The Dream Vs The Office

Once, in what now seems like a million years ago, the idea of a home office seemed so grown-up and lovely. I would have my own little multimedia set up and just record lectures, talks, videos, and whatever else needed to be done in a state of bliss.

Not once in that ideal situation, did I factor in how little Miss Four-feet would feel a need to be a part of the office, both in her presence and her voice. Nor did I factor in how easily my microphone would pick up every little snort or growl she made.

I figured I would have all sorts of time to get the walls hung with beautiful pieces of art. Cute yet functional curtains would be hung, and the desk would be positioned for the perfect view.

The reality is that the curtains work; the view is another wall, which matches all the other bare walls. Not exactly how I dreamed it would be, but I know that when things settle down a bit, I will be able to shift more to the ideal of my office. For now, well, for now, this works sort of. Other than the loud snuffing noises that come from behind the door when I shut a particularly determined dog out. Yep, I’m living the dream!

Footsteps and Footfalls

She carefully made her way down the well worn path. I wondered if she had considered all the feet that had walked down this path before her or if it was just another path she walked on the tour she gave on a regular basis.

I couldn’t help but wonder about all those feet that had walked down here before me. All the people those feet belonged to had a life, a life that happened before they came down this path. And the path, of course, would lead them to a different future, one they couldn’t possible have dreamed of happening.

She stopped, waiting for us to catch up, underneath a large tree. The tree, she said, was a meeting place. Historically it would have been a place to gather and share.

When we had all gathered around her, she carried on with the story of those people. Of how once they were gathered this last time under the tree, they were placed on a boat to begin a different journey. One which would take them further away from home for good. A one-way journey is how she described it.

They wouldn’t all survive the journey, and they wouldn’t stay gathered up once they got to the new place. Instead they would be distributed as needed with no thought for their own feelings and attachments. And while there would be great trees where they were going, they wouldn’t be places to gather and share in the same way.

And their feet would be traveling down different paths. Possibly hard paths which were beyond imagination and yet were reality.

When I asked her, later on, did she ever consider the history and the people who had walked that path before her, she shook her head. She said it was impossible to imagine, impossible to understand, but she would tell their stories as best she could. But she did not feel any sense of it, she was, after all, just telling a story. A true story of thousands of people over the course of time, but to her, it was still a story because distance and time will always turn a moment into a story so it’s easy to manage.


I hate having to check myself before I do anything.  It feels oppressive, unfair and wrong.  And yet I do.   Check myself.  I check myself before I comment on how I feel or mention if I’m doing something “normal”, or potential energy consuming.  There is no law, at least not one on the books, that says I need to do this.  But I do.  Because I have lupus.

Trying to get people to understand lupus can feel oppressive or unfair.  Because it takes up precious energy and uses emotions which take up energy and I have lupus.  So it’s oppressive in some way.  But I talk about it, I try to help people understand.  And I feel the weight of responsibility, which can be oppressed.

Trying to balance hanging out with friends, having a vacation and living with lupus can feel oppressive.  But I’m not dead.  I have a job, a life, love and such.  And now and then I feel almost like who I used to be.  So I do things I used to do.  And then feel guilty about this because I have lupus.  And that guilt is very oppressive.  I’m not sure if this again is a self imposed law, but I can’t seem to shake it.  I have guilt because I can do things I know other lupus patients can’t.  I have guilt because just when people sort of understand my lupus, I do something so normal that it’s like I’m saying my lupus isn’t that bad.  I have guilt because friends and loved ones have to deal with the rapid change of lupus and our plans.  And it’s all so oppressive and unfair.

So I check myself.  I edit my actions and words.  I edit my dreams and my choices and I feel the oppression of all of this as well as the weight of being sick.  It’s unfair to those in my life,because I am never able to be completely free.  It’s wrong because I want to be transparent, but I don’t want to create more worry.  So I check myself.  And it feels oppressive and I hate myself for knowing what I’m doing and still doing it.  And yes, I just checked myself again before sending this off.

A Hilly Thing

The four-footed one reminds me that life is what you make of it.  It’s partially how you see things, how reality works and mostly how you react and respond based upon the reality you’ve been given.  The four-footed one, it would seem believes she is a huge work-beast rather than a dog smaller than a shoe box.

Today while we were out for a our daily walk. the four-footed companion decided she needed to run.  But not just run.  That would be simple.  Instead she decided to run while dragging me behind her because I foolishly held onto her leash.  While she ran.  Pulling me up the hill after her.

Why?  Because she thinks she’s a work horse or something.  And also she seems to think I enjoy running up hills with her.  Or maybe she thinks I need to run up hills with her.  I’m not exactly sure.

The only thing I’m really sure about is that I am not in need of running up hills while having my arm tugged because I need to hold onto a leash.  Yeah, I’m pretty sure I could pass on that and still be okay. But it makes her happy.  And her being happy make me happy.  Although why running up a hill makes her happy is beyond me.

But when we think we are something other than how reality sees us and we can prove ourselves to be more than that, well maybe we just get happy.  I’d think about it more, except I need to make sure that my arm remains in its socket!

Positively As Intended

If you think positively, if you really put your intentions out there, good things will come. I’m pretty sure that’s what I heard the guy on the television say.  I’m not certain though because my inner voice was having an argument with the man with it being something like if this all it takes why are so many people not reaping this benefit?

Sure there is a place of positive thinking and setting intentions.  But the is this other thing, a small thing really.  It’s called reality.  Reality doesn’t worry about what you have set or how you think.  Reality just happens.

Now you can say positive thinking will help you find a new vantage point to assess things from when you need it.  That can be good.  It can be helpful.  Provided you haven’t flown off to cloud cuckoo land.  Unless that was your intention.  Then alright.

Beloved and I aren’t into it always being about positive outlooks.  We are of an age where life has taught us both that this can’t always be the case.  Soemtimes life has a way of knocking you down and it can be hard to get up.  We learn from those times.  And sometimes something unfortunate happens, but rising from that is a new opportunity.  But not always.  At least not in our world.

Glass Measures

In the movies, or television for that matter, if a person is holding a glass when s/he receives bad news, it almost always slips out of the person’s hand and shatters onto the floor. As if it represents how the news is shattering the person’s life.

In reality that doesn’t always happen. Sometimes glasses are broken in a tightened grip and sometimes, if you are like Beloved, you set it down carefully and gently. You take great care to not pass the horrors of the news onto other people or objects. I know because I’ve watched him receive bad news in a way where he set his glass of whisky down carefully before rubbing his face with both hands and heading to the door for some fresh air.

To look at him, unless you know him well, you’d never know that he received bad news. But the tightness, just there by his eyes, the slight crease between his brows and the set of his jaw told me all I needed to know. Just as the way he placed the glass told me he needed time to himself. He’d tell me everything when he was ready. Until then, I’d leave the glass where he placed it and just wait.

When he did come home, he didn’t pick up his glass. Instead he came over and took my hand to lead me gently to the large chairs facing the window. There he shared his news, never once taking his eyes off the scene outside the window. But when he was finished, then he looked at me with those soft eyes of his before he got up and took to his glass of whisky, silently drinking.

I would have thrown the glass if it were my news. But it wasn’t. It was his. And in his way, he is far more mature, far more composed than I am. And so, he set it down gently to pick up later on when he was ready.


When you stare in the mirror do you see what you want to see or what other people see? When you look at your reflection is it an honest, fair look or have you already made decisions about your appearance based on your internal voice?

When I gaze into the mirror what I see is framed by my own ideas/concepts and such of what I have for and of myself. I have no clue what other people say, although I can assure you my eyes are never going to resemble bodies of water. They may get watery, but they aren’t going to be the North Sea. And yet that’s what Beloved sees. (He may need to get his eyes checked, but that’s another story.)

What the voice inside my head tells me most certainly colors how I perceive things, but I’m also aware that the voice is one of an internal critique and so I temper what it says with kindness. Kindness that I would easily give to another and yet find so hard to provide to myself.

Mostly though when I look in the mirror it’s to make sure I’m presentable to face the world or the day. I don’t give it much thought beyond that.