Blog Pride Day

I'm coming out of the blog closet-- soon.  I've hidden this little puppy from everyone except Amy, Kim, and Barb for many reasons.   One, they don't judge me ... ever, at least not to my face.  :) Everything I write here is something I've already told them about over the phone, or in Kim's case g-chat.  I just need the catharsis of typing/writing it out. I'm choosing now because apart of hiding in the closet was because I was afraid of what people will think.  Will they judge me for my anger or my longing?  Will they think less of me?  They might and that's alright.

I'm moving in seven months, that's actually a nice amount of time, and people will want to know what I'm up to.  I'm going to get a prepaid cell phone for emergencies.  I'm not going to part the Red Sea trying to find a job.  I figure a monthly cell phone bill costs as much as Garvey's dog food from this wonderful establishment and if I have to choose a phone or my best friend, I'm gonna choose le pup.

Going through my old blogs wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. It wasn't hard at all. It didn't feel like anything.  I fixed a few glaring grammatical mishaps, deleted one sentence, and that's it.  I was proud of myself.  I didn't feel the need to hide anything from anyone.  When I started this blog with "I saw at sea a great fog bank between two ships that struck and sank..." my heart was crumbling.  I felt like life had ended and forgotten to take me with it, gosh was I pitiful.  I needed an anonymous outlet.  The profile information, the email address, the picture, all faux material.  But no more, I've been hiding in the closet because I was used to it; not sharing my story because it involved other people.  When I was going to group, it's been like a year since my last visit, one of the women whose husband's behavior had damaged her so severely she lost sight of her self and attempted suicide, told us she's not going to hide because "...it's her story to tell."  Those words rang out and resounded in me like a toddler with a musical triangle walking through a cave. My life is my story. I have never, nor will I ever post disparaging remarks about anyone.  That would defeat this blog's purpose.  I write to reflect.  I don't need to mow anyone over for my own self-actualization.

My Icebreaker baselayer pants are coming in the mail today. Yay!  I'll wait to go for a run until they arrive.  I think my trekking poles will also arrive so I may go to the rails to trails and do a test run.  Rasta's front paw is injured. She's not putting any weight on it so she'll probably have to stay here.  :(  She's so much fun. I think I like her more than I like Garvey. Uh-oh.  It's just apart of her charm.  I think Garvey loves her more than he loves me.  So we're even. She does resemble Buckeye (the SBA three- legged dog) as she runs. That is unfortunate.

While I'm waiting for my Fed-Ex boyfriend I'm going to sit in my down sleeping bag (I turned the heat off last night so I could test it out: A+++) finish some planning for MLK Jr. Day, take packing boxes to the basement, vacuum shards of tile from my carpet and take a shower, maybe. My apartment is freezing and being cold and wet are a combination of my two least favorite states of being.

All-in-all I'm feeling mighty fine.  :)