See You Later

As you all know, we had to lay our sweet family cat to rest recently. It was one of the most difficult goodbyes I've ever had to say. So today, I'd like to write about his incredible story, because it makes me smile and it reminds me of how truly wonderful our furry friends can be.

Let's start at the beginning. That's my favorite part.

The thing I love most about Bob is that he chose us. I don't remember how old I was, maybe ten? It was during a Christmas break, I think, when the best little creature sauntered his way into our lives and refused to leave.

My mother had just returned from a grocery trip and she was hauling in the bags when this pesky, tailless cat kept running inside the house. "You don't live here," she would scold as she picked him up and returned him to the Great Suburban Outdoors.

In he ran and out she carried him over and over, until finally, she gave up. We knew he couldn't be a stray. He was too friendly and actually enjoyed being cradled like a baby. It was decided that we would harbor the sweet thing and make posters to alert his family.

Bob captured my heart immediately. He regularly guarded me in my sleep, positioning himself right next to my head on the pillow. Occasionally, I'd even get a nice head massage. There's nothing like falling asleep next to soft, purring cat. I selfishly prayed every night that no one would answer our posters. From the very beginning, I knew I never wanted to say goodbye.

The story of how Bob got his name always makes me chuckle. We thought he was a girl at first, so we started to call *her* Sweetie. We had another cat at the time, Squid, who was a rescue from a neglectful and abusive environment, so even though we loved him dearly, he wasn't much of a cuddler. That's why Bob's sweetness was so surprising to us. Weeks passed and no one claimed *Sweetie*. We weren't about to kick this amazing fur ball to the curb (and he never would have let us if we tried), so we just accepted the fact that we had a new cat! We took him to the vet to get all checked out and to make sure he had all his shots when -hey there- we discovered that our beloved *Sweetie* was actually a boy! So we tacked on a "Bob" at the end, in honor of the cute li'l nub he had in place of a tail. Thus, Sweetie became Sweetie-Bob, and eventually, just Bob.

Bob was an adventurous guy, even to the end of his days. He loved being outdoors more than anything and you could always find him bathing his giant belly in the warmth of the sun. He was an expert hunter, always bringing his trophies to the door (or truck bed). I really feel like Bob lived a true cat life. I think he'd regret nothing.

In 2001, we moved to a new neighborhood which was still under construction. Bob, being his curious and adventurous self, climbed into a moving van and we didn't see him again for.... months? Maybe a couple of years? It seemed like forever to me. We got a call one glorious day from a vet in Alief. Someone had found Bob and he still had his tags! I was finally reunited with my best friend! After his long-term adventure, he would no longer guard my sleep, but that was okay. I was just glad he was home.

Things changed again for this poor guy when I unexpectedly moved back home from school and brought my young cat Sheldon with me. Bob had grown older and this was a change he refused to accept. He was rather terrifying when his territory was threatened and I always felt bad for bringing Sheldon into his world. Bob would rarely come inside while Sheldon was there. He pretty much would only come in when we forced him to because the weather was too extreme for him to be out there. I had given him so many fun nicknames such as my Tubb of Chubb, Tubbinz/Tubb, and Bobular Cat. He lost a lot of his chub in his old age, but I never quit calling him those names. He will always be my Tubbinz.

The day came that he got so thin, my mother decided it was time to check it out. He'd gone from 16 pounds down to 8 in a few short years. The initial vet report: there was a tumor on his kidney. We were advised to put him down quickly because we would not want to see that play out. Bob may have been stubborn, but so is my mother. She decided to get a second opinion. The prognosis was similar, but just a tad more optimistic. Not a tumor, necessarily, but he definitely had kidney disease. After seeing a specialist, we put him on a special diet and my mom was trained on how to administer IV fluids to help keep him hydrated.

I think my worst experience during all of this was when I went to my parents' house to grab something for my classroom. I didn't know that they were keeping Bob in my bathroom at the time, so when I opened the door, I saw small blood stains on the floor and he was making weird sounds and walking funny. I immediately called my mom, sobbing. She said they believed he'd had a stroke the night before. They kept him in my bathroom because they were afraid he would fall down the stairs. The blood was from the kidney disease and his inability to get to the litter box in time. I thought that day was the end. I had regretted not listening to the first vet. I really didn't want to sit there and watch his body poison itself. I didn't know which was more selfish: Keeping him alive when his body was shutting down or putting him out of his misery?

A few days passed and my parents reported that he was getting stronger. The stroke blinded him, but he was getting around just fine. He liked company. If he could hear you, he was right there next to you. And he still loved to eat. We had to literally put it right in his face for a bit, but he would scarf it right down. He seemed to be on the up and up! While my parents were out of town, my little brother and I had the responsibility of administering the IV fluid. My mom showed me how but I hadn't actually done it before. I found out that day that I am the worst cat nurse. I cried, and freaked out a little when he would hiss and squirm, the needle would come out and spray IV fluid all aver him, which led to more hissing and angry groans, and more sobs from yours truly. But I got it done. After 3 tries. Sorry, Bob. You were too patient.

Later that week, my parents returned and my mom and I made plans to go check out an antique convention. I arrived at their house to eat lunch beforehand and my mom would look at me, then look away. Look at me, then look away. I asked her, "Why do you keep looking at me like that?" but I knew why. I knew it was done. My older brother came down stairs to leave for work that morning and saw Bob, lying motionless on the floor. Still breathing, but unresponsive. The vet said it was another massive stroke and there was no chance of recovery. That was that. He was gone. I didn't cry much, which felt wrong. But I had already cried so much from all the "This is it" and "He's making a comeback". It was a lot of back and forth, my emotions swinging on a pendulum from one extreme to the other. As I write this now, however, the tears are falling.

We saw it coming from a mile away. He was at least 18 years old. None of this was a surprise. But just like I knew during our first few weeks together, I still didn't want to say goodbye. He was a great cat. The best cat. None will ever compare. My mom called him the "Tailless Wonder". His nub was iconic. His tortoiseshell patterned fur was beautiful and soft. He was kind. He was stubborn. He was strong. Best of all, I think he was happy. Even in his last days.

One of his ears had a big chunk missing from a fight he was in long ago. Now my heart matches it.

I miss him. I miss him terribly. Home will never be the same without my Tubb of Chubb to gallop up to my car and greet me.

Just a lil update for you guys

One year ago, I wrote a blog post about dead ends and my difficulties finding a job I could enjoy. Now I'm two weeks into teaching at a great school with phenomenal principals and really great kiddos. It's amazing how things change change so drastically for the better, isn't it?

It's funny how I was planning on writing a blog about my new job and my new apartment today and then time hop pulls up that post from last year. I think it really took suffering through a soul crushingly terrible job in order to motivate me to get up and go find that dream job.

Let me begin by saying the weeks before starting your first teaching job are the most terrifying weeks of your life. I had dreams about school, good and bad, every day from August 1st until school started. I had never known stress like the stress of trying to prepare your classroom (SO EXPENSIVE!!!!!!) and prepare an apartment when you have virtually no money. Spending hours and hours going through music and costumes and decorations and other classroom materials left behind by the previous teacher. Spending hours and hours dusting every surface. I don't know how one lets dust get so bad that you have to vacuum the walls, but that's what my mom and I did. We slaved over one closet for an entire 8 hour day. It's beautiful, but man, was it hard work.

The students are pretty amazing. There's a couple of tough ones, but we'll make it work. My fourth graders have a ton of good voices which makes me excited for choir performances! I do get at least one kid a day who asks if we're going to watch a movie. And it's always Alvin and the Chipmunks. Sorry, kiddo. There won't be any movies. Especially not that movie. If i watched that 6 times in one day, I'd have to shove knives into my ears. Maybe a Quaver video from time to time. But no Chipmunks.

I'm also quickly finding out what presses my buttons. The biggest one right now is when they walk in and ask what we're doing today. I get that they're excited and I love that, but YOU'LL FIND OUT IN 3 SECONDS CHILL. And when I am about to explain something (like when I said "we're going to learn about my kindness board and how to use it") and they ask "what is that?" I LITERALLY JUST TOLD YOU THAT I'M ABOUT TO TELL YOU WHAT IT IS OMG. those are the times I smile, take a breath, and relax, for sure. And then there is all the repetition. Chatty-ness is probably my biggest issue right now. Lots of talking while I'm talking/interrupting me/just flat out not listening to instructions. I have quickly learned that repeating myself more than once is a trigger for me, so I've got to work on that. Don't wanna be going off on my poor ADD/ADHD babies who can't help it. <3

I think my favorite age group is also my least favorite and that is Kindergarten. THEY ARE SO CUTE AND PRECIOUS. But then they're also difficult to corral. It's actually how I would imagine herding cats to be. And then one kid does a bad thing and they think it's funny so now they're ALL doing it. But I learned that "I'm going to have to let your teacher know we had a hard day in music today" whips them into shape. My favorite is when their mom is a teacher and I say "Make it a good day so I can tell your mom it was awesome." Their little eyes get huge as they think "OH GOD SHE KNOWS MY MOM DON'T TELL HER I WASN'T LISTENING PLEASEEEEEE".

Thus post doesn't feel like it flows well and it's probably a lot of boring information that no one cares about, but to be honest, my brain feels like it doesn't flow very well right now because there's so much going on. I just had to take advantage of the coincidence of last year's blog post and fill you in on the current state of my life. Also I'm typing this on my phone and I'm too lazy to proof read so if there are typos and grammatical errors you can fight meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Just kidding. Have a good holiday weekend, friends. I wish they could all be this long!

BabyCat, PartyCat, BirthdayCat, TummyFlap

It's my favorite day of the year! The anniversary of when my little demon--err, kitten decided to grace the earth--and the Internet--with his presence. I can't believe he's turning FIVE today. FIVE YEARS of terror, indifference, and a very convoluted idea of "love". Although I didn't adopt him until he was 2 months old, here's a glimpse of our story:

Nearly five years ago, a friend of a friend (Chris) needed people to take some precious kittens off his hands. When I decided I was going to have one of them, there were 2 boys left: Sheldon and his adorable ginger brother. Initially, I wanted the lovely little ginger tabby so I went to Chris's house to meet my new baby. When I got there, the little ginger baby ran and hid under a pillow fort. It made me sad because I so desperately wanted a cat that would be social and cuddly. But then a tiny brown tabby walked right up to me and started to play. Sheldon chose me. Probably because he had some sort of kitten-sense that I am literally the only human in existence that has the patience to love him and live under his tyrannical rule. I am honored to have been chosen by this pin-headed floof and I will love and obey him forever.

I thought Sheldon would be the sweet, cuddly kitten of my dreams but he quickly proved to me that he was the opposite. As a kitten, Sheldon was.. well.. sharp. A fuzzy sack full of needles constantly hurling himself at my face. I tried to teach him that claws don't have to be extended at all times, but discipline was lost on this one. My very patient roommate, Whitney, and I even bought tiny little water guns to hide strategically around our loft. When we would squirt the little DevilCat, he'd look at us as if to say "What's that supposed to do? Scare me? No no no, humans. I am in charge here". Whitney and I gave him so many nicknames, our favorite being "Chupacabra Kitty".

In spite of being an evil tyrant, Sheldon does have a sweet side. When he was teeny tiny, bedtime was always a battle. He would try to murder me for at least 10 minutes and I'd have to hide under my quilt until he got it out of his system. Then, he would curl up on my chest and purr louder than I've ever heard a cat purr before. I live for those short, fleeting moments of kitten love.

Another favorite memory of Sheldon's first year of life is all the songs that Whitney and I made up about Sheldon (although I think the majority of the credit goes to Whitney). Here are my favorites:

"SheldonCat"
Sheldon Cat!
Sheldon Cat!
He is cute!
HE'S A CAT!!!!

"The BabyCat Song"
BabyCat, you cry a lot
BabyCat, you whine a lot
BabyCat! BabyCat!

BabyCat, you fight a lot
BabyCat, you scratch a lot
BabyCat! BabyCat!

"You're Not a Full-Sized Cat Just Yet"
You're not a full-sized cat just yet,
Cat just yet, cat just yet!
You're not a full-sized cat just yet,
You're BabyCat!

As he's grown older, Sheldon has chilled out. He still goes into murderous fits of rage every now and then, but he's got a pretty significant tummyflap that keeps him from performing any strenuous physical activity. He cuddles more and gives me lots of kitty kisses and does lots of stupid stuff to keep me entertained. I am so glad that this strange, pear-shaped, pin-headed, poop-headed cat chose me to be his human. Happy Birthday, you little butthead. Enjoy the wet food and the toy you will likely never touch. I love you more than I ever thought I could love anything.


Just for funz, here's a list of all the nicknames this dummy has been given over the years:

SheldonCat
Sheldo
Sheldorp
Shelderp
Sheldonica
BabyCat
Chupacabra Kitty
Small Thing
PartyCat
Tummy Flap
Little Pear
ButtholeCat
Pin Head
PoopHead
Boobalah
FatFat
DemonCat
DevilCat
Floof
Floof-Poof















BabyCat

Challenging Your Creativity

I believe that most, if not all, people have a creative side. I see a lot of people posting about getting "adult coloring books"--a new fad in which I surprisingly have not participated. Doing something creative, be it music, art, photography, carpentry, etc. is a wonderful outlet for any sort of pent-up energy and emotion.

Oftentimes, especially once we grow up and enter the "real world", we find out creativity stifled. Work takes up our time and energy and it's alarmingly easy, especially for myself, to end up spending all of our free time sitting in front of a TV, binge watching a show we care nothing about. Confession: Today I woke up at 11 and sat in front of my TV until 10:30 pm, only taking a single 30 minute break to shower.  SAD. My life is SAD. The point is: it's easy to make excuses and to feel a lack of energy when it comes to exercising our creativity.

I must admit that I was horrified by my own laziness today. I only get 2 days off each week. I could have done so many things such as LAUNDRY (I'm wearing a dirty work uniform as we speak) or finishing one of my 8 million half-written songs or, oh I don't know, exercising my body. Important things.

I work a night audit shift at a hotel every Thursday night and I have a ton of downtime. Tonight, as I was packing up my things, I decided to pack a sketchbook, colored pencils, and markers. I googled 30-day drawing challenges and chose the one I thought was the most interesting. I'm not very good at drawing, but I enjoy it and I want to get better.

Which brings me to my next point: You don't have to be a genius or a virtuoso to do creative things. You don't even have to show it to anyone else. Your creative outlet can be yours alone, or yours to share with the world. Whatever makes you happy.

To sum up, here are some steps to challenge your creativity:

1. Figure out what you love to do, or pick a new skill you'd like to learn. 

2. Find a 30-day, 90-day, any-amount-of-days challenge or create your own! I chose 30-day as a way to hold myself accountable. 

3. Enjoy yourself and bask in the glory of knowing you've done something worthwhile. Be proud of your work! 

I hope everyone who reads this adds a little fun and creativity to their life. I'm going to try--and I mean really try--to post my drawings as often as possible (I'm not about to make a daily promise when I know I'd never keep that up). I'd love to hear which activity you choose! Feel free to comment!

Happy creating!

Dead Ends

"Ahhh, post-grad life is where it's at!"

Said no one. Ever.

Actually it's not that bad. It has its perks, that's for sure. I don't have homework. I don't have to stay up until the buttcrack of dawn doing homework, only to wake up a couple hours later to miserably drag myself through another long day at school. I don't have a long list of deadlines constantly breathing down my neck. It's nice to not feel school stress.

But it sucks in a different kind of way.

In the maze of life, I can see the prize within reach: get my dream job at a great school with a great principle and wonderful students and supportive parents. But I'm hitting every. dead. end.

I have a college degree that I paid for with blood, sweat, and tears (and an entire life savings). I have a solid resume and impeccable references. But no one wants me. Interview after interview I'm passed over. I get a "We'll let you know by the end of the week" and nothing after that. I even got a "You interviewed beautifully!" only to get the typical "Sorry, but someone else worked out better". You'd think I would have learned to stop getting my hopes up by now, but I do so time and time again. New opportunities keep popping up and I keep coming up short.

I read a blog recently that shared a website where you can get paid to teach English over the Internet. I thought, "This is it! This is perfect!"

I started fantasizing (as I always do) about how much better everything was going to be once I got this job. Set my own hours: awesome! Set my own price: Even more awesome! Work from home: Holy Jesus, I think I just hit the career jackpot! So I went to the website and, lo and behold, they weren't taking any applications for English teachers. Of course. Another dead end. Why should I have expected anything different?

There's a certain level of embarrassment and shame that comes with not being where you'd like to be. When you run into people you knew in high school while you're working at the mall and all you can think is "Shit, they caught me working for minimum wage at 24. They caught me being unsuccessful".  There is literally nothing worse than this exchange:

"Hi, welcome to Silly Overpriced Store! What can I help you shop for today?"  ... Oh God, we went to high school together 

"Oh, hi, I'm just looking for clothes for work. I just got hired at *dream job*.... hey, didn't we go to high school together?! OMG how are you? What are you up to now? It's so good to see you!"

"Oh, you know, just working.. interviewing.. post-grad things.. and stuff...." working for minimum wage and babysitting a bunch of entitled 18-year-olds and  basically failing at life and WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING TO ME?

Seriously the most mortifying conversation one can have.

In spite of these embarrassing encounters, I try to keep a positive outlook on the situation. It's only temporary. Yes, I'll still be living with my parents at 25 but hey, I won't be paying rent! And I was able to afford a car on my minimum wages. That was a huge step forward for me. And maybe I can turn these dead ends into new opportunities to revisit my dreams of old. I can focus on songwriting again, and maybe get an album recorded. Instead of being bound and suffocated by the maze walls, I can break them down and rebuild the maze entirely.

I guess the point that I'm trying to make is that life will probably not go the way you want or intend for it to go. This is a perfect opportunity to reevaluate what you want out of life. It's easy to wallow in self-pity and defeat, but it's just as easy to pull your energies together and focus on making a different dream come true. Maybe that's the Universe's way of telling you that your priorities were misguided. I'm going to take the hint and let another dream ride shotgun with me for a while and see how it goes.

So you think the solution is simple?

All this talk of domestic violence and abuse has me reflecting upon my experiences over the past few years. If you read my last blog post, you'll know that I intended to start a blog series on overcoming negative cycles in life. As usual, I did not follow through with my blog series plan because I got distracted by work and socializing and a new boyfriend and all of those sorts of things. However, the topic of abuse hits home with me, because that was my negative cycle. I spent about four or five years in various relationships which were mostly psychologically and emotionally abusive (luckily, I never experienced full on physical abuse, although it came pretty close a couple of times). The tweets about #WhyIStayed are incredibly important and I relate to so many of them. They are what has inspired me to write this blog.

My plan for this blog post is to put you in the mindset of the abuse victim and to see exactly the kind of muddled up reality we are/were forced to live in. A lot of this is going to be things that I haven't told very many people.

During college, I dated a series of guys who, whether they knew it or not, did not treat me the way I deserved to be treated. I don't want to single any one of them out, so I will go through general topics as opposed to specific relationships.

I often felt inadequate. I would be told to be a certain way, try my hardest to become what he wanted, and still not be good enough. All I wanted was to be loved and supported by someone but I would be told to be more like someone else.

I was forced to do things I didn't want to do. I won't go into gory details. But this was not pleasant. And no one deserves this.

I was isolated. Jealousy prevented me from being able to form strong friendships in college. One guy wouldn't even let me hang out with my female friends and I spent most of a semester cooped up in his dingy apartment, unable to even sleep in my own dorm room. Wedges were driven between my family and me. During one relationship, I lost the ability to communicate completely. I pretended my relationship was perfect because I didn't know how to tell people that I was miserable. I withdrew from school for a semester and thought about never going back (which actually proved beneficial in the end, after the devastating breakup). I was taught to believe that everyone outside the small circle we had formed was not to be trusted, that they wouldn't understand me, and that they would judge me and hate me for my lifestyle and beliefs. And that's how I lived for a while. Cooped up in another apartment, afraid to venture out.

I felt trapped. This is probably the main reason women stay. They feel there is no way out. There was one boyfriend with whom a break up would never stick. I can't remember the details (probably because my brain doesn't want to), but I couldn't make the breakup last. Something would always happen and I would feel guilty so I would stay. It finally got to the point to where I thought I had to do something that would make him so mad he would never forgive me.

I felt confused. My words would get twisted around. Any time there was conflict, the blame always seemed to land on me. I needed to fix things. I was the abuser. He never said that. I'm remembering incorrectly. I'm the one with the jealousy issues. He's sacrificed plenty for this relationship; I need to sacrifice more. I need to speak up and let him know what my needs are, but not that way! No. I did it wrong. I do everything wrong. I can't come to him with that. I couldn't go to my own boyfriend for emotional support. Even when I did what I thought he wanted it was wrong. Everything was my fault.

I was afraid. I was afraid of so many things. I was afraid of being left behind. One boyfriend made me feel guilty for still being in college and I felt pressured to finish as fast as I could because I was afraid of being left behind. Another boyfriend actually threw things when I tried to break up with him and I had to have two of my guy friends escort me back to my dorm where I had a panic attack in the shower. Worst of all, I was afraid of what would happen post-break up. I don't think any person should ever have to be afraid of life post-break up. I think that is the loneliest, scariest place I have ever been. This goes hand in hand with the isolation. I thought I would have no one. Nothing. I thought breaking up would leave me with no friends, no family, no one to support me or understand me.


This is what emotional abuse looks like. And I'm reluctant to post this because it is so personal. And I know the guys I'm talking about aren't inherently evil people.

But maybe I should qualify it. It is what it is. This is what happened. Obviously, I'm still experiencing reverberations. I find myself in this moment thinking, "What if it was my fault? What if I am the problem?" I'm all for recognizing that I am human too and I know I do some awful things sometimes. I hope I've taken responsibility for everywhere that I actually did wrong. But where am I taking too much responsibility?

The Cycle

In life, we all have cycles. We meet the same types of people over and over until we learn the lesson and break free. Some lessons are easy and others can really suck and be difficult to break. The key is being able to trust yourself, love yourself, and forgive yourself throughout the entire process. That is how we grow and come to know ourselves as we truly are, which is strong, capable, and beautiful.

One of my cycles has been meeting people who are emotionally and psychologically oppressive (I'm not here to demonize anyone, please don't misinterpret what I'm saying). Sometimes oppression is intentional, other times it's not. But it's been present in many of my  relationships including, but not limited to, my romantic, platonic, and familial relationships.

Seeing a cycle in your life is often a sign of something within yourself that needs to be addressed, and this can be difficult, especially if you (like me) have felt victimized. However, when it comes to human relationships and karmic bundles, the thing to remember is that like attracts like. The common saying associated with the concept of karma is "what goes around comes around". So, if you find yourself surrounded by negativity, take a moment to evaluate what you may or may not have sent around.

Self-inquiry is the most important part of having a spiritual life. Or, really, the human experience itself. It is our responsibility to assess ourselves and how we impact the world around us because that is how true change comes about. Change your output to create a better reality for everyone involved. Simple. :)

But sometimes what we confront isn't pretty. It doesn't fit our ideal version of ourselves. We feel shame. And shame sucks. Shame really, really sucks. It ties your insides in knots and makes you think really terrible things about yourself. It can be isolating, because admitting something that makes you feel ashamed is difficult. How will others react? What if they won't love me anymore? These are real concerns.

But everyone deals with this. There's not a single person walking around that doesn't have a negative cycle that makes them feel ashamed. And if they say they don't, you can be certain they're lying. To me, it's comforting to remind myself that everyone lies, everyone is mean sometimes, everyone gets angry or sad. The hiding is what hurts us the most, I think.

This is where self-love and forgiveness comes in. Love yourself in spite of your flaws. Forgive yourself for your mistakes.
There's a verse in the Bible that says "love your neighbor as yourself" and I think this gets misunderstood. Most of the time, the church tells us we are selfish creatures and should therefore try to love people more. But in my opinion, we don't love ourselves enough.  You can't give what you don't have. If you don't love yourself very much and you are trying to live out this verse, you're not going to love your neighbor very much. But if you love yourself through the struggles and forgive yourself along the way, then you can truly love and forgive another.

Well, this ended up being a long winded blog about self-love and self-forgiveness. I don't think I went off-track, but I also don't want you to have to sit through an entire novel of breaking negative cycles in one sitting, so I'll leave you with this to munch on for a few days and I'll revisit the subject.

Happy Sunday, all :)