Monday, December 18, 2017
Regardless of how fast I ran,
of all the motion.
No matter the distance between,
the breadth, the space.
Despite each climb up from every fall
over and over again.
Even with all the time gone.
dreams, loves, hopes in hindsight.
I find myself
where I began.
Sunday, June 11, 2017
The thing about Major Depressive Disorder, it never really goes away.
Sure you may have moments where you feel okay. They may even last days, or weeks.
Is that hope? You may even dare to feel it. The tide went out.
But it always returns.
Monday, March 6, 2017
Tim Hinderliter was not shopping at the Broadway QFC, and the guy who was and looks like Tim (at a glance and when you're not wearing your glasses) does NOT like being called Tim.
Me: "Hey Tim! How... oh sor..."
NOT Tim: "WHAT?"
"I'm sorry, I thought you were Tim an..."
"I'M NOT TIM"
"Yeah, I see that now. Sorr..."
"DON'T CALL ME TIM!"
"I won't. You're not Tim. Got it."
"YOU SHOULDN'T JUST BUG PEOPLE!"
"I JUST WANT TO SHOP IN PEACE!"
"LEAVE ME ALONE! LET ME SHOP IN PEACE!"
"Okay, sorry" as I quickly move away, while he returns to considering lunch meat options and says (for emphasis, presumably) "I'M NOT TIM" during my apparently not quick enough exit.
Everyone else in the aisle had immediately become intensely interested in food labels, except one woman a bit further down the aisle. As I approached she greeted me with a smirk and a universally recognizable WTF? face.
"He's not Tim," I say to her, with my version of the universally recognizable WTF? face, "don't call him Tim."
"He should wear a sign or something," she says, smiling as we pass.
And now I get home and realize I forgot coffee (the whole reason I went) and have to go back. I hope NOT Tim isn't there.
Thursday, November 3, 2016
I was talking with an acquaintance the other day, and he reached his arms out like he wanted a hug. It made sense in the conversation, so I responded... it turns out he was taking his coat off.
Maybe if I'd quickly robot danced it would've resulted in a graceful recovery. Probably a better one than apologizing, and shuffling my feet while laughing nervously.
When we parted, I reached my arms out like I wanted a hug. Thankfully he got the joke.
So, that was fun.
Sunday, October 16, 2016
Ran into an acquaintance today, recently having returned to Seattle after moving away a year ago. Short "welcome back" discussion followed, as one would expect. Moving away doesn't produce a wall, lines go two directions, very few decisions are cast in impermeable concrete.
"I look forward to catching up."
Well, let's see. In the past year I've gone further into debt. Deeper into depression. Possibilities are more unreachable. Hope an increasingly distant memory. Life, ever more of a chore.
And how have you been?
Wednesday, April 6, 2016
Long dog walk today, which was nice. If the calendar didn't say differently - I'd swear it was June. (I'm totally ready for some rain, enough with the constant sunshine already.)
|"Every Day" by Jim Benton|
Particularly while Lucy and SueKaye are pulling pulling pulling (and pulling) to really really smell that thing just beyond the end of the leash. To smell it really hard... and then possibly eat it. Or maybe pee right in a very particular spot - that one of them just smelled - each one right after the other. And then pull in opposite directions. While Vida walks into something. And I trip and curse the sky.
Now, after a long city walk in the sun, and lots of the dogs smelling things so very hard ... it's the perfect moment for a nap. Cuddling will be done. There are clouds in the distance. Perhaps we'll awake to some rain, and then go out again, for an evening walk in the fresh air, for more things to smell so hard. (or walk into. or curse. or what have you.)
Tuesday, February 16, 2016
As his birthday approaches, his ashes washed ashore. Two women walking the beach found him as they walked along the beach outside of rehab; ocean waves lapping peacefully at the shore brought forth a gift to their feet.
They searched out the person within the package once lovingly released into the ocean. Doing so felt spiritual, consequential: the body from which the ashes came, the life that was before, now a part of theirs. His past, now part of their present.
As they were rebuilding their lives from addiction, ocean waves returned one once lost to the demons in his. Finding his identity, they found that he also faced addiction, depression, and turned to suicide to end the pain that was more than he could bear. The weight of life a burden that could no longer be carried.
Moved by his essay on his challenges with addiction - in finding his past, they found also something within themselves: kinship, understanding, connection. Though unknown to him, from his ashes they discovered something within themselves made stronger.
In our interaction, we understood each other, the moment. Those who seemingly stroll through lives of ease - with rewards casually grasped - may find this difficult to recognize. But for us, with thoughts of him, it felt profound.
With a sense of closeness to the person that Tony was, his ashes now had breath and being. Arising from the ocean - a pearl found in the sand. As he did for many while living, he gave again. Even in death, as ashes washing up on a beach; he gave again. Those he touched were more. Their lives - always precious and beautiful, even when the beauty was hard to see - and now with weight that was, if just a bit, lighter.
There is a place. Tides come and go, ocean waves never cease. Past, present and future intertwine. Life lives on.