The last known photo of Rabbit.
My father found Rabbit in the gift shop at Horton Memorial Hospital. He took Rabbit up to my mother’s hospital room and gave Rabbit to me. He and my mother had been awake all night. I had caused them to miss the Independence Day fireworks. It seems I hated fireworks from the very beginning.
For most of my life, I’ve relied on Rabbit to help me get through the tough times, to share in the good times, and to keep my secrets.
Everyone thought the Australian Grand Prix was going to happen. It didn’t. Then, everything changed.
Agate Fossil Beds National Monument, 6:59 am, Aug. 21, 2017.
The sky is a blueish-gray. The sun is debating how quickly to rise in the cool, somber sky as the peacefulness of twilight arrives. The quietness of the early morning is peaceful and relaxing and I long to remain in this moment.
Human memory is a curious thing. We are constantly learning more about how our brains work, the connections it makes, and how we come to believe what truth really is.
A brown thrasher takes a momentary break from eating to check his surroundings.
Whenever I have a chance to get away from the world and be in nature I take it. It doesn’t cure my PTSD and depression, but it sure helps to keep me calm by being away from modern society and its trappings.
Many people find writing to be therapeutic. I am one of them. One key difference for me is I rarely put things down on paper to never be read again. The majority of what I write is posted publicly.
As human beings, it’s easy for us to look at the negative rather than the positive. If we make a mistake, we beat ourselves up over it. We look to blame someone or something else. The negative is easy. We should be paying attention to the little things that bring us joy and appreciation in our lives.
The left side of the desk is my side. The right side is Paul’s side. I do my online therapy from here and there are many distractions.
I walked into my therapist’s office for my usual Tuesday appointment and sat down in my usual spot. We exchanged the normal pleasantries before she said, “Irene. We need to talk.”
My brain screamed the loudest, “Fuck,” I ever heard rattle through my skull. I knew what was coming.
Over the past few weeks, I have been making a conscious effort to spent less time on the internet. It’s been a mostly successful endeavor.
Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén
