When I do it my way, I walk. I briskly charge forward, heels pounding out a determined beat, straight into the thick of it. I can just hear you yelling at me from downstairs…Paula, stop pounding your heels, you sound like a herd of Elephants, you’re going to come right through the ceiling.

Once I get started.

I am inclined to otherwise be a bit reticent, least until I’m sure of my direction. I Will (and have) merrily charged off into the unknown, but I try not to make it a habit.

Tim on the other hand, umph, he was always attracted, no addicted, to the unknown.

Anyways, lunched with Dad and Brenda, and after shopping for work cloths, after the Swiss Chalet (yum), after Irish had wolfed down the leftovers, once the day had been drawn, he showed up at my door with a pair of ladies small rubber boots, that Crossroads Man. This round-the-corner guy has that picker bug like Tim; you should see his apartment. He being a Finished Carpentar and Woodworker, has a garage out the side. Now I won’t say hoarder, cause he instead distributes the wealth of his finds.

So he said, after I’d told him I was still angry, I thought you may need these, you can keep them, as he paused in the doorway before leaving. He than felt compelled to tell me of his day, and we spoke of the storm they had forecasted for today, and he said you are much like Patricia; which is remnants of Hurricane Patricia that hit the west coast of Mexico a few days ago. Came in as a strong Cat 5, but it quickly dissipated once it hit land, and that last bits of that fury, built up over the warm winds of the Pacific, is now raining down upon southern Ontario.

He thinks he’s funny. I was civil. And then I dismissed him. Be gone fool…pft.

What a month. Beginnings, intermingled with these anniversaries of endings ~ Tim’s just past, and yours on All Hallows Eve ~ you’ll recall that autumn marks the end of my marriage as well, all those years ago.

Been 16 years, this November you know Mom, since I walked down those stairs into R’s dark lair, and discovered he had tried to take his life. A life he perhaps thought he was unworthy of; though in time I hope he learned otherwise.

But I realized I could not force him to see that. After he was released, after his damn sister had said why didn’t you say something, we had no idea, and as you recall, proceeded to attack me. Bitch. Sitting right there in his hospital room, accusing me of what? Negligence? And her, with her shiny new bachelor of social worker degree.

At some point, when we were home again, back he slinked to his hole in the ground, and I knew I couldn’t protect him from himself, he would only try again. So I kicked him out the door, and off he flew, into the arms of his sister. He would be safe now, I knew.

Damn Mom though, that hurt. And terrifying. I had to walk away, otherwise, he would destroy me too. Cause he almost had. I really believed somehow it was my fault.

I do believe it is time for some well earned new beginnings. Finally. I am charging forward. Now, I can’t tell… but…you know. I know you know, about my 2 new jobs. So nervous, excited.

This process, these months of proverty and handouts, has humbled me. Made me vulnerable, and I fear vulnerability.

Putting myself out there is scary Mom. Taking that look around, and finally, finally saying, fuck it, what if? What if? Could I really get what I want, instead of just good enough? Could I?

So I did Mom. I let go, I let the storms come, I sacrificed security for hope. I went towards the unknown.

Just now, traipsing through the puddles in the new rubber boots, on my way back from the grocery store, heavy bag of dog food in my arms, splashing along, whimsically, I knew I would be just fine.

Love Paula.