Informal photo of woman with short hair and glasses

Blogging 101 – Who am I and Why Am I Here

At the end of the first quarter of 2015, I dropped myself into depression, despondency, despair, disillusion, desperation, doom, gloom and financial disarray. On a Friday morning, I walked out the front door with my purse and my car keys, leaving behind my home and ninety-nine percent of my possessions.  I also had a cat carrier, fifteen cans of cat food, a water bowl, and a small litter pan.  A cat was inside the carrier; Sassy Pants a tortie queen. She is my cat.  I did not kidnap, steal, or otherwise extract her from a neighbor.

Now I and the cat, are living with my sister in a new town 68 miles from the town in which I lived for 19 years.  Once a week, I attend two group therapy sessions.  I scheduled these back to back, because it is more convenient to drive a thirty-six mile round trip once a week instead of twice a week.  I look forward to the end of August, when both sessions wrap up.

For now, days are divided between a little housekeeping, a little garden maintenance, naps, short trips around town. Once upon a time, I owned a little Canon Sure Shot and I never took pictures.  That camera was left behind.  All I have is the camera in my Windows Smart Phone, but I find real pleasure in taking five or six pictures every day during my morning walk.  The pictures are all of small things: little flowers, a cobweb, five wild blackberries.

When I saw the announcement of this blogging course, I thought it would be fun to resume blogging by posting about small pleasures.

Rebellion

A persistent cat standing on my chest, insisting on breakfast has me up at six on a Sunday morning.  I am happy to feed the cat.  Against everything else and anything else, I rebel.  I understand and emphathize with the two year olds who scream NO to everything.  I am too big to be literally picked up and carried away, or locked away. Others things push me into actions and responses against which I rebel.

One of the “push factors” is the approval of those who are providing me with a roof, hot water, indoor plumbing, and food.  Is it survival instinct that moves me to act in opposition to the rebellion of my spirit? Is it my own inbuilt standards?

imagine what would happen if I did absolutely nothing at all for 24 hours; said NO to absolutely everything for 24 hours without being catatonic, in a coma, traumatized, or sedated. Imagine what I would do, or not do if the inbuilt set of standards disappeared completely for 24 hours.

Am I anything at all outside a set of preconditioned habits of thinking, feeling, and activity?

Does it matter? What matters?

Sounds a bit existentional to me, and I was never a fan of Camus or Sartre. That was then, maybe I will be now. ” I post therefore I exist”