I am doing all I can to not write about this tiny little dog sitting in my lap. But he is all I am thinking about right now. Well him and Rob Thomas. I went for a little walk and while I was on my little walk I saw a little dog on a little walk of his own. I tried to ignore him. I really tried. And I kept walking in a different direction and then realized he was all I was thinking about and walking in a different direction was not going to change that. So I pulled my e brake, my tangled hair whipped over my shoulder, I took note of how sore the left side of my neck was, completed my 180 with my big ass toe bandaged foot and walked back in the direction of the dog with the sweater vest that no one seemed to notice. Is this a mirage? I wrote about my Eli saying “ew” and then out of nowhere a dog is taking a casual stroll through the park in a vest. What else can I make appear? His vest did not have “service dog” badges on it. Instead, “MAMAS BOY.” So I hobbled after him, he trotted off for a bit and then he hid in the brush…I am all about this game little man and I will win, I saw that look…but did you see mine? I got on all fours and eventually just laid down on my stomach and I called him over to me like the dog snatcher I am. We eventually agreed to mutually trust one another. I felt him submissively say, “count of 3 and we both just cave.” 1, 2, BOOM, on 3 I took half my pinky and slid it down the front of his neck into his sweater and harness just because my momma didn't raise no fool. Also, my momma spells momma different. And I ain't yo “mama.” But fuck it's starting to seem like I am going to be. I noticed his sweater also had the little plastic pieces still in it. The kind the manufacture puts way too many of to attach some piece of cardboard for branding and informative purposes. But why the overkill, why so many pieces of “T” plastic? That is not what they are called, at least not to my knowledge but that is what they look like. You know what I am talking about. So I am digging these little pieces of plastic out of this fools sweater, brushing all the leaves and dirt off of me and realizing no one is looking for him. My day turned into a whole new day, my night did as well. And this little fella doesn’t have an actively looking owner or a microchip so I named him Chip, cause bro need one. When I talk to him, cause duh, I refer to myself as his “temp momma” (emphasis on the spelling) and it reminds me so much of the delicate line that exists as a stepmom. One I did not walk so delicately because, duh. Give me a kid or an animal and I have no boundaries or limits of love. I cannot help it. I have been accused and guilty of far worse things. Loving unconditionally, guilty as charged. 

Rob Thomas falls into this category too. Not Rob, Rob’s music. The music I swear he has been writing about me since ’96 with Matchbox Twenty. I see you Rob, actually, I hear you. And Rob has a concert coming up. I went to my Spotify to select a song to kinda get lost for a moment before I started writing and as I usually do, I saw something shiny. Robs upcoming concerts. I click, I pick the venue that grabs my attention. I take a look at available tickets and flights and I plan a trip that takes place in a few weeks. I cannot plan a vacation and book things with the  advance of months or a year or whatever “normal” people do. No way in hell. I like to wake up, look at my dog in the sunlight over my right shoulder, grab onto one of my wild hairs and go. Is this realistic? It is if you choose so. And sometimes I choose so. Funny thing is there are moments where I have done this in the past and in the moment of execution, I feel so sick to my stomach and alone. Actually very nervous and certain I am going to die. What about not planning things causes such strife? Why do we need time to process whats going to happen and how it's going to happen before it happens? What is it about being a human that allows us to fall in love with someone and with life and living but always have a halting moment of what the fuck am I doing and stop ourselves? Are there people who live lives fully dedicated to instinct and is it really just impulse? How long did they live, how fast did they die and how much did they understand love? I always like to remind myself how no one has actually figured this whole living thing out. I mean sure, certain people are idolized and leave a legacy others try and live up to. They get quoted and written about and people aspire to heal themselves by repeating something they heard someone once said. But no one has it figured out. And no problem is unique. It has all been done. We are not special in anything we experience but we are in how we do so. How we allow the intricacies of our minds to envelop the process, the music we listen to that gets us through the moment, the quote we pick, the food we eat or don't eat that makes us feel safe and comforted when we feel lost. The go to sweater we put on, the warm socks and the lighting or darkness we gravitate towards to heal or wallow in. The entire process is ours, and the assembly and order in which we do it is the only thing that sets us apart from anyone else who has ever walked this earth and suffered. If you live a little sporadically, you are likely to live more authentic and while there will still be suffering, suffering is living too. Chip is proof. 

I have a list of go-to songs. I have my comforts but most importantly I have my mind. The place I indulge in and escape. My alone space though so many occupy it. Writing to me is jumping head first into this flowing sometimes rushing form of water, water that is made up of words and keeps a constant flow powered by emotion and feelings. Nothing is shallow and simple, well some things are, some people too, but really they aren’t either, they are just unable to move in any form and can easily be left in a moment of time or summed up with just a quick few words and put to rest, removed from the rushing word river in my brain and vanish into scattered letters that will form into something new. My brain is not usually the lazy river you want to float in all day with a margarita. It has its moments and I usually find those moments in nature which is why it is so important to me to be alone and outside as much as possible. I zone out quite often in conversation as a result of the river up there picking up pace. I start wondering the details of the story they are telling. Ok, but what was everyone wearing, how was the weather, what time of day was it, what were the colors of the cars nearby, what music was playing and what were you thinking when all this happened. I need to know everything because I want to live the story as you tell it. I am zoned out because I am filling in blanks you did not know existed and trying to recreate this memory with you in my mind while also renaming everyone in your story because I know too many people with that name and don’t like or because you said something about them that I now associate them with and they will forever be known as “airplane” to me or “squish face middle mouth” “bread and butter” “pabloby meth” “oh that one” I mean really, you never know how I am going to remember you, but know you will be remembered. And yes, I did remember I needed commas between those quotes but also, the river was running fast and I usually have to sacrifice some grammar to keep up. So some people have the luxury of a she-shed, but I was blessed with my she-head. I was tempted to keep on rhyming. Really, really tempted. I like to write poetry, but I also enjoy the non rhyming kind more. The one where you are like “yes!” through the tears as you write or read it and interpret it how you want. Then after you pull yourself out of the emotion you got lost in, you read it to yourself in the mirror, naked, with terrible lighting, while drinking water, and suddenly you realize you have no clue what it meant now. Because, your environment is everything, your mood, the lighting, how your body feels, how you feel about your body, how you feel about life and what is happening in yours, how you are handling it, how lost you let yourself get in your word river, if you put floaties on, ride a boogie board or lounge in a tube. Over time I have acquired every option available for water accessories. I like to adapt to the needs and the moods of my water. My word river is my source of life. I learned to respect its needs and enjoy the flow and to constantly be cognizant of the words forming around my body as I drift along. The water is dark but clear with shimmering gold, the lighting is red and my body feels whole and perfect, my hair untangled and long…looking only the way hair can when down and flowing behind you in water. This is the place where I float on my unclothed back (and give thanks for the miracles water does in holding the girls up because so many lovely people are floating past me in my word river), this is where all of the pieces of me I have given to others return to me, this is the only place where I understand how I feel inside and clearly this is the place where Rob swims too because he still be relentlessly singing about me.