Wild and Wistful, Wounded and Wary

I miss my niece, Lauren.  I won't see her again until Daniel's wedding.

I'd not taken enough books with me to the beach so I slowly savored Wild by Cheryl Strayed who'd walked the Pacific Coast Trail alone. Oh girlfriend, there's a part of my own Bucket List.

Now back home after a superbly blissful week at Edisto Island, and decidedly not alone, I've washed a mountain of dirty laundry, run dumb errands, and have not gotten around to my garden which produces weeds by the bucket full due to the rich soil composition in a matter of seconds, and now I'm looking at my invisible mental list of chores.

I'm hitting the seven year mark on blogging, thank you again Claudia, for showing me how to do so, as processing my conflicting feelings for so long has been greatly beneficial to me.

Like any other traumatized person, now that my family is safe and fairly normal, I struggle with my own inner dread that it just can't last, that all good things come to an end - which is how all my children felt upon being adopted - yet in Biblical philosophy,  I know I'm wrong for that, as we've not been given a spirit of fear.

I know it's my own severe trauma talking.

Phone calls from grown kids who are dealing with the natural consequences of behaviors I'd long tried to help them eliminate, knowing it'd only cause massively huge problems for them.  "Y'all,"  I'll say all day long, "I can't fix this," in reference to the pickles they find themselves in due to very poor choices.

I offer suggestions, options, and thoughts that often are soundly rejected as they require what they consider to be too much work.  I don't serve up condemnation, I aim for hope to be infused within them, I express my love and compassion, but they must take the necessary and proper steps to steer their life on a course that'll only bless them.

Well, life requires work.  Work can be tedious and boring.  I get that, but it's still gotta get done.

Life isn't an MTV video, yet that's what the media portrays to all of us.  We all think everyone else is having a blast while we alone labor under difficult conditions.  I fight envy in regards to women who get to lunch, or whatever they do, not constantly fretting about money, physical assaults and uber ridiculous drama...but I don't know what they're dealing with and it's ridiculously presumptuous of me to ignorantly think there are no challenges for them.  Get real Cindy.

I'm just gonna go out to weed and to think.  Over think is what I do.  And remain grateful for the lack of drama my household is facing right now.

I'm actually fighting tears because my baby brother Jimbo just left to go home to Tallahassee and I miss him.  Deep sigh.

Again, I thank you all for seven years of readership commiseration and understanding.  Y'all's emails, texts, comments and support has been so awesome and I'm very grateful.

Here's to the next seven years of hopefully yawn inducing boredom as my life will be all about grandbabies, weeding and reading.  Yeah boy, that's my goal.  Boring to most folks maybe, but a deep desire and relief for me as I've been neck deep for too long in way too much trauma.

Once a librarian, always a librarian, this book was really, really good.  While other females might dream about a princess life, the siren call for me is in long walks, isolation within the wildlife realm, and inner peace and emotional healing.  I've carried within for too long too much abject fear, dread, intense humiliation, much resentment, and deep, but invisible, wounds to my soul.  How's that for dramatic?  But it's right true.