Monday, January 14, 2013

Still breathing, screaming, and kicking.

Today, out the front door, snow and a truck.
Quite literally all three of those things.

As you saw, I dropped off the blogosphere there again. We had a little incident that involved Diesel, the racks for the hot water system, a lot of woman screaming, a lot of horse kicking and screaming, and a lot of horse blood. It also involved a rude, not as talented as I needed veterinarian. Then we had a special needs feLIONs emergency. Also involving another inadequate veterinarian. I do NOT want to relive any of what happened by rehashing it here for you. Bottom line is that we now drive two hours one-way for serious veterinary care. We also really like Dr. Ladd and his staff near Baraga. The main thing is that other than a couple more grey hairs for your's truly and a few more hard miles on the ol' ticker, we're all okay. Mostly. Diesel will have a couple of scars and his confidence is rattled. Time will tell if he's going to stay sound. At most, he's on light duty anyway and should be fine. Tiffany Anne is back to her Princess-y self. Fancy was in good hands in Marquette and is fine. Though, I still feel strongly that a veterinarian should be allowed to legally administer a sedative for the animals' owners.

The Husband is home at the cabin all the time now, and again, there is still breathing, screaming, and kicking there too. I'm glad he's home but it's a little more work in one way than bachelorette-ing it. Easier in another way by having help with all the chores. I'm relieved and grateful that he had a 25 year career and nobody crashed and burned and died on his watch. He's got his little jacket that says "Retired" and his "Thanks for 25 years service to the US" plaque.

As I come out of this animal and retirement induced tail spin, I enter a new stage of life. All my life, I've done what I was told to do. I did what other people wanted/demanded that I do. I played the hand I was dealt and flowed with it the best I could. Finally, all of a sudden, it's still and quiet. The demands are gone. There's too many extra pounds, old fractures and bone spurs, I'm exhausted and there's this person that stares back at me from the mirror that is shockingly a lot older than I remember. Then there's all these little boxes of who I wanted to be, what I wanted to do, and labeled "Your LIFE" that I've been stacking one on top of another since my years actually comprised of single digits and shoved in an hasty heap in a dark corner. I look at this heap of dusty hopes and dreams and what I wanted through angry tears cursing those I put before myself for fear of rejection - angriest at myself that I didn't tell them to go F off. People want you to live your life the way they want you to live it because they either didn't get to live it themselves or they're not brave enough to live it themselves. Lesson learned. So, I carefully try to unpack those hopes and dreams so old and brittle they disintegrate at my slightest touch and I feel the disappointment and heartache of what dreams and parts of myself are already gone but I still have yet to accept and release. As I look for what can be resuscitated, I realize the boxes are now empty while I feel the loud, echoing ticking of a clock not that far away anymore. Breathing, screaming, and kicking.... I just begin again.