I have never felt like I belong, or that I am where I am meant to be. Never. When I was a kid, I often sat contemplating, dreaming and imagining what existed beyond the desolate fields of the prairie town in which I lived. Beyond captured my imagination and grabbed hold of my soul, and as though it knew what I needed, it was always whispering, calling. In stillness and chaos, I could hear it. Silently I carried those whispers like fuel and found solace in the step I knew I would one day take. Even then, I understood that I was destined to harbour an ache and long for the unknown, but for reasons, I couldn’t quite understand. I just knew that Beyond offered something necessary and that listening was vital to my well-being – it was what would save me.
Category: shit that makes me happy
So, I am sitting in a coffee shop in Greenwich Village, New York, and I don’t know for sure what I want to write, so I am just going to start spewing out some words and hope that, in the end, they make sense. If they don’t, well, I am sitting in a coffee shop in New York City, writing, and I consider that in itself enough.
Unquestionably, this city takes up the vast majority of my heart, for reasons even I don’t understand – so don’t bother asking me why I love it so much, I just do. Pretty sure, though, that I was born with NYC blood pumping through my veins. I am adopted, so it is completely reasonable to think that my birth mother shagged some guy named Bobby from FDNY Ladder 69 – nobody really knows the story of my conception, so who’s to say it’s not true.
Last Thanksgiving, when I found myself crying and apologizing to a dead turkey as I rammed dry bread and spices up its ass in preparation for its ultimate sacrifice into my oven, I declared on the spot that I would never eat an animal again. And I haven’t. Admittedly though, I am struggling giving up sushi. It’s not that I don’t think fish have feelings, they must, they do, but they are aloof and would probably be wholly pissed if I went in for a cuddle. Like what am I supposed to do with that? I’m working on it. Fish matter. I KNOW.
Last Thursday, I woke up in a notable funk. As soon as I opened my eyes and took my first conscious breath, it was evident it was going to be ‘one of those days.’ There was no explanation for feeling the way I did, so I just rolled with it, thinking that the next day would be a better one. Well, Friday morning brought more of the same, and it was the beginning of my slide to hell in a handbasket. (Does it sound more dramatic if I went in an actual basket?) The person looking back at me in the mirror flipped me the bird, and I was like, ‘WHAT ARE YOU GETTING PISSY WITH ME FOR?’ There was no way for me to shake it, so I accepted my fate and the fact that I was going to have to feel things I really didn’t want to.
On Sunday, I began a pet-sitting gig. I know, I know! But, before you start sending me ‘WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?’ messages, please know I have already been adequately lectured and understand the poor judgment I exercised when making this decision a couple of months ago. When I found out the date of my surgery, I canceled all my pet sit jobs, for obvious reasons, but this one I kept, because my only requirement was to take care of two delightful, low maintenance cats, and this place, in all honesty, is a little slice of heaven. It is nestled in the forest and is very tranquil, and I felt it was a perfect place to spend some time during my recovery. Luckily, the world has mostly stopped spinning, and my antibiotics have worked well enough to allow me to keep up my end of the bargain. In hindsight, and based on the pure shit luck I possess, I should have known better than agree to be somewhere so soon after surgery – sometimes, though, I simply forget who I am. I would have looked like a real jack if I had to cancel just days before their vacation, but thankfully, here I am.