Candid Corvid Productions

Letting go of the Bachelor’s dream, she finished the courses in teaching for her own enjoyment and dove into learning about filmmaking.

She took a year to complete four unit modules in Teaching English To Foreign Learners while revisiting learning piano, 6-string bass, drawing, and theatre. The next year, she hammered out the two remaing four unit courses to at last obtain her Bachelors.

Advocative, affectionate, playful, innovative, appreciative – cherished and wanted.

I may have positively influenced a great many people, but as our tracks do not often realign, it has been a “pay it forward” paradigm.

Sitting diagonally-skewed, propped by several plump pillows and swaddled by layers of soft, beautiful blankets which include electric heating.

Laboring under pain for an extended amount of time erodes self confidence and torments self perceptions.

She wanted to purge all negative emotions still attached to and affecting her.

But, something was missing in her self identifying that these feelings clung to.

How could something cling to something that is missing?

They filled the space of absence, providing false comfort – as if who she was was there.

My Love,

Why do sparks fly between us?

Are they embers flaring from old arguments?

Have we both set our feet so firmly that nothing will reconcile us?

So many years ago – but to our kind, as recent memory.

How can we break these patterns and reunite our passions?

Deliberate acquiesance to forces beyond one’s control, until acquiring better positioning.

There have been trends in societal ageism, but this does not mean that it is appropriate to condemn a woman of fifty years to an expected death sentence – and to consign her to a march of searching for its proof, demanding that she give up hopes of her previous “youth!”

Beckoning forward, blanketing all with snow or clearing to fierce blue skies, daring to prise open eyes that for too long have been sleeping.

It is a similar layout to the unit on –teenth street, but bigger and more warmly inviting.

However, we are no longer bound to alcoholic neighbors just four feet across – nor to a landlord on the property just a door further down with chemical addictions.

There are no police officers or social services representatives for fostering or curbing rebellions.

All is quiet here, which makes my instinct war between believing peace is possible – or that danger and loss are always inevitable.

Neighbors no longer attached, she howls to the moon, searching for her soul.

It is not the same as the choice to make a change, no matter how you sugarcoat it.

What is my part to play in all of this?

I will never be good enough for her.

She will always find fault with me.

I have become an amazing human.

But not in the way she has wanted –

Because I have become an individual.

When you find a sanctuary, memories catch up to you.

In 1989-1990, our first two beloved kittens.

Our “evil” stepmother let them out one day and we never saw them again.

Supposedly, a neighbor took them in.

I was told to not pursue the issue.

I had forgotten about that.

Now why would hanging hangers in a neat fashion restore a sense of one’s competance?

A few subtle accents – nothing ostentatious – make our home feel of quality and comfort.

As unpacking continues and I find what remains of my sparse clothing, I realize that it has not been so much the limited resources that have upset me, but the lack of appreciation in our society for those whose worth is so much more than the shirts upon their backs.

The last decade exposed me to trials which weathered me worn to bone.

I resent that I have had my youth conscripted to a life caring for the disabled and elderly, only to have what I was left with stripped from me involuntarily.

Where exactly is my reward and who is this person I am now forced to be?

To embrace the Here and Now means that I must accept what has happened.

But I do not.

I was robbed.

Viral media propagation of beauty projections attained by falsifications must no longer be allowed to have any affect on me.

Whether I choose to participate or continue on my own expressive vein should no longer involve feeling inadequate.

The cold, brittle-damp air feels like it is trying to strip my physical vitality for the crone’s eating.

During folding the laundry, I discovered a couple more tank top shirts that I had been missing, reclaimed upon unpacking. I could feel my psychology shudder in relief to be granted such a boon.

He greeted my children warmly, then kissed me tenderly on the forehead and said we would go to a movie on the morrow. I did not realize until then how love-deprived I had been.