In these last few years Mom, I have learned a lot about myself. I discovered I fiddle with things when I’m stressed about something; Tim pointed that out, repeatedly. I have learned that I am faithful, patient, kind, forgiving, and sometimes I’m sad. Or maybe its just this damn time of year.

Seems though all the bad shit happens in Fall, then you have the whole winter to fuss over it. Stew and bore down on that grief, huddle inside, and flounder at times in its grip. So you over time learn how to combat it, and bit by bit, piece by piece you work it all free.

Some years it takes a Canadian winter to work stuff out. I suppose it may be a family trait.

I’ve learned how to shoulder into that grief though, and wear it raw; and I’ve learned how to build it back from that abyss, piece by piece, bit by bit.

I lounge in comfy pants, big and loosely hanging, skanky dirty shirts that are well past in need of washing, until I get a whiff of the frock, and finally give it to the mound of dirty cloths. Off with ya… to the pile ye go. To be washed when the mood takes me, or I’m down to nada to wear.

If you saw my legs you’d think I was half sasquatch…I kid you not. To match my already hairy arms, and hairy back.

Tim HATED my hairy back, and I refused to let him even trim it…I almost bit him once I was so angry at him for even attempting to TOUCH a hair on my back. Until finally I said…really loud “Let it be…why do you care so much? It’s my damn back, and I like it that way…bugger off“!!!

And finally he did.

I’m a bitch to get out of the house in the winter too, let me tell you. I hate being cold, I hate the wind, I can’t stand the biting, rawness of winter. I find its elements beautiful, but it takes something of me every year, and its become annoying.

I’m determined this year to not hide away like I did last winter. Around this time last year, I’d been kicked in the teeth, broke my ass, and could barely walk to work, little lone sit. I’d been taken advantage of by some random lawyer guy who happened to live around the corner from the homestead of Great GrandpapaD the Judge. This tidbit I made damn sure I mentioned, that morning, after he’d handed me my tooth I’d lost the night before. I love the look on his face when I told him. I hope he haunts him till his dying day. Prick.

I was in shock, I knew something had happened…like duh…but what? That I don’t know. But he did mention something about being perhaps too rough, so I was a whirling mess of words and seeking of some god damn memory from the night before. But nothing. Not one single memory has ever really popped free, just vague and inconsequential flashes…but that’s all. I have no idea what happened, but I believe I was slipped something, at some point, or who knows, maybe I just drank way way way too much and should not have abandoned the fellow pub crawlers I’d been with.

That twas my first mistake, never leave the safety of the pack…and that was the ultimate cause of ALL the other mistakes, but I learned.

I’m not blaming myself though, I’m merely being rational. The assholes still an asshole for taking advantage of a drunk chic in a bar. I whole heartedly agree, but I also know that I put myself in the position, and that my mistake was even going out that night …on a whim I might add. I’ve learned since to trim my whims a bit.

I’ve atleast learned to trim my whims in winter, for I have a long dreary, sunless stretch of days ahead to mourn over those whims.

And now I’m going to have the last of my Luscious Lemon Pudding Cakes.

Off in my own winter wonderland…
Always,

Paula