. I’m just hungry?

I get like this in the morning, don’t worry, by noon I’ll return to normal, a new normal, which gets sticky if you dig too deep, it not only means ordinary, but wonted, free from mental disorders, containing the same salt concentration as blood (that could be useful at a dinner party).

Words are just bloody awesome.

Larry and I have been up at the lake for over a week, the kids were with us for the weekend, but they headed back to the Bay Area (within the 150 mile CDC travel restriction mind you), returning to the longest remodel in the history of man (not inclusive), work, and school. Truth be told they can only take so much of us, can you imagine living with your elderly (but well preserved) parents for the better part of a year, during a pandemic, with three kids.

It’s Disneyland on steroids, honestly, the happiest place on Earth. This is my truth, I do not speak for anyone else, two days after they left, Julie calls to ask, “when you coming home?”

They miss us, yes siree, or they’re running out of Cinnamon Toast Crunch?

Photo Credit: Jim Goudreau, summer, Kono Tayee deck.

It’s very quiet during the week at Kono Tayee, maybe twenty percent of the homeowners live here year round, and the rest slip in and out during the weekends.

The restrictions in Lake County are much more relaxed than the Bay Area, outside dining is allowed, wine tasting, and most of the local shops are open for business. I think the Drive-in Movie Theater is even open. That might be an interesting field trip?

“When you coming home?”

What a ripe question, so many associations, because really what is home? Webster claims it’s not only a place, but a structure, social unit, goal (home plate), a space where something flourishes. The word is of Germanic origin (for those of us who adore words), the traditional meaning is so cool, “move accurately towards a target.” A multi purpose word if there ever was one! One never reaches home, but where paths that have an affinity for each other intersect, the whole world looks like home says Hermann Hesse. So home is actually a moving target if your affinities are scattered?

Goosebumps, not because this is a rousing subject (well, maybe for some of you), it’s freezing outside. It’s like 46 degrees, seriously, I caught me a chill.

In another attempt to avoid grading papers I browse through a few of the blogs I follow. One of them broached the subject of spousal fights? She’s a brave one. Her questions have to do with what is considered an acceptable amount of fighting in a marriage (daily seems excessive), how do you fight (with words of course), what’s off limit (the past), what are the rules (no blaming). This all came about after the blogger read a book that claimed without fighting there is no intimacy in a relationship? So there you have it, we should be celebrating our conflicts, the panacea to love.

I couldn’t resist, I asked Larry what he thought about fighting and intimacy, and with a rather wicked smile on his handsome face, he says, “making up is always fun.” If anything, the man is predictable.

“Profound,” I mutter.

“We could fight about it?”

“I hope you’re muted,” he looks aghast, fiddles with a few keys, gives me the look.

Maybe I should let Larry focus on his training, moving along, I click over to new comments on my latest post which is a complete slug, this is when avoidance queen landed on LaDonna’s captivating words, she said, “I am hopeful 2021 will bring the changes that 2020 brought to our awareness.” Don’t you love that, and yes, I refrained from asking Larry’s opinion.

All this isolation has definitely expanded my interior life, bloated my mind (and body) with savory insights, maybe we should “uncork” the constrictive lessons gleaned from the bowels of 2020?

I’ve labeled it the Pepto Dismal year. Bahaha

We’ve been forced into continued incertitude while the world shoots up with the latest vaccine, I’ve conceded my mask doesn’t need to match my outfit to go grocery shopping, and while we’re burying the loss of life, latitude, and liberty in the backyard, we’re falling in love with people we’ve only met on zoom.

“You’re still muted,” has become our universal tag line, and after a long day on Zoom the family table is a welcome respite, we might be keeping it together with rubber bands and glue, but we’re holding.

I’ve stumbled upon treasures in my own neighborhood as I continue to walk the El Moro de Campbell (the El Camino de Santiago will have to wait) and God willing my international son will move accurately towards a target (home).

My 3 Grandbabies! Photo Credit Julie Jensen

Sheltering in place has not only stretched our patience, but we’ve learned the beleaguered art of compromise, oh we shed a few tears over the run on toilet paper, and our grooming standards have gone primal, but thank God the raccoon stripe is all the rage.

We’re obsessed with puzzles and giant Jenga because it mimics our current passion of knocking down that which we have built, clearly a sense of humor is required, and a full refrigerator. Yes, I’m referring to the wine refrigerator.

May we continue to fight the good fight, then enjoy making up, because if 2020 has taught me anything it’s how sweet it is to be loved by you.

What thoughts are chasing you down the hall? I’m Living in the Gap, seizing the day, join me in the comments!

Anecdotes:

  • “How you do the little things is how you do everything.” Sharon Pearson
  • “If, then, I were asked for the most important advice I could give, that which I considered to be the most useful to the men of our century, I should simply say: in the name of God, stop a moment, cease your work, look around you.” Leo Tolstoy
  • “What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.” Henry Stanley Haskins
  • How we Walk into the Crisis of Our Lives Together, On Being, a conversation with Brene Brown and Krista Tippett.

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 26 Comments

Did He Just Call Me Hugh?

This is not one of my proudest moments, but I’m willing to humble myself, and share the whole sordid tale for the sake of entertainment. You’re welcome.

I’m thinking we could use a break from all the seriousness that surrounds us.

The day began with the predictability of a pandemic, you know what I mean, life is a little wonky these days, and honey you can take that to the bank.

It was after a typical night, I went to bed early, fell asleep, and woke up at three in the morning, tried to solve the problems of the world, and decided that’s not my forte.

I finally made the dreaded trip to the restroom without tripping over the dog, used my rosary as a sleep aid, total fail, and silently celebrated when the alarm went off at the crack of dawn.

Anyone with me?

Looney gets up at O dark hundred so he can do his boot camp in the driveway. I’m sure the neighbors appreciate waking up to a sweaty Italian who makes us all feel bad about our collective weight gain before morning coffee. While the sun is still sleeping it seems wrong to be exposed to burpies? Right?

I flop back against my pillows and check my blog stats, dismal, clearly no one is reading blogs at 5:30 am, except for a couple of hits from Australia, because you can always count on the O’Connor’s.

Not to brag but my new sleepwear is absolutely adorable. I’m not kidding. The fabric is ultra soft with an attractive pattern in turquoise, pink, and canary yellow, the pants are capris length, with a button down top. You’ll have to trust me, these pj’s are the cat’s meow.

Glancing at the clock I calculate the minutes before Looney brings me a cup of coffee, he’ll be out there planking for another fifteen minutes, so I switch to my solitaire app, and knock off a few games. I’m currently at level 91, which has absolutely no meaning, it just flashes when you move up, but doesn’t mention a word about the competition? I fantasize for a minute that NASA wants to contact me because of my solitaire acumen? Okay, it’s not likely, but do you ever get the feeling our devices are being monitored?

When Looney brings my coffee, he flips on the news, and the first thing we hear is the president has tested positive for Corona virus, also a chunk of Yellowstone the size of Chicago has been pulsing, and astoundingly these two seemingly obscure events have something in common. A cluster of bacteria thriving in the thermal pools of Yellowstone has made COVID-19 tests widely available in the US, hum, but I digress.

Maybe it’s time to get serious about my day?

I decide on four achievable goals:

  • Write a blog and post today because I’m already a day late. Nothing is happening as you can see, and I’m struggling for material, my issue not yours. Bucchianeri argues predictability often leads to the dullest work, in my opinion, the opposite is true.
  • Grade and give feedback on two assignments for my GSGC students.
  • Finish Unit One lesson plans, google assignments, and summative project that I have been avoiding like the plague (no pun intended) because I suck at figuring out what we can and can not accomplish during a zoom class.
  • Finally, if time permits, and the smoke isn’t at critical levels, go for a walk in the neighborhood, but I’m not going to freak out if it doesn’t happen, that’s counterproductive, and self sabotaging. I read that in a Psychology Today article while standing in the queue at the grocery store.

So I write a blog post about my lake tragedy, well not a tragedy per say, but I did confront some nasty demons, and that’s sort of tragic, but ultimately love prevailed, and as cliché as this sounds, here’s the link if you’re interested.

That took two or three hours. I’m fastidious.

Without moving an inch, meaning I’m still in my adorable pajamas, in an unmade bed, sipping cold coffee. I bravely switch to my work computer and pull up google classroom. Millions (that’s an exaggeration) of assignments start populating my computer screen, all alphabetically ordered, waiting for evaluation, feedback, and a grade, which then must be entered in PowerSchool. It’s a lengthy process and takes hours of screen time. This is the real apocalypse, it ends up the new beast is a computer, and unfortunately we have been captured unawares.

Literally in my underwear ~ Bahaha

Maybe I should go to the bathroom first or grab a bite to eat? “Problem is, the bathroom pass can’t help you escape life. It’s still there when you come out. Problems and crap don’t go away hiding in the can,” says Simone Elkeles. Eating sounds like a much more viable option and if I calculate the exercise gained by walking all the way to the kitchen and back, it’s a win win.

If I’m guilty of anything, it’s not bringing new problems into my life, that’s not avoidance. That’s being pragmatic.

Two hours later I close PowerSchool, hit return on all student work, and switched to my PowerPoints. Is it interesting to you that everything that has to do with school starts with the word power? That could be revelatory but I don’t have time to go down that rabbit hole.

After weeding through power lessons for several more hours I feel pretty confident that my students have won the lottery. They are going to be dazzled, if not dazzled intrigued, if not intrigued then the hell with them. I realize this is delusional thinking, leave me alone.

As Bill Watterson notes a day can really slip by when you’re deliberately avoiding what you’re supposed to do. And that would be exercise.

I peek out the window, it’s not a good day for a walk, tomorrow doesn’t look good either. Thank God because that would require a wardrobe change and I prefer comfy (not to be confused with frumpy).

I hear my roommates talking about food choices in the kitchen (they must be done with work?), slipping out of bed, I give the body a little stretch, it’s half-past six (my how time passes), and wonder down the hall to join the dinner debate. I am ridiculed by all, which I chivalrously ignore (I combed my hair for goodness sakes), and cast my vote for homemade lasagna.

“I’ll open some wine,” a girl scout always tries to be helpful.

Our entourage moves out to the patio for apples, cheese, a baguette, and beverages while our personal chef Nic slaves away in the kitchen making us lasagna from scratch. I’m hoping that remodel across the street takes forever.

I hear the front door open and close. Looney’s has returned from the office, I yell, “we’re out back.”

As he opens the side door he says, “we’re going to start calling you Hugh,” I look around for some unnoticed guest. He laughs and says, “you’re still in your pajamas?” It seems obvious so I ignore him. As with most issues in life, it is counterproductive to spend time trying to convince people of things they don’t want to know says Warwick Middleton. My sentiments exactly.

I’m Living in the Gap, chilling, if you have some tips leave them undressed in the comments.

Anecdotes:

  • My pajamas were purchased at Costco if you must know.
  • Hugh Hefner – The Pajama Man for background information on my new nickname.
  • I remember seeing a movie with Jose Ferrer and Rosemary Clooney where they were husband and wife, and they got in bed, and he had on polka-dot pajamas and she had on striped pajamas, and when they got up the next morning he had on the striped pajamas and she had the polka dot pajamas, and that was considered racy at that time! Bob Newhart

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 26 Comments

Join me in the Darkness if you Dare

I’ve been teetering on the edge of reason, weary, dizzy, exhausted for what seems like days. Escaping to the lake on my own was both a brilliant and impulsive move and possibly in need of revision.

Someone once said that none of us are actually afraid of the dark, we’re scared of what it conceals from us. We’re afraid of having something with the potential to hurt us standing right before our eyes and not registering it as a threat, people can also be like that.

You be the judge.

It’s the middle of the night when sleep is as elusive as a thief, I draw a haggard breath, and feel myself slipping into the murky abyss, dropping into the unknown as if a discarded cigarette that someone extinguished with his foot. I feel jettisoned, abandoned, and frightfully alone.

Who knows the exact depth of our aloneness?

These are the things I think about when I’m swaying on the edge of consciousness, cloaked in fear, losing my perilous grip on reality. Deep into that darkness peering, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream writes Edgar Allan Poe.

At some point I encounter myself in the midst of a dream so realistic I don’t question the viability of characters who play their parts with revelatory perfection. A genesis of raw truth, veiled in illusion, and although I remain neutral, I notice there is nothing too unhallowed for this stage.

What could possibly be the purpose of dreams?

A sorting, discarding, and storing of important memories is the current belief but I also think we process emotion, express desires, maybe even rehearse the future while dreaming? Who knows? Freud wrote that dreams are “disguised fulfillments of repressed wishes,” but he’s a little passive aggressive don’t you think?

An unidentifiable noise, or slight breeze awakens me, I search the darkness for the threat, noticing the solidity of this world as compared to the fluidity of dreams. I want to dissolve into the calm because the softness of sleep seems so much more appealing than the treacherous reality of the dark where my thoughts take on a life of their own. I’m not sure who said the depth of darkness to which you can descend is in exact measure of the height to which you can aspire to reach.  

I banter with my worthiness during these long sleepless nights, remembering the question posed to Ruth Bader Ginsburg at her Harvard Law dinner, “tell me why you are here and why you deserve to take this space you have been given?”

How does one answer such a question?

It did occur to me if I can’t answer this question for myself, who can? Perhaps this is the most important work we’ll be asked to do?

Wasn’t it Descartes who said, “I think therefore I am?” Which doesn’t speak to our value just our existence, seems a little random, but how does one honestly justify their presence in this world?

Maybe I’m just a small piece of the puzzle, the prolongation of life, knitted together with colorful strains of DNA because that is what was needed, at this time, and in this space? A Swede with a penchant for wit, wine, and words in equal measure, someone trying to figure out where she fits in, maybe that’s why I’m so tall, so my head can be in the clouds.

I imagine this jagged line of succession that trails back to a more primitive version of myself, dwelling in caves, covered in the coarseness of an antediluvian time, carrying around a curiosity for life instead of an iPhone?

Or is there something else that warrants my being? Is this our one opportunity to give ourselves over to our own evolution, becoming fully human, made in the likeness of God? Or are we damned by a corroded mold, crafted from the sins of society? Maybe we’re a mixture of both, a heavy pour of humanity stirred by the divine, and it’s quite possible we’ve been over served.

I waiver, moving in and out, as if a tide of uncertainty.

Or am I just obeying a didactic command to be fruitful and multiply? To have created children of my own flesh and blood, I understand the sacramental nature of life, because I feel sustained when they are near me.

It the same with God “when she brushes up against me,” notes Allison Marie Conway.

Conway beautifully pens these words, “it’s not easy to sink into yourself and believe that you are worthy of the breath that animates your entire life, the temporary heart which beats like wings against the fragile air. There is a jaggedness to this kind of deliberate stillness, this disciplined silence, the feeling that at any moment you will fall backwards into the truth and the full power of who you are.”

Why are we so determined to evidence our own beliefs? These illusions we create and spend a lifetime substantiating as if that will make them true? We cling to our fallacies as if a child to a tattered teddy bear, maybe what we fear most is freedom, letting go of the anchors that serve our narcissistic needs, and not that of our true potential.

Something tells me that simply participating in the miraculous unfolding of life is our sacred work, to be forces of good in the presence of suffering, or simply releasing others from the tethers of destructive narratives we ourselves have created? As Carl Jung claimed knowing our own darkness is the best method of dealing with the darkness of others.

So I lie awake embedded in the softness of the sheets, twisting and turning with my thoughts, wrestling with my pride, my worthiness, my purpose.

I wake to a darkness in which I find myself fearing what pursues and confronts me, I’m broken down and tired. It is in the wee hours of the morning that I realize I might be alone, but I have not not been abandoned by love, she caresses my brow, brushes up against me in the dark, nestles me in the crux of her arm as if a beloved mother, so I know I am not alone.

And I’ll rise up
I’ll rise like the day
I’ll rise up
I’ll rise unafraid
I’ll rise up
And I’ll do it a thousand times again

Andra Day

I’m Living in the Gap, no longer afraid of the dark, because you cannot maintain the illusion of loneliness if you are not alone.

Anecdotes:

  • I have been blogging for five years, only a few weird remarks have landed in my comments, but yesterday that all changed, and I have to say it was rather shocking.
  • I had my first troll.
  • Who is it that feels entitled as to judge another but not turn this arbitration on herself?
  • I wavered between taking her seriously or considering her a delusional human being?
  • I ended up claiming her as spam.
  • Maybe she was afraid of my words?
  • Yoda says fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.