Jan 29 ~

It was a night made for walking, so that's exactly what I did.

After the last of the clean-up, I found I had to get out into the snow... out into the night.  The air was so pretty... not cold; not really--- not for this part of January.  It was my favorite kind of snow: heavy, soft underfoot; thick.

We had your dinner today, mom.  I made all your favorite foods (well, some of them...) ~ steak and herbed potatoes and baked butternut squash and cabbage the way grandma used to make it.  I planned to make a salad, but I already knew that was more than enough food.  I did make that cake you used to love though, the one you bugged Auntie to make all the time; the deep dark fudge with warm chocolate pudding over the top.  Everything was a hit.  Everything was really good.

And sometimes I feel good, ma.  Sometimes I can breathe alright and laugh a little and even get a little work done.  I'm writing and dancing, and these things are saving my life.  Just like always...  But something's happened, and I don't know how to tell you...

Betsi died today.  Yes today, on the one month anniversary of your leaving.  I think she knew, ma.  I know she knew...  Exactly one week ago, she stopped eating.  There wasn't anything I could do to make her take food.  So I fed her water from a small dish and took her outside several times a day.  She loved to sniff the air and look around.  Even the past few days, when she was too weak to stand without falling, she was awake for periods and she was aware...  I kept her where she could see me, and her eyes would follow me...  I'd pet her and talk to her and cry a little too, because I knew she'd chosen to follow you.  I read somewhere animals will do that............

I guess I can say I'm sleeping a little better, and I can tell you I'm running out of space in my journal.  Bought myself a new pack of colored pencils last night (was it last night...?) and colored up a little old storm for myself.  Done a lot of reading and researching and praying a helluva lot, too.  That's something I'm happy about; I've found I'm able to pray again.  And dream... I've been dreaming deep and strong.

But will I ever be happy, ma?  I mean, the whole tortured artist thing is how books get written, after all.  It's how music is made, how films are created and how great hanging works of art come into being.

I want to believe I can have it both ways.  I do not like the black or white rule when it comes to this.  I think there should be a rider in there that states, Since thou hast created this most fair work of art, thou art entitled to a slice of motherfucking-happiness.

Oh wait, I'm a writer.  I can write this law.  I can rise up and rage against and manifest that law and make it real because I want to.

So there's a new rule in town, as of right now.  This rule goes for me and any other creative soul who happens to stumble upon this post.  If thou hast created one good or lovely thing, thou art entitled to a slice or ten of mother-fucking-happiness.  So let it be written, so let it be done.  There.  Onward...

Onward into forever, I suppose.  Onward into the future.

Onward to better times, to righting wrongs and correcting oopsies and changing the tides of our lives.

♥ #ParaGoddess 

VOLUME UP!  So pretty ~