-Bad Company, I Can't Deny-

AC/DC's "Walk All Over You" pours through the speakers as darkness swirls all around me, the window covered by two different throw blankets; both of large cats. I have a faint smile ghosting my lips as the small fan across the room, directly behind me on the right, circulates the cool air pooling in from the window.

After having a strange night, the news I received this morning was a blessing. I start my training as a Pet Groomer, Monday July 21st at 10am. I'm honestly relieved and excited at the same time. I love animals, enjoy going to that particular store and so it's only natural that I would be pleasantly surprised to learn that I'll be working there.

-smiles and takes a drink of her strong coffee-

Now, as I mentioned, I had a few moments of strangeness last night. You see, for the past few weeks I've been finding it very difficult to sleep through the night. In fact, I've been waking up every night around 3am. Probably due to stress.

Last night was slightly different. The dreams I experienced before I drifted back to consciousness stuck with me and made me feel off.

I was in a strange house, built on a slight incline, surrounded in trees that towered into the heavens. It was night time, and felt as though I was in Oregon already. But it wasn't too cold or too warm, it felt like fall. The air was cool and crisp and smelt of the forest. I was inside, going through the front room, opening the windows so the fresh air could pour in. But there was one room on the left hand side of the house I didn't want to go into. Ignoring the nagging in the back of my head, I traveled to the laundry room located straight back opposite of the living room, through the kitchen and toward the right. I was going through the motions of throwing in a load of laundry when the thought hit me again... The room. The reason I stayed away from it, was because I knew my Dad was in there. I had a vivid image in my head of him wrapped up in his dark blue sheets asleep. But I knew he wasn't asleep. 

I went out onto the front porch and someone was with me. Not sure who, but I remember telling them that I couldn't go in there... I didn't want to see him like that. Because he'd passed away and had been left in there for a few days. I knew that I was going to need professionals to come and collect him.

The dream shifted and I was still in Oregon, it was still night time, but I wasn't in that house anymore. I was actually in a small mom'n'pop type store with two other friends; one male, one female.

I remember telling them we had a few tests to go through (no idea how I knew that, but it was a thought from a deep male voice... Weird I know) and the young woman was the first one to go through them. I remember she was 5'8-5'9, lanky but strong, broad shoulders in a dark blue/grey tank top and black pj pants. She had dark brown, straight hair just below her shoulders and a feminine face with a slightly husky voice.

She jumped when dozens of jumping spiders started to appear from the darkened corners of the store. I told her to not be afraid, they weren't going to hurt her. I remember how calm I was, as if I'd gone through this myself. The Spiders were actually quite beautiful. All ranged in size; from as big as a dime to the size of my palm. They were jet black, smooth with no hair but their eyes... The most beautiful shade of dark metallic blue that shimmered an electric sea blue green in the light. They didn't move like spiders, more like a squirrel. Less arachnid, more mammal. They didn't wall climb, they simply crawled up onto shelves to get a better viewpoint of us. At one point, I was walking between two shelves and I felt them jump down onto my back. I wasn't scared, I knew they weren't going to hurt me. The odd part was feeling an itch sweep the length of my back. "Crap, they bit me!" I exclaimed when the young woman, somewhere off to the side corrected me. 

"No, they're not biting you. It's him, he's..."

And I woke up.

Groggy and feeling out of sorts, I gathered myself from my bed and checked the time. 2:44am. With a low grumble I left my room and headed to the bathroom. My brain was still trying to suss out the dreams I had just had when I finished up, left the bathroom and walked through the kitchen instead of the hallway closest to the front of the house. I think I was contemplating getting some water but realized I'd have to get my cup from my bedroom and decided to just go outside and clear my head. As I left the kitchen and started passing the stairs leading to the 2nd level, I heard the distinct sound of footsteps behind me. Separate footsteps. I was halfway between the staircase and the front door when I literally just stopped. I focused on any betrayal of sound and found nothing. Brow furrowed, I turned and made a slow sweep of the perimeter, wondering if perhaps one of the munchkins had gotten up. I even looked up into the top level and noticed the doors to my Niece and Nephew's room were closed. I was the only one up and walking around.

The crease deepened between my brows while I tried to recreate the sound I had heard with my feet against the wooden floor. An odd shiver traveled the length of my spine when I realized that it hadn't been me who had made that sound. Shaking my head, I proceeded out onto the front porch, sat down and had a cigarette. As I did, I even typed this all down so I wouldn't forget into the notes feature on my phone. When I finished, I went back inside, into my room and was in bed by 2:58am.

Like I said, weird.

I'm not all that worried about what I experienced last night. Could've just been some weird echo of my quiet footfalls against the wooden floor. But for it to sound the way it did, I would have had to have been in the Kitchen when I heard it in the Other Room.

-shrugs and takes a drink of her coffee-

Not going to think about it. 

In other news of doom, I've been writing everyday. Just a simple story based on the 'what if' thinking of me literally running into the winchesters due to a sea fog that rolled into the desert, which is actually an interdimensional thing and it drops me into their existence. And that anything that goes through that rift will be affected by the energy there. Blah blah blah, you get the idea. I actually like where it's going and it's just nice to be able to write again. Takes my mind off of thoughts that only cause my heart to ache.

And on that note, I'm going to finish this here blog of doom, drink my coffee and continue to wake up. It's a bit harder today because it's finally cool outside with a bit of humidity. Reminds me of my home by the sea...

Anyway... Later days.

-Adieu

Written in the walls

(Written earlier in the day on my phone, then transferred onto my blog a few hours later)

Been doin' alright... Takin' it day to day, going from heart broken to empty to an eerie calm... Today has definitely been an odd one. 

I felt great when I woke up, except when I remembered the dream of me sobbing over my little girl who I never knew I had and apologizing to her for not being there when she needed me. This girl who was 15 years old with strawberry red/brown hair and light hazel eyes (a lighter honey color with more green). Thing is, I know this was my daughter... This isn't the first time I've dreamt of her. The first time I was 17 and she was two years old. She looked exactly like me except her skin was slightly paler, and her hair was that lighter strawberry brown with those striking light honey hazel green eyes. Her hair was thick and wavy/curly to the middle of her back and she had bangs/fringe cut perfectly above her brows. Wait... I just realized something. I just did the math... If I had a 15 year old, she would have been two when I was 17... Ya, that just topped my weird-shit-o-meter.

Anyway...

Today I finally got around to washing my baby, who I haven't given a bath since before October of last year. She looks gorgeous but it's obvious Eleanore needs a new paint job. I was suddenly disappointed with myself that I hadn't been taking care of her like I should have. I could see that she's in desperate need of a good polish and I should've been on top of that. 

As I was beating myself up for not taking care of my baby, all I could think of was my Dad... I could almost hear his voice calmly telling me that yes she needs a new paint job but for right now, all she needs is a good polish and wax to bring the shine back. 

So I tried to push it out of my head and decided to relax, lay back on my bed and watch Jaws The Revenge. 

I'm mostly paying attention when the boys curl up to my left, near my feet and pass out on my Supernatural bag. Their peace was contagious and I found myself unable to keep my eyes open...but as I began to sink into that inky black, I was suddenly struck with that dream of my daughter and it was like a knife embedding itself in my heart. I jolted awake, sat up and glanced over to my left. There, among the pile of disheveled stuffed animals was my small gray horse I had won in one of those machines you find at a diner. I don't know what possessed me to pick it up and cradle it against my chest (possibly a subconscious need for physical reassurance) but as soon as I held it protectively in my arms, my mouth pressed gently against its soft mane...I was overcome with grief and started quietly sobbing... It was like a levee shattered and I was suddenly flooded with sorrow. I clutched that tiny horse for dear life and found myself quietly calling out for my father... Begging him to come home.

-wipes the wayward tears that escaped her eyes-

I can't sense him. 

The random thoughts I have of him are nothing more than modified memories. His presence is not here... Even after I put his ashes in the passenger seat and drove him home almost a week ago. Such a small box...yet somehow so very heavy... I had the fleeting thought of putting the lap belt on it because it was Dad; he was always adamant about wearing a seatbelt...

The box now sits at the end of my bed. It's a box within a box and I haven't had the heart to open it. 

I know how all over the place this must seem, my thoughts are as lost and chaotic as my emotions; scattered marbles rolling off into oblivion.

It's been a struggle to get myself to update anything on facedesk. I've been posting random, impersonal stuff so that I hadn't completely isolated myself. I wanted to write, wanted to alleviate some of this pressure building up inside my head. But I was held back... Suffering from panic attacks so severe I would start stuttering if I tried to speak. I've never experienced panic like this before, my anxiety having become a very real monster that attacks me any time it damn well pleases.

I've come to realize I'm struggling with myself to keep functioning. I'm trying to deal with losing my father. It's so incredibly hard... Because we were so very close. Not just because he was my best friend and my father, we had this very strong connection that used to trip my dad out all the time. I would say what he was thinking or vice versa. We didn't even have to be in the same room or even the same city. We used to laugh about it all the time... It's the same link twins have... Which is why this has been so devastating for me. 

I feel severed.

I thought I was getting through it just fine. I hate that in cleaning my Ellie, I triggered the waterworks and even now as I type this calmly in my phone, tears are streaming from my eyes, sliding silently down my face and pooling along the crease created by my lips being held shut.

It's hard to reach out and talk about how I'm feeling when I can't get my thoughts straight. It's hard to focus and be my old positive self when I feel fragmented. 

I hate what this tragedy has made of me. 

I don't want to be needy... I don't want to admit that it's become apparent I need physical reassurance. To feel safe again, held protectively in strong arms.

This is not something I'd openly admit. One, I refuse to appear weak. You can all tell me that needing to be touched isn't a sign of weakness... That needing to be held is perfectly natural. Here's the deal; I've been this way since I was 3 years old. I have an incredibly difficult time allowing anyone to see me cry or get upset. I'm even more guarded from appearing needy...especially when it's the need to be held by a male. That's when I'm at my most vulnerable and it's one of the very rare instances I allow someone else to be on guard.

It also makes it harder for me because I have severe trust issues with men. I've been burned too many times. Especially when I was at my lowest; when I really needed someone and finally found the courage to reach out... Only to find that I was reaching toward nothing more than dead space.

Intoxicated by honey coated lies and empty promises. Learning the hard truth that a genuine face generally comes attached to cowards.

I was Nothing more than a convenience to be left behind when I was no longer useful or entertaining. 

Sounds harsh, but incredibly accurate.

So you can imagine that even talking about this stirs up a hornet's nest of resentment. Especially since I'm basically admitting that I unknowingly let myself be used for someone's amusement.

Man have I gone off on a tangent in the hopes, that somehow, there'd be a better understanding of how my brain works. I'm sure that given the circumstances, anyone's thoughts would be fireflies in the wind. I just hate feeling like every facet of my being has been shredded and I'm left to weave myself back together.

-sighs and takes a drink from a freshly brewed cup of strong coffee-

Even the little things; waking up, making coffee, filling my nightmare before Christmas thermos with said coffee and heading outside to have my morning cigarette... All goes back to the memories of Dad. That was our routine. Where we'd sit and wake up and just talk about our dreams or what The View (who we called The Broads) was about that day. Randomly catching an episode of Maury and discussing the lack of intelligence in almost all of the guests on that show.

How every April 21st we would sit down and watch John Carpenter's 'The Fog' together...

How every night, we would say Locu Noć (Lock-oh-no-tch) which in Croatian means 'Good night'. That was something my mom taught him when I was a baby.

It was the very last thing he said to me the day before he died... 

-pauses to swallow the hard lump of emotion with a hefty drink of her coffee-

This is the most I've shared in awhile. It's not all 'lollipops and candy canes' but it's honest and it's only a glimpse of the roaring waves crashing through my mind.

With everything going on around me and trying desperately not to drown, I've made up my mind as to where I'll be headed before the end of the year.

I'm set on moving to Oregon. It's something I've wanted since I was 18 years old. At one point, even my Dad wanted to move there...and have a small house with two black labs.

I want to honor that. So I'm going to find a way back to a place that has always felt like home. Currently I have my little sister (we adopted each other as family) Ashley and her pup Dacey set on moving to Salem with me. She's been wanting to move there too, so it works out.

It's all I've been thinking about. The lease here in Beaumont will be up in November, so hopefully before then, Ashley, her Dacey, Pez, Gir and Myself will already be in Salem in our new place. And I can't wait to be able to have a garage for Ellie. It's what Dad always wanted for her and my beautiful girl deserves it.

I just want to feel at peace again. I want to have my own space where the boys can scamper around (and they'll be fine with Dacey, she's a lithe little dachshund (weenie dog) who loves cats) and I can finally have Betta fish in their own separate aquariums, all named after my favorite fictional characters. 

Even though I'll be sharing space with Ashley, we actually mesh well. Both natural gypsies finally finding a place to call home.

That's all I've ever wanted. I didn't want to leave my home by the sea. Knowing that the only Real home I've ever known was going to be gone... Broke something precious inside. My home is Gone. I have nothing left to go back to... Visiting is one thing, the great blue mother will always be there... But everything that was stable, the lighthouse of my childhood... Is now nothing more than a memory like the ashes of my father held within that box at the end of my bed. The warmth is gone and there is nothing left for me here.

Yes, many of my family (those friends who I am beyond grateful for) are here and are the only reason I would come back to visit. But I can't stay. I've planned to leave California for over 12 years but there was always someone keeping me here. Now that someone is gone. That part of my life that I hold so dear, is over.

I'm no longer trapped at a crossroads. The path before me glows with life and is beckoning me north. Where the trees stand like living sentinels, rising from the earth toward a new beginning. Calling out to me, their branches outstretched, begging me to come home.

I need to start over. I need to find myself and I can't do it if I'm suffocating in the past. It's no longer frightening but exciting to think about. No fits of panic, no anxiety to sweep through me and make me stone. It's not a hopeful notion that I'll be in Oregon. It's an instinctive knowing that I belong there. 

Stranger still is that a few years ago, perhaps two now, I wrote about this happening. It's not verbatim, but eerily similar. 

I also want to make clear that this isn't me running away. For the very first time, I'm excited about the future.

And on that note, I've written far more than I thought I would. -chuckles softly- and as much as I enjoy sitting outside, the flies are starting to get on my nerves and my phone is down to 53%. 

-Adieu