My apologies for stopping my blog without notice. I just got a new job (YAY!!!), and have been busy trying to adjust.  Funny thing is, now that I finally have weekends off, I stopped writing.  I think with my last job I needed the mental stimulation.  Now, I have all I want for the time being.  Big learning curve.

I appreciate very, very much those of you who inquired as to my whereabouts.  I didn't realize I would be missed, and I am touched.  I don't know if I'll write anymore for awhile.  Then again, who knows?  But don't be alarmed.  It's just my brain is fried (with learning all new stuff).  Maybe we'll see each other again.

love,

cruel

OK, I don't know if you would call them collections, but I have A WHOLE LOT of some really weird shit.  I mean yeah, I have a lot of clothes (spring, summer, winter, fall from sizes 12 to 18 - that's alotta clothes).  And shoes - same deal, size 6-7.  (Did  you know that the only thing that continues to grow as an adult is your feet?  Been a size 6 for 35 years, and them BOOM - one day I'm a 7.)

I have a lot of costume jewelry and some nicer "pieces".  One birthday my wife said, "You have enough jewelry, don't you?"  ZOUNDS!  Blasphemer.  I sagely advised her that a woman never has enough jewelry.  She being the butch does not understand this female bling thing.

Now here's the weird part.  I have A LOT of wire-edge ribbon.  The kind you tie and it stays right where you bend or push it.  Makes every package look pretty.  I have about 60 rolls of Christmas ribbon and 40 rolls or more of regular birthday/wedding gift ribbon.  I mean she bought me 2 little 4-drawer  for-god's-sake carts on wheels to store them in.  (I love her so much.)  And well, I guess with the ribbon must come the wrapping and coordinating tissue. 

I have 2 oblong zipper soft-side "cases" for the regular gift wrap, and one plastic storage on wheels for the Christmas stuff - total of about 40-50 rolls.  (And who says I have control issues?  I control how much of this stuff I buy...)

Makeup is a little weird for me too.  Guess I'm always looking for a way to look more attractive.  But a small tackle box full of just lip liners and lipsticks?  I was getting a little weird about office supplies, but fortunately nipped that one in the bud.

But here's the weird thing -- other than that I'm not a packrat.  I mean I don't have a gazillion knick-knacks, and I don't collect bells or owls or spoons.  The only other thing I'd like to start "collecting" is maybe some nice old pottery - like Royal Copenhagen, Hull, or some of those other kinds.  Fortunately most of that stuff is out of my league budget-wise.

Books don't count.  I have two floor-to-ceiling shelves of books.  These are my friends, and are never discarded (unless you can pry on out of my hands, and then I'll donate it to the local library.)  I and pug Betty love to curl up on rainy days with a good book.  And since this day qualifies, off I go to finish "Wicked" (an alternate story about the Wicked Witch of the West, not a bodice-ripper.)

Ciao.

 Like others who sometimes think too much, I've spent a lot of time trying to make sense of suffering -- my own and others. Small children are violated, beaten, starved, left out in the cold to fend for themselves.

Then there is the internal suffering. The excrutiating, seemingly unbearable pain of losing the one you love most. Self doubt is a type of suffering. Fears of all kinds. Afraid to lose, afraid to fight, afraid to die, afraid to succeed... suffering. Wondering why is a form of torture. For me, being dealt with unfairly is very painful - moreso, it seems, than for others. The agony of being alone -- not feeling connected to any one other person in this universe. I could go on and on. I've had my share of suffering, which is why I tried to make sense of it.

I couldn't buy that it was God's will because I didn't believe in God -- at least not any God that would allow so much suffering on the planet (especially to the innocent). So why? What's the point?

Finally, when I went to college I became a little more intellectually well-rounded.  I was exposed to new ideas, new authors, and new ways of thinking.  The first woman I fell in love with was one of my professors.  (And yes, the feeling was eventually returned for a short nine months, but that's another blog.)  During one of our many late night coffee talks, she suggested I read May Sarton.  I started with Journal of a Solitude.  One of the things Sarton wrote made suffering a little more bearable for me:

One must believe that private dilemmas are, if deeply examined,

universal, and so, if expressed, have a human value beyond the private...

"Not everyone can or will do that - give his specific fears

and desires a chance to be of universal significance."

My own sufferings are personal and small compared to others.  And worse than some could ever imagine.  Yes, both.

 I know that when I read of others' sufferings I have various reactions depending on what it is.  I can feel grateful that I've never had that particular pain (yet).  I can commiserate with someone who's had to  bear the same things as I. (My empathic skills are off the chart!)  I can gain insight from how someone else has handled their suffering.  I even feel anger when suffering is brought on needlessly.  So in a way, suffering has had value for me - maybe it's allowed me to help others. 

Even more difficult for me, maybe I have allowed others to help me when I suffer.  (Let you in??? Oh no, oh no you don't.  I'm afraid to be vulnerable, afraid to trust you, fearful that I might be exploited as in the past...)

Suffering has forced me to let others in.  And that's the hardest thing of all.

A trouble shared is a trouble halved.  I guess some suffering isn't as completely and totally senseless and useless as I thought.  Hmmm.... what new discoveries lie ahead?  That is part of the deliciousness (or viciousness) of life.  The not knowing...  Another subject, another time.