…since I have felt okay enough to write.
Four years almost to the nose.
May you wake with peaceful gracious thoughts of appreciation for the power of nature to grow and renew.
Solitude is the soil in which genius is planted, creativity grows, and legends bloom.
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Solitude is the soil….
Solitude is the soil in which genius is planted, creativity grows, and legends bloom.
I don’t have much to say except this morning I am feeling off balance and feeling as though I need to revisit ME.
A fire burns but I want to see if I can turn it into love.
I have posted. Enough said.
Freedom for me has always meant movement. Today I went for a ride with the dogs. I had some inspiration and then I came home and feel nothing but nothing.
Being here has sucked the life out of me. literally.
I guess the inspiration came from being philosophical about thinking that I could be an oasis in a space where there is such an intersection of this rural version of what was my life before.
It’s hard accepting that the person you grew up with became such as he is.
He said “you get to be the {princess}? in it.”
In my navieté I had no idea what he meant. I just smiled and said cool.
Now it is clear. And I am trying to wrap my head around figuring out the dichotomy of this exit strategy.
But this is about me now. I have to type.
I arrived here the “San Diego” girl. Ridiculed. I weathered that.
At the bar – I couldn’t – It became a survival issue. So I left. Now they hate me and I am outside a community that I have realized can be pretty vindictive.
I have to take my empowerment through.
I am literally and figuratively so damn hungry.
Last night I was scared enough to pull out a switchblade and put it by my bed.
I put all I had into building this house only to land here. One month and. 1000% behind what I had built for myself.
So where from here? Tomato soup with some Swiss cheese. A lovely cane corsi rottie mix watching for me at the end of my bed. Cold. And in need of a hot shower.
Chain watching movies bc it takes my head out of things. Writing because it might take my head into things in the right way.
All this was triggered by some violent encounters that triggered a trauma response in me.
I cannot tell if fight or flight is worse. Explore is better.
Trying to recover. Had another violent experience this morning but my trauma response is so spent I just took it and moved on.
Reading a post just now and drinking enough wine I realize my story is much larger. Perhaps my “professional development” does not just boil down to a well written resume and 100K job and that Claude just scared me into thinking so.
Let’s not get into that part.
I may just need to do what I need to do.
I have been gifted (somehow) to have worked with some of the most amazing people in the world. Maybe that book is just a chapter about each one.
My life has been a journey of drifting through the lives of others. Save the time I was a maestro. That is I just taught horses and horse riders how to get along best they could while achieving goals, sometimes of which were more my own than theirs. Such is the disease of being a coach.
I don’t even have a picture but may take one in the morning.
It is mark-ed just how much my attitude and, especially, my self-judgment has changed.
I am in Carlsbad (yes the dreaded Carlsbad) and am perfectly content camping where I can hear the ocean pounding on the bluffs. I am dirty. My nails are a mess, my face is a mess, my toe has an infected gash. And I nearly fully have ignored getting in touch with any of my “so-called” friends right away. The I that lived here before has clearly left the building. So the statement that “Ali Lovejoy” died on a small pot farm in northern california is perfectly correct.
I don’t care how I look to people at the moment. What matters is how I feel. The ocean puts me at such great ease. Money doesn’t matter excepting use it to create experiences that bring your joy.
My body wants to go to sleep for the first time in several days and I want to let it.
But I had to at least leave this note. That elusive happiness I’ve been pining over. It’s here today – even in all my goofiness… and it does not feel amazing to be here as it did before – with some strange gaping hole in that happiness. This is simple, pure adoration of solitude by the sea. xxoxxo.
Oh = yeah the arrogance and neg attitude against everything has particularly softened. In terms of what I tolerate vs what I appreciate. I am appreciating a good bit more.
It’s raining and it is lovely.
Claude is passed out in bed. It is 4:50PM. We are in trouble and his answer is Jamo. Its fine. I get it.
I just got back from Solana Beach and have decided to quit that life. I also just came back from the worst, most intense bought of depression I have ever actuated.
People are wrong about asking “Do you ever have suicidal thoughts?”. When you are having them they are controllable. The really dangerous place is when you are simply gone. No thoughts, just actions.
This bought brought to light the micro-actions that I have been performing for so.many.years. And thus the answer to my bouts of exhaustion. When managing this, you get tired. Very.very.very.tired.
The community I have come to live among is slowly dwindling in numbers. They die, they move away (probably a better alternative), they sort of plateau in a hidden stasis…but few rise. I’d like to. I will.
The anger, resentment, etc etc has done enough toward consuming me.
Back to the rain. I am in the trailer with all the dogs. Life is not ideal but for some reason it is more livable that the So Cal dream I was living before. Solana is not my home anymore. I quit. Too many ghosts.
I am enjoying this solitude.
It’s been two months.
”How long are you going to be gone for.” My roommate had asked.
“I am planning for two weeks…but it is weird feeling like I am packing not really knowing how long I will be gone.”
Maybe it was PTSD from 911 when I left for Tahoe for one week, stayed for two and only returned long enough to gather my things, ship them to Tahoe and fly myself back.
It seemed easy enough to close my eyes and make that transition back then, though in retrospect I didn’t handle it 100% well. Do we ever?
Now I am heading back to Tahoe. Nothing really is boarded up in the towns up here. Everyone has a gun.
In my upscale area in SD – businesses are boarded up. I don’t want to see it. Dystopian landscapes are haunting.
I am worried the turkey eggs that I covertly snuck under the brooding chickens will hatch without me. I’d rather be here for that than anything going on in the city.
But also I am excited to see what is created here while I am gone. Everything is changing so fast and I am learning how to trust Claude as best I can to navigate his own landscape.
I need to pack now. More to come I assume. Going to check out some of the chicks down the street at the feed store before I leave. Maybe I will reserve some to raise when I return. Also – I need to research round pens.
Ps – Work said remote is permanent. Have decided then to sit tight and use the “extra” time to focus on creating and farm life. Better than making more $$ but also more stress and production pressure….
The nightingales are vocal this morning. Feeding their young.
Last night – dinner for two day two. Routines shifting. Claude was bored with the usual. It does get old. So we roasted a chicken on the grill. Note: keep the water in the bottom until the end. I was a little mad he ate his pie early without me… lol. It still felt like sharing. Of conversation, of eating, of duty. Still, a bit messy. Progress sometimes is perfection in itself.
We also stretched together. I walked on his back. ☺️ Massaged as best I could. Touch as healing. We both ache a little. Inside and out.
Sweetly rolled over this morning. 6AM. We know we both need to get up and get moving. I swear I smell coffee already brewing and, eyes still closed, search with my hand to find Claude. He is there. So who is making coffee? I guess me.
The brooding hens and I are developing out cheese for eggs exchange routine. The one with the shrill squawk is actually eating the cheese while I grab eggs. The other one is a bit shyer but also more docile about me grabbing eggs. I have to make sure to float the eggs now bc it is hard to tell how long they have been there. This morning there was a full-on floater. YIKES! Glad I checked.
The dogs and I walked at around 6:15. It is a nice time in the morning to walk. It is 7:30 now and I am sitting in the fly tent. We need a better name for it.
I burnt the bacon as usual – but we didn’t really like it since it was the jalapeño bacon that is not so great. Now I am cooking some country sausage to go with jelly and toast. The put dextrose in it which I am wary of…. but damn it is good. The jams are also quite good. I am sure that regular white sugar was used to make them which I mostly stay clear of (though it makes me think how often I disregard the ingredients used at my fav restaurants down south) – but again, there is a simple homemade fresh goodness to them. Hopefully the drinking the Suija green drink will help offset the effect on my blood sugar ??.
Okay – time to try to wake up and do some work.
I just want to try to write down these pivotal memories. It is a pivotal time not just in history but in our lives as well. We are learning how to actually be together. I am learning farm life. He is recalling the essence of his trade. To some degree, hopefully I am as well – both with the horses and the digital works.
Just trying to keep on trucking. ???✌️?