In 20 minutes, the hour will turn into another day, and it will officially be Christmas American-style. I'm supposed to be earning money right now by popping out a few more pieces for the projects I'm working on. I could also be cleaning the kitchen so it's not such an eyesore in the morning. I could go to bed, too, but I just took the dogs out for the final time tonight and put them all in their crates. Midnight Christmas mass is on t.v., and even though I'm not Catholic, I am intrigued by this story I've heard so many times in my life told through a new lens. It's Christmas Eve, and the best I can say is that I'm intrigued. There was a time in my life when Christmas was a big deal. As a sophomore in high school, I wrote an essay for English class all about how excited I was for Christmas that year. I don't have that essay anymore, and neither do I have that same sense of anticipation. There was a time when I excitedly pulled down all my decorations...

I hesitate calling myself an overachiever because I'm really not. The quality in me that gets mistaken for overchievement is actually impatience. I don't have an innate drive to do more and be more. I'm just usually in a hurry to make it to the next step. And the part of me that loves to prove people wrong. In the electricity and water-less days following Irma, I repeatedly said, "The electricity will be back when it's turned on." I followed the updates from the electric company, but I knew that until I saw trucks on the road, any worry or impatience or complaining was a waste of breath. This is a lesson that I hope is finally seeping through my impatient, thick skull. Perhaps my perpetually high cortisol levels will also finally start to drop. Maybe I'll be able to trade worry for sleep. I don't know.  But I do know this. There are only certain things I can control in my world, and they all point to me.

This post-Irma life is still a bit stressful and unsettled. I'm still trying to get in touch with my insurance company. I'm still waiting on FEMA. I'm still living in a slightly damaged home with broken windows and doors. But there's electricity and running water for now. My new routine includes spending an hour or so at a laundromat after getting in my long run for the week. It's frustrating, but it's livable. It has to be. My credit union offered a low interest loan for hurricane victims. The maximum $2500 would have been just enough to take care of a few things I really need to take care of. The monthly payment was doable. It was a long shot, but I kept hearing that people with bigger financial problems than I have were able to qualify. I didn't. I asked them to review my application again and offered to let them do an automatic payment withdrawal from my paycheck. They looked again. I didn't qualify. And.That.Was.It. I said...

The power finally came back on late Thursday. The DSL line came back today. The borrowed generators are ready to go back to their owners. I finally washed off the streaks of dirt and filth that accumulated on my skin over the last week. I shaved my legs. I scrubbed my scalp and conditioned my hair. There's still some debris to clean up in the yard, but I think it's safe to close the door on Hurricane Irma. Irma wasn't my first major hurricane. I was without power for two weeks after Charley cut a path through Osceola County. Those days are a blur to me now, hazy visions of picking up free ice, sleeping on the tile floor in the bathroom and using the solar lamps from my garden for heat-free light inside my house. I held on to those fuzzy memories in the wake of Irma. In the aftermath of a hurricane, there's a bit of comfort in knowing that even the most desperate feeling moments eventually fade. But here's the thing, some of what felt so desperate to many peop...

The last thing I expected to do today was clean out a closet filled with stuff that doesn't belong to me, but that's what I did today. It was also what I needed more than anything else. Not only was it cathartic to see those shelves break free of the clutter that bound them, but the chance to goof around with one of my dearest friends--and the inevitable laughter that springs forth when we're together--was just what my soul needed. I needed the steady stream of inside jokes (Camembert) and knowing looks and friendly jabs and spontaneous songs that are part of us. I also needed the acknowledgement from someone else who got to see the magical blend of electricity and concern that we've built this friendship on. I deal with enough crazy on a daily basis that the validation of my own perspective just felt good. Even though you will never read this, thank you my dear. Thank you for every nod and smile and eye roll. Thank you for loving me...just me...even when my decisio...

I'm on repeat right now. It's after 10. I'm half paying attention to the television while the rest of my brain is berating me for not doing the writing work I need to do and hoping I don't burn the dinner that no one will eat. I just checked the rice. It looks okay. I'm miserable. Sad. Melancholy. I'm a walking checklist for depression. Without any obvious trigger, I start to cry, sometimes small trickles of tears and sometimes gasping sobs. I spend most of my waking moments wishing I could just go to sleep and much of the night watching reruns that don't make me laugh. I'd love to laugh. I'm late for work every day. My house is a wreck. Most of my conversations--even with my best friends--consist of me nodding and filing away in my head some really mean things I want to say. It's been a long time since I've felt this way. A really long time. I'm almost to the point that I want to ask the doctor for meds, but making an appointment ...

Way back in July or August I signed up for the Gasparilla 15k race thinking it would give me something to train for and get my feet back on the running trails. I put together some very reasonable training plans and even went out for a few long runs early on Sunday mornings. Then December and January bitch slapped me with fury, and running was the last thing on my mind. I planned to go ahead and do the race anyway. After all, I did my first half-marathon even though I had never gone longer than 6 miles. It's still my best time. I'm definitely not in the same shape now that I was then, but I'm determined and willing to give it what I had. My annual check-up changed all that. I had a ridiculous swelling in my ankles and feet that was the result of my thyroid gone wild again. Basically, I had proteins building up in the soft tissues of my body. I asked the doctor about the race, and he told me I would most likely have a heart attack on the course because what was happenin...

After any sort of loss, there's a series of firsts that mark the path through grief. I've already been through a few of them this week, but today's is a little bittersweet. It's raining outside. It's the first rain that I haven't had Winnipeg here freaking over the sound of drops striking the roof. She would pace the house looking for some place she felt safe. The process was often infuriating because nothing seemed to calm her, and I would watch her wander into the bathroom and close the door behind her or try to cram her body under an end table. This past summer, I finally bought her a Thundershirt, and it made a world of difference. She wore that thing pretty much every day during the summer, and although it didn't stop the panic, it calmed her enough that she could at least stay in the room. Today it's been raining most of the morning, and there's Winnipeg wandering around the house. The only dogs here are quietly sleeping, and I'm not sure...

Today was the first morning I prepared for and left for work without Winnipeg here. Another first. It was also the first day I came home from work knowing that she wouldn't be here to greet me. But that wasn't entirely the case. I pulled up in the driveway and sat in the car for a minute and she was there on the other side of the gate. That damn dog. I went inside for a minute and then left again to fill the water tank, and there she was. So I talked to her for a minute and realized that she's been having a lot of fun doing all the exploring that I never let her do. I guess life is different when you don't have to pay attention to fences. The beautiful part is that I know she's no longer hindered by the lameness that was affecting her the last few weeks. It was rough watching her stumble on the floor and drag her leg behind her...to know that she could no longer go for the rides she loved because she couldn't jump up in the SUV anymore. But no more. I ha...

I knew this morning would be difficult. For the first time in 10 years, I did not have Winnipeg here in the morning to take out and feed. There was no call, "Come on, Winnipeg. Let's go inside." Okay, there was, but she didn't come back inside. I've cried several times. I've retold the story of how she and I both knew yesterday morning that January 1 would be her last day...how that dog lived her life on her own terms and she died on her own terms. At her own home. In my arms. In the light of the sun. I also noticed her presence very clearly when I went outside this morning. I've always had a sense of spirits around me. In fact, when our mother died, the first thing my sister asked me to do was walk around my aunt's house to see if she was around. She wasn't, and we were a little angry with her for not sticking around for us in those early, painful moments. But not my Winnipeg. Her spirit is very much here. It's like when she would go out...

Ten years ago, I welcomed a tiny gray bundle from Marianna, Florida into my life. She was a beautiful blue Great Dane with a silvery coat and big floppy ears that I later had clipped. When I made the move to south Florida, she was my traveling companion who rode shotgun with me between Kissimmee and Fort Myers every week. After my divorce, she stayed with me and we formed such a strong bond that leaving her to travel was one of the hardest things I ever did. I could walk her without a leash because she never left my side for too long. I even had to hide suitcases from her because she knew that it meant I was leaving. She ran with me, leaned against me, slept with me, rode in the car with me. She lived through several other dogs here in the house, always by my side, I said good-bye to her today. I've had a feeling for the last few weeks that she was slowing down. Last night, she started throwing up just before midnight. This morning she wanted to walk the entire length of the pr...