Primal Beings

Not sure what will roll off my keyboard right now. I just feel I should allow some words to flow. Maybe like a stream of consciousness type writing.

I worked a lot again this week. We've been busy, busy for over a month. That's good I guess. As long as we are able to keep up with the growth.

When I get home from work, if Yerba hasn't been with me at work, she licks and licks me. It's like she is giving me a bath.  Probably just slurping in all the salt from my sweaty skin.

I continue dealing with the repercussions of the events with my ex-therapist. I'm still stunned by it. And I think, who would believe this? I know some would. My psychologist is continuing to read through the emails, weighing stuff out, seeing objectively what transpired. I wonder if my ex-therapist even gives a shit? I gather he doesn't. Why would anyone recommend someone on Twitter that they say they can't trust, like my ex-therapist still recommends other folks to follow me, but he doesn't trust me? I don't understand that.

I sometimes wish I had a "don't care" switch. I could just flip it and wouldn't care when people are mean and cruel and liars. Liars. We all lie to some degree. We blind ourselves to certain things in order to survive, in order to function. Isn't that a bit like lying?

I was talking today with a lady, at the restaurant. She and, I assume, her husband sat in a booth next to ours, where John and I were eating. They had a 5 month-old boy with them. He wanted to see all around him as he furiously sucked his pacifier. He and that passy reminded me of Yerba and her bones. Primal, instinctive needs.

His mom, the lady I was talking with, had a tattoo on her back. It was of the back of a girl who appeared to be standing with the wind blowing back her hair.  The lady's dress was covering most of the tattoo. But I could see enough to know I liked the tatt. It brought to mind an image of Nanna. Nanna, who lives in my heart life.

I inquired, "What does the tattoo represent?"

"It's Cosette from 'Les Miserables,'" she responded. "I saw the play four years ago in New York, on Broadway. Some of the original cast were in it. I love the music and the play."

She shared a bit more and I could see she was passionate about it. I sang a couple lines from the only song I know from the production. "Do you hear the people sing...singing the song of angry men..it is the music of a people who will not be slaves again..." Her eyes lit up. Yes, she knew the song well.

I wonder what her son will do when he grows up? I'm sure he won't be sucking that passy.