Happy Birthday to Me

I awoke this morning to the distant rumble of thunder- just one, long, low roll of it.  I take it as Mother Nature's sweet birthday gift to me- she knows I love storms.  She has a weird way of presenting her gifts.  This time last year, I was sitting in our warm kitchen in New Hampshire eating oatmeal, staring out the window at a frost-covered field and thanking my stars that I was lucky enough to be in a place that I love (to have found a place that I love) when a horse emerged from our dilapidated barn.

We did not have horses.

But that's Mother Nature for you.  I fed the horse an apple and sent it home.  This was life.

Now I am looking at another year and things have changed profoundly.  A beginning and an end.  But what is beginning and what is ending?  Summer has ended, fall begun, as of yesterday.  It signals the slowing down of the world- an increasingly introspective and quieter time of taking stock, storing goods, and preparing for winter.  Well, that was the original signaling of the fall.  Things have indeed changed these days.  But I am getting off-topic.  This is not a post about the inevitable tendencies of humans to change, destroy, and forget.  It's about birthdays.

Birthdays and seasonal change.  I am not one to make a huge deal of my own birthday.  I refuse to bake a cake for myself (I gleefully forced my roommate to do it this year), I tend to celebrate with my family, it is what it is.  But it necessarily had to be different this year.  Not that 27 necessitates anything special- no, not even close.  My birthday follows the Autumn Equinox every year, as I age this fact takes on more meaning.  This year it is another weird birthday present to me.  Because I can revel in the symbolism as it applies to my life.  The perfect balance of night and day was struck yesterday, a reminder that balance is universal, elemental, and not-so-subtlety lacking in my day-to-day existence.  It is an even more powerful, visceral reminder that time is the constant.  It moves everything.  It changes everything- seasons, heartache.  But it remains.  And I cannot exist outside of it, as I have been attempting for so many weeks and months now; I cannot protect myself enough to fool time.

Happy Birthday to Me.

Cheers Friends.

To Have Strength, One Must Be Strong

Over the course of two hours this morning, and by two different medical professionals, I was referred to as 'intuitive, insightful, aware, and intelligent.' These are not bad things at all.  On the contrary, I have been called much, much worse and by many, many people.

But none of these qualities that apparently (currently) describe me are what I have need to be, what I want to be, described as: 'strong, resilient, undefeated.'  Understand (I do) that these are the musings of a silly, sad girl whose silly, sad world is trembling.  I need strength.  I crave strength- an inner power which holds that silly, sad girl in place while that silly, sad world trembles away.  I desperately wish for those around me to remember me as a person with a backbone... Hell, even to be remembered (remembered!) as a person with a personality would be nice.

Let's face it.  My intuition does not come from some grand intellect but from half a lifetime of living with ghosts.  And if I were truly insightful, truly aware, and truly truly intelligent, I probably would not be traveling down this earthshaking road (maybe a stronger word than 'trembling' is necessary) that I am on today- gleefully destructive, ruefully and distressingly marching with purpose.

The Only Difference Between a Rut and the Grave is its Depth

Classy.

While I am not entirely sure who first said this gem, I am absolutely sure that it applies to my current state of being.  Absolutely sure.  The only difference between a rut and the grave is its depth?  Yes.

In other news, it is the first day of September.  And September is my month.  All mine.  I selfishly and wantonly claim this month.  Yes yes, I know that it's my birthday at the end of the month and so it's really not surprising that I would have such an affinity for it.  But September is the beginning of Fall, it's the start of goodness and apples (and apple cider!); of fires and feist and witching.

Am I still inching my way toward the grave?  Yes.  But maybe it will become a little more shallow for September.

Cheers, Friends.