Farewell June.

This month has 25 days of conflict. Mostly emotional, sometimes mental, never physical (unless you count when I shoved Jett during a particularily engaging game of "Pit." I've never been one to have it all together, but I fake it well - which is good, because I'm pretty much always a mess. But I've decided that since June was the month of "No Hope" that July would be the month I get myself together. We'll call July the month of "Grace." Not that grace is necessarily the opposite of No Hope, but that's what I need. Any maybe that'll lend it's way to hope, and joy...maybe even peace? Here goes nothing. In the mean time, I'm on my way to developing a terrible journal habit and I'm applying for teaching jobs. And I'm also trying to keep myself from turning into a complete basket case. Goodbye June, you've been stressful. I hope July is more kind to my soul.

This is my Jeremy. He left for the Air Force this morning. My routine of watching old Simpson's re-runs and playing hours and hours of card/board games just took a serious hit. Also, vegetables just made their way back into my diet in a strong way.

This is Kodos. My baby. He came in and out of my life quick, the little rascal. I had him for a month, where I spoiled the "stray" right outta him. But no amount of fancy kitten food or cutesy little play toys could make him better and I had to put him down. To date, that is probably in the Top Five of "Most awful moments." But we got to love on him, and he sure did make for a good snuggle mate.

I rest in this - June is almost over. I never thought I'd be so excited about the heat and mosquitoes July brings, but I'm so ready.

waiting.

Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale
Measure the walls. Count the ribs. Notch the long days.
Look up for blue sky through the spout. Make small fires
with the broken hulls of fishing boats. Practice smoke signals.
Call old friends, and listen for echoes of distant voices.
Organize your calendar. Dream of the beach. Look each way
for the dim glow of light. Work on your reports. Review
each of your life’s ten million choices. Endure moments
of self-loathing. Find the evidence of those before you.
Destroy it. Try to be very quiet, and listen for the sound
of gears and moving water. Listen for the sound of your heart.
Be thankful that you are here, swallowed with all hope,
where you can rest and wait. Be nostalgic. Think of all
the things you did and could have done. Remember
treading water in the center of the still night sea, your toes
pointing again and again down, down into the black depths.
-Dan Albergotti



I remember all those nights I would tread water, and I wonder if this isn't better. It's certainly easier. And so while I sit and measure the walls, call out to friends in vain, make smoke signals that no one can see, I'll narrate stories in my head. Name my future children. Alphabetize my spices. Chastise myself for everything I've done wrong. Defend those choices. Refuse to move on. Play board games. Wait for you to come to your senses. Put nothing on paper. Neglect my commitments to people. Write letters I'll never send. Make excuses. Let my heart be hardened. Still the last fainting beat. Wait for it to be revived. And if it doesn't, I'll rest in this - being in the belly of this fish is more peaceful than treading water. It's not where I'm supposed to be, maybe. But I'd rather not escape. Much less tiring.