Persephone’s Plight


“When you can begin to see the similarities between you and your work colleagues in respect of ‘being human’ and the collective challenges we all face, it makes life much easier to deal with, especially when met with overbearing behavior.”   ~  Christopher Dines

“It’s important to make sure that we’re talking with each other in a way that heals, not in a way that wounds.”  ~  Barak Obama

It’s this because of this. First light spreads across the dark sky; cantankerous cat within my reach, so she gets pets every once in a while; and the day will include rest, if, and only if, I can unplug from the crafted chaos beyond these walls. I’ve a psychotherapy session at noon and a side job pulling weeds after that. The similarity between the two events does not escape me. I say bring it on. At this very moment I really oughtta start another pot of coffee; it’s gonna be a long day. I splurged and bought Starbucks French roast whole bean coffee this time. There’s some thing about GMOs when it comes to Starbuck’s, but I got some anyway because it reminds me of my ex-wife and our time on the borderlands of the University of Washington, in Seattle, way back when. I would ride my bicycle across campus to purchase a bag of freshly roasted and freshly ground beans. Starbucks had roasters in each outlet back then. It smelled good in there. And there was an old movie theater in those borderlands as well, where she and I watched Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre on a double bill; black and white films awash in color. I wonder where she is now? We walked home that night.

Between this paragraph and the last I made that second pot of coffee. It’s now light enough, at 5:22 AM, to let the chickens out of the coop soon, which means Oscar the turkey will be fluttering down from the coop’s roof soon as well. I’ll have to take a nap; I did not have enough sleep last night. The cat woke me a 2 AM, when she was going bugfuck with some papers left on the floor. The daily news, right?  Noisy danged critter. Cats are on my mind this morning. I’ve often wondered why I can’t let that go, that being my time of employment at the animal shelter, as a cat caregiver. I don’t give myself enough credit. That job was way stressful. Human politics on top of the innate stress of the job did not help at all. In the biz they call it compassion fatigue. In the psych treatment biz they call it STSD, which like PTSD can play havoc with a soul. That’s me in a nutshell. I’ve got PTSD, and probably STSD as well. That’s a lot of letters to describe a lot of wounds. Wounded while giving love. Something poignant and demure about that, right? Why “demure”? Well, let me put it this way. It’s this because of this. When someone asks you about your work with captive, formerly stray, animals you have to keep it cool and on the level, using a rational approach in your description. You can’t just scream and sob, so you have to be demure. I remember when Persephone was brought into the shelter. She had no name at first. There was a more pressing problem. Persephone had a leather collar that she had placed below her armpit when she tried to get it off of her neck by placing her left foreleg through the collar. Apparently she was still growing at the time, so as she grew the collar cut into her flesh. I pulled her out of the carry kennel to get a look at her, and my hand went right into the wound in doing so. I cringed. When the chief med tech and I put her up on the exam table the med lady took one look at the wound and she also cringed. I began to cry at that point. That’s why I named the cat Persephone, because she came back from the depths of hell and lived to tell about it. She went on to be adopted. That’s why we were there. What does this all has to do with today? Beats the hell out of me. PTSD grips you from inside out and it won’t let go. It’s hard to think.

Let’s leave it at that. I’ve waves of anxiety rising up from my guts today. Tomorrow is my physical therapy session, and of course I am hoping to be working with the strawberry blond therapist. No, I’m not being sexist. Don’t even go there. Today is the psychotherapy session. I may cry there and smile tomorrow. Who knows? It’s this because of this, right?

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.





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