Moody Meow

My bed felt particularly intoxicating this morning. Don’t you have those moments where the morning rushes foreword, but you want to stay beneath body-warmed blankets and lingering dreams? I felt that this morning. I’m not really tired, but the bed calls me. It’s a loud call.

We watched the first half of “When the Levees Broke.” Whether or not you side with one political ideology or another – this film is about the people who were hurt. Blame is placed throughout the political structure, to include the mayor, the governor, and the federal government. The red tape involved smacked of obscene power struggles. And it brought back memories of sights and events that I heard about through the media. The death of the elderly because of the inadequate hurricane supplies, people suffering for days without food and water, the blockade of the bridge going into the next county – it’s all so disgusting. I cried when I heard about the devastation Katrina wrought on the Gulf Coast. All of those areas deserve tears and help/ And the inadequate aid with the recovery process can only be described as wrong. There’s no other way to put it, really. I will watch the second part of the documentary, and I’m sure my ass will be on fire, but I am sure the film was meant to strike at the heart of the viewers. I know I claim to not be a people person, that I would help animals before I would the suffering human race. I’m here to say that I hate suffering, in any creature, be it human or canine. And all of that misery could have been handled better. I won’t even get into the images I saw of dogs starving to death. Fuck…this is getting me down again.

I am going to post my little story in the next post. We had to write a 300ish word paper dealing with a food memory. The stories I read were varied in cohesiveness and depth. Some people focused on the literal act of cooking. Others used the idea of memory with particular foods and specific people. One of the funniest essays dealt with a family who named their Thanksgiving turkey every year. I don’t know why, but I thought that was damn funny.

It’s Friday people! Don’t forget those who need your thoughts most, be that family or those who suffered the devastating losses in Katrina. Do something nice today. It can be very very small. Any kindness is rewarded down the line. So something little. Open the door for someone. Smile. I feel like I need to put a more positive energy forth today. The world needs more compassiopn

There are lurkers about. I visit a lot of blogs without commenting, but I would like to share some info for those who don’t know me personally.

• My name is Erica.
• I am thirty.
• I will graduate with my BA in Humanities in May of 2007.
• I stopped shaving my head a few months ago, and have very dark, curly hair with some pretty silver strands.
• I don’t mind going gray
• There is a tattoo on my chest that represents sisterhood.
• It will be modified soon.
• I have eight other tattoos.
• I still wear my 6g septum ring. Actually, it’s a bone pincher, but it’s small.
• I am a vegetarian, bisexual, manic-depressive, medicated birthmother.
• I asked David to marry me.
• We have 4 animals - 2 bealges (Puck and Pip) and two cats (Valentine and Voodoo).
• I am an asshole driver.
• I love music, video games, movies, wine, coffee, clove cigarettes and pasta.

That’s the bare bones. I just thought I would share.

Oh - and I wish Alexis, Julie, and Chris would update their blogs Thank you for listening.

Man, I am still tired. She stole all my energy with her windy moaning.
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Perspective. That’s all I need. I read about those who live life filled with real tragedy, not something as trite as loathing for an employer. It’s been worse before, and it will be worse again. Racing through the hills and valleys of manic-depression. Yes, I am a crazy person, but aren’t we all to some degree? I had to let the anger out so I could fill the space with something healthier. Yes, tears are still knocking on my eyelids, wanting out. They can do nothing for me now, save intensify this headache that rattles in my skull.

I will go to school tonight and learn. When I get home I shall embrace my lover/best friend/partner and thank him for being there. I will hug my beagle and caress my kitty. Then I will outrun the rage that beats within my breast. If I deny it oxygen, if I run till my lungs burn, then I will sleep.

Perspective. They are no better than me. They are not worth my sanity.

In trying to discover stories hidden within, I have found that writing profiles helps me define a person in my own words. It is not as important to me what you mean to you; rather your impression on me is what I am trying to explain. With this kind of observation comes, oftentimes, criticisms. I am not known for my gentle nature, so my honesty will be as it always is: harsh.

It’s my opinion. My view. My interpretation of what you are to me. I am not going to justify what I feel and say here. That is not why I started this thing, anyway. You don’t like it, and then don’t read. End of Story.
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