Since February, I have been a weekly volunteer at the local animal shelter to help out in one of the cat rooms. My Friday morning usually consists of getting Reza to school, dropping off Josh at work and then heading over to the shelter for my shift. I call these days my “kitty therapy” day. I didn’t expect the rewards that came from volunteering with these furry nuggets but I accept them nonetheless.

I park in the back of the building, getting there around 9 a.m., around the same time they allow the shelter dogs to come out to play in the fenced enclosures outside. I rarely go into the dog section because it bums me out but I stopped that morning, to watch the enthusiasm of barks and wagging tails. Amongst the bunch of pups there were several feisty little chihuahua and toy breed mixes, happily dishing their attitude to their larger counterparts. I am all smiles and then it hits me. It has been almost two years since I had to let Nena go. That was two years ago today.

While time has healed a lot of the wounds from her absence, watching all those little guys made me realize that I am still, not ready to be a dog owner. Granted, we aren’t in the space where it would be right.. small place, leases, clauses, etc. But even if I did have the space for it, I am just nowhere ready to be a dog owner and don’t know if I ever will be. I had to walk away before the tears started coming out.

When you first bring these furry critters into your family, you’re never prepared for the idea that as fast as they arrive, there is also the imminent departure. The hole and the absence, the heartache of companionship that is no more. No one prepared me for the possibility of illnesses and the fact you may have to make decisions for them that will alter your and their lives forever.

To this day, I still carry a lot of guilt over her euthanasia. I let my emotions get the best of me so much that I regret the way I handled myself in the process. I chose to not be there because I couldn’t handle it. I let my emotions and personal depression get the best of me. Part of me really wishes I could back to do it all over. She gave me 13 years and I couldn’t even give her my hand in her final moments. I have to live with that.

Every morning I sit at my desk and her empty bed sits at my feet. The cats refuse to go near it. I know it’s silly to keep things like that around to some people, but I can’t help but feel a little comfort of the idea that something is still there.  A place for her should her little pooch specter decides she wants to come home. It reminds me of our times together, to think about my decisions and how they affect others, to feel a little reminder that once there was someone small, that barked a lot, bit the mail lady, snuggled my newborn and loved me.


Amongst my boredom the other night, I fell into the link clicking wormhole. In doing so I stumbled upon a website that I really wish I had never seen. I couldn’t believe what I was looking at: forums where random anonymous people (assholes/haters/mouthbreathers) do nothing but look at the websites of people who blog and then proceed to absolutely rip them apart. And I mean RIP APART.

Curiosity got the best of me and I found myself reading some of these “forums” and I was absolutely saddened and disgusted that that level of time was dedicated for the sole purpose of hating on people you know absolutely nothing about. I vacated as quickly as I found it.

I would like to think that people, “people” being a generalized statement, have better things to do with their time. I guess I am a little naïve in thinking that way. Not sure why I am even posting about it but here I am because two days later, I am still kind of taken back by the whole thing.  It was really bothersome to me.

Long before the days of The Book Of Faces, I felt a natural inclination to share pieces of my life online. I didn’t think I was an interesting person, in fact, I didn’t think much of myself. I was lonely and didn’t have many friends. I have been writing and putting out dribble since my early 20’s. This path is an interesting one… on one hand you open up parts of your life to complete strangers which can be good and bad. It has brought drama of all sorts… let’s face it, when you have a mouth as big as mine, it comes with the territory. On the same vein, it has afforded me amazing connections with people some of which I yet have to meet in person but hold so so dear, some who are the best of friends and some who I wish had never found me. I never did it for popularity, for bragging rights, or even to make a living… it was just something I did because it felt right at the time.

I write to vent, commiserate, share, communicate. It’s a cheap form of therapy. It’s an outlet for me and while I am a grammatical nightmare, it is my place nonetheless… and the idea that someone would come here just to “hate read” while rolling their eyeballs is sad to me.

We all have a spot in the world to dent. I would like to think that my dent, while small, leaves a larger mark than my foot makes. It takes courage to open up about who you are, what ails, inspires and defeats you. To make something from nothing and put it out in the world. Sure, that stuff gets lost in the fold of superficiality but behind all of it is a fucking person. Think about that.

So on behalf of myself and probably other bloggers, artists, musicians, those people who have been on the receiving end of getting ripped apart… I have something to say to you: I dare you to do what we do. I dare you to create something and share a piece of yourself with the world. If you don’t, you don’t have a leg to stand on. Those of us who DO are better for it. There is more reward in shedding light behind the veil, far more some random haters who want to judge will ever receive. So if you’re a doer and a maker, keep at it. Let them stew. You’re doing something right.

And to the cowards, the keyboard warriors who hide behind their monitors of fear? FU.


an update of sorts

Man, that was some scary shit. Pun intended. I guess I should start with the health update. My CT came back normal. While I am relieved there was nothing there of major concern, it’s also perplexing as to why I was continuing to feel like hell.

For lack of better, more tactful words, not being able to take a shit is fucking horrible. You feel sluggish, toxic and pissy as fuck. After my labs came back normal, I stopped taking all the BS OTC crap the dr. had me taking. I think I could have written a song from all the horrible noises my body was making. I feel bad for poor Josh who had to deal with weeks of me being all kinds of aggro and freaked out.

I also broke down and went to get a colonic. Oh yes, I paid someone to shoot warm water up my asshole in hopes to get things moving again. It’s uncomfortable and awkward as hell but hey, so is not crapping. Besides, once you have given birth, your dignity and shame kind of goes out the door. I’ve had them before and thankfully I am comfortable with my starfish enough to relax it a little.

Since the ass hosing, paired with my diet being watched pretty strictly, things seem to be improving and I am SO HAPPY ABOUT IT. I was a stress case dude, like you wouldn’t believe and all that was not helping my current condition one bit. I have *never* had issues in this department so you can imagine my dismay. I am still feeling pangs here and there but I do understand that the bowel system is a delicate environment and it may take weeks/months to get it back in balance. I am still on top of my Dr., who probably thinks I am a hypochondriac, and if things do not improve 100% I am pushing for a second opinion because I am not accepting “you probably have some degree of IBS” as a finality.

The good thing is I am starting to feel like myself a little more and this whole medical stint changed my appetite and helped get me back on track with regimen. Now to get back on the exercise.

Man, I haven’t felt the effects of “age” as much as I have this year. A couple months away from my 40th birthday and this shit happens? Stupid body, you Judas. So yeah, that is where I am at. You now know more about my asshole than you ever needed to know. Good times.

checking in…

In the past couple of weeks I started noticing odd pains in my gut. It was pretty all of a sudden. About 3 weeks ago I decided it was time to bring to the attention of my doctor. After 2 visits, lab work on every bodily fluid possible and treatment plans, it was not getting better. Something IS NOT right.

I had a CT on Friday and hope to get some answers soon because the past three weeks have been awful. The stress of it all is certainly not helping my cause one bit. All I do know is I am ready to fix whatever is going on and move forward, there are so many things I want to and should be doing instead of feeling like someone is pushing on my ribs and am carrying around a 20 lb rock in my body.

So if you’ve noticed a decline in my presence, in whatever form you’re accustomed to, it’s because of this. I am not myself. I feel miserable, stressed and for lack of better words, I’m scared.