Candid Corvid Productions

I saw the baby quilt – a rare, classic find: double layered and beautiful beyond mere tradition.

I had purchased it for our future – for the dream of having more children.

My puppy eats everything. It’s just the stage she is in.

A few minutes ago, myself shivering from a window left open, I turned on the heater after closing out the night’s damp chill.

Our pup was in her crate, stoically and bravely also shivering.

I looked around for a blanket less harmful to her if it is chewed and devoured.

I couldn’t find anything suitable – and then I found the quilt.

I brought her out of her crate and snuggled her in front of the heater for a moment, then took it from its shelf and laid it down for her with the tiny tassle tie-offs folded inward.

(She’ll become enamored of them, in the morning.)

She looked at it and immediately went in to stand on it, recognizing it as a gift.

Then, after thinking for a moment, she lay down and curled on top of it.

I just now heard from her a sigh of contentment.

If she destroys it – for this evening – it’ll be worth it.

I have decided to no longer worry about my weight as of this moment.

This decision has been building as I’ve watched my adrenals take a beating and life challenges just don’t diminish.

I don’t overeat, but the thyroid cortisol response thickens me as a type of buffer against brutal reality.

So, rather than continuing to feed into this stress cycle, I must no longer worry about it.

It’s like the situation with my clothing.

I cannot afford more, or to diversify, so I must no longer desire to.

Sometimes, I will go briefly down the isle of a thrift store, looking for quality weave, and wonder what lifestyle I’d be living to support such a theme.

The cool part is that if I let my identity dissolve even further, then eventually, I could ease into just about any fashion statement I could imagine.

But, we live in a small apartment with little storage space.

My work uniform is the same everyday – and I like it. It serves its purpose and does not complicate.

I noticed earlier today that on the shelving above the fridge, to the side and behind the on top microwave that’s hard hard to reach, I have backstocked my basic favorite liquids..

On the left side are my mango juice and unsweetened rice milk containers.

On the right are a month’s worth (or more if I portion it) of rosemary water.

Am I officially a bachelorette to know the few simple things I like and stick to them?

Yes, I drink straight out of my refrigerated juice jar.

I lightly scoff a bit at other people’s complicated life styles: the elaborate meals they’ll make and fuss over, for example.

I haven’t had the illusion of that kind of food security for longer than I can rememeber.

I am in awe that people feel safe enough to invest in it.

Some guys like to know you have your sh** together, yet are just as turned on, if you don’t.

More so – actually – because it makes them feel superior if you are not stronger than the persona they own.

In the quest to find balance in a relationship, this goal can become one-sided.

One person may feel they need to stop growing to keep the other satisfied.

And even if they were told this is what was wanted, they become vilified.

For, ironically, the more dominant will seek a more assertive replacement for the diminutive.

There seems to be no winning once one gives away their power.

I cannot tell you how much I have fought, seemingly in vain, to get the doors inside my subconscious to open.

That old negative messaging, though I’ve been cognizant, just refused to budge no matter my shoving at it.

But, just now as I was opening boxes, I felt a shift in some of the dialog.

When the old messaging played, I was able to answer with a different response.

I again tested the boundary – and it yielded for me!

Its thickness seems to be at last thinning – I could fall upon my knees and weep with relief.

I used to think that the subtle approach was best.

Then, perhaps, I would avoid stepping on toes, and people wouldn’t see me as a threat.

But, I’ve found that no matter my good efforts nor intentions that people will slap you down if that is their tendency – and they want to.

So, avoiding and bending for them is not necessarily a recipe for success.

And, since they seem to notice, judge, and affect me no matter what I do, I might as well assert my own point of view!

I often lament I do not have more of it.

I have alot – but it is fine, like spider silk.

Maybe this is Arachne’s way of getting back at one of Athena’s namesakes.

A “paying it forward,” if you will.

My youngest tells me thicker hair is too hot.

As I let mine get longer, I can feel it is certainly heavier.

I must accept that mine is a unique beauty – and no longer desire what can’t be bought.

It’sneverenough-whatIdo.

There’snotime,safety,security,peace,orrelentmentofthepressure.

There’snoplacetogo-nothingIcandotostopthiscycling.

Pacic,dread-strugglingtogetagriponmyemotions,onmybody,onmyhead.

Don’texplode,don’tdestroy,holdtight,rideitout.

Don’tgivein,nomatterwhat.

I’mgonnaslipI’mgonnaslip –

I’mslipping!

9am

Workmen arrive outside our back door.

They never knock and just keep talking in the quickest, highly intelligent, relaxed hippy-type stream of assessment I’ve ever experienced.

It’s like having a human burbling brook appear outside my window.

Melodic cacophony downloading and processing analysis information.

The puppy’s bark collar is not working because the refill cartridges were eaten by the highway, and rumor had it no more existed locally.

She begins to “wuff!” Low bark and growl constantly.

I can’t blame her – but, she can’t bark here.

Boiler plate lit inside by cbd goes from zero to 102 degrees, instantly.

1-2am before, got a blink of sleep before picking up youngling from late shift.

5-9am a brief nap that was not repleat.

930am

Try to get youngling to have pup in bedroom.

Pup clambers and whines, trying to go after cats and eat everything.

Youngling too tired to be nice and cbd has me wratched.

Brief argument squabbles between us spit fire and venom.

Puppy is my charge, again.

10am

I give up trying to recover and get dressed.

The never-ending river-speak has now engaged upstairs neighbors.

Getting the dogs leashed: I’ll introduce them.

Panicking internally without externally transmitting because puppy needs to not begin bay-barking.

Go to the back door, dogs barely under control.

Pull aside curtain and open door – Nothing.

From 1 second before, they’ve all vanished!

No sign of them, anywhere.

Youngling gripes by text to get cartridges.

I gripe back they could “kiss my biscuit” and find a source.

Cartridges found and held for later pickup.

Returned to bed with earplugs in to calm distress.

Neighbors above, inside, won’t stop loudly talking.

The earplugs at least muffle.

Then, they turn on loud base, which pounds through body – erupting system.

If I responded how my body and jacked-up emotional mind wanted me to, the walls would not be left standing!

Herbs can sometimes have the opposite effect on me.

I noticed this began happening about 25 years ago, after ingesting rancid food oils from a fast food place, which wrecked some of my intestinal lining.

I thought I had contracted food poisoning – that’s how bad my gut reacted for weeks after eating the fried flour shell to a taco salad.

If I didn’t eat an apple at the same time, I couldn’t digest anything, and cramps were severe.

I came away from this with leaky gut and for years was chasing illness symptoms.

My digestion is reactive and I often feel nutrient depleted – although you wouldn’t know it by looking at me.

I am mindful about what I eat, and try to take care of my body.

My immune system is just always fighting overload, which is reinforced by events externally.

It makes me sensitive to everything because particles that should be prevented by tight violii in the intestines are now permitted directly into my blood stream by micro gaps were the lining was damaged.

This causes systemic inflammation and reactions in my body to foods that should be ok as if they are allergens because they don’t get processed properly.

It also makes my nerves constantly on edge, because longterm inflammation erodes myelin buffering and hormone byoroducts that should be easily flushed out of my body get reabsorbed – which magnifies their effects on my system.

(Do not put me on birth control. I promise you won’t like the result!)

In essence, my body does not properly rid its waste products, and thus, always has too much of a load on it – which propagates chronic fatigue.

Supplements promoted to repair the intestines have not worked for me. For example, aloe vera and licorice inflame, and L-glutamine is such a fine particle, it goes straight into the blood and shocks my system.

Products like holy basil for nerve calming and turmeric for inflammation are reacted to as too spicy.

When I tried a CBD chewable last night to try to help take off the stress edge, its effect has now turned me into an intolerant “bitch,” incapable of applying patience.

Guess what I’ll be returning to the store!

Where’s the product that heals me?

I was speaking with a colleague about this, and wondering what prohibits me.

It isn’t just a lack of good forums to practice in, but likely due to past losses of self ownership.

I hate to say it, but I was brainwashed alot when I was a kid.

It was not safe nor permissable to be me, if I did not want to be re-targeted.

In my adult life, I can look back and say I’ve done some living. I have interesting resumes to proove this.

But, in each temporary phase, my way of expressing was geared to the type of role I was playing. I shifted personas to accomodate circumstances.

So maybe, I’m on a quest for self identity, and my diversity is expressed as it arrives and develops in my writing – where I can see, take note of, and track it.

Maybe I feel at risk for losing sight of myself.

Writing gives me a sense of security.

Our system is set up, unwittingly, to propagate victimization. Here are are some examples:

A woman can not go to a protective shelter if she’s seen or feels the signs of abuse coming – but it hasn’t, yet. She must wait until she first receives the abuse to apply for help. Even then, if it isn’t physical, agencies debate that it has happened.

A family cannot risk getting off of Welfare unless a member who is willing to support the others gets a job beyond the gap between poverty and middle class. This is because once a family begins bringing in income, they get penalized by benefits reducing before they can successfully bridge.

Unemployment compensation pays out very little compared to a person’s normal wages, and if you try to supplement by working, any income you make is subtracted from weekly benefits. So if your benefits per week were $150, and you got a temporary job that paid $150 that week, you only get $150 – even if you need $300 per week to survive.

What do I mean by using the term “victimization” in these scenarios? My point is that we are penalized no matter the difficulties we face in times of hardship, and if we try to improve our lives, society only supports this if we are mired in struggle.

The woman cannot outmaneuver the hammer trying to “nail her coffin.” The family cannot prosper without fear of losing what little they’ve gained. And an unemployed worker has no hope for success unless they regain liveable wages..

No one is allowed to be happy during these trials. If they are anything but miserable, they are not seen as in crisis, and they will be denied services – or at least hassled and suspected of fraud.

Having a positive outlook – or feeling ok because the system is aiding you temporarily – is frowned upon with shame conveyed that you are a “burden to the system.”

The smashing-crash impact of the vehicle speeding behind me hitting the bag of items I’d left on the roof of my car in the dark with its bumper rocketed me into a new emergency.

Pulling over into the middle lane as cars wooshed and sloshed past me, whipping the rain’s moist buffeting air against me and the car at night was unnerving.

Luckily, no accident was caused – just pulverized glass, the last bundle of my business cards, proof of dogs’s vaccinations, and paperwork I’d spent hours collecting that I had readied for faxing.

The gecko lamp and bulb worth $35-40 that didn’t work, and the dog bark spray refills of citrinella we couldn’t stand would have refunded money.

A few empty bottles of No. 1 Rosemary Water (TM) I’d intended to add to the three bags ready for recycling didn’t make it – except one jagged body missing its neck.

One mistake from overwhelm obliterated this afternoon’s efforts.

Luckily, no one was hurt – and I felt stupid being out there timing the cars, trying to not get decapitated in the headlights as I bent over in attempts to scrape papers stuck to wet pavement.

I had to leave most of them out there, strewn across the road, recognizing that I could not retrieve them in that dangerous situation, and that likely they’d be unrecognizable by the morning.

Though any cleanup crew, police officer, or on-foot passerby later investigating might receive free marketing for my services.

And by grace, my parents’ mail I’d saved to send to them remained intact and sealed it its plastic bag.

This one task, I could finish for them this evening.

But maybe, I should wait until tomorrow.