RedHead Confetti

So, things have been kinda busy with the kittens all over the house-- we have ten, after all, that we're socialising and fattening up so they're ready to be spayed or neutered and adopted out. School is also out for the summer, so my entire schedule has flipped around. But I've been thinking a lot about creationism, as well as some of the crazier fundie stuff I was taught as a kid and young teen. One blog I follow, which I've shared before Leaving Fundamentalism does an awesome job of discussing the ACE curriculum and the dangers it poses to the ability to actually think! I'd have to agree, as I went to a school for two years (the second of which I finished in Germany home-schooling myself with the Paces) in an ACE school. The mind-numbing course work wasn't even the worst of it. What I have noticed a lot of lately is creationism in the news and media. Now, depending on where you go in the blogosphere and online you'll always have creationism on your rad...

This might be more information than I'm normally willing to share with the world, at large. However, this blog has become something of a cloudy mirror of my life, reflecting parts and helping me work through the deeper bits. Besides, I think only about six people on earth know it's here, counting me! What I'm saying, is that this is now, and always will be a safe space for me to vent, share and explore the world and my inner self. I'm a depressive, as I've said before. I have moderate, cyclical depression; this means I go through cycles, about three a year, that are moderately bad-- say a 7 on a 1-10 scale. Not bad enough that I can't get out of bed, but bad enough that I might not sleep properly for a month, and food doesn't actually taste. A cycle starts with insomnia. Well, that's not quite right; I'm an insomniac-- so I can never sleep. A cycle starts when I sleep even worse, or lighter-- it feels like I spend the whole night in that cat-na...

Little something different today. We've had the honour and privilege of fostering two litters of kittens in partnership with the Hermitage , a local no-kill cat shelter. We took two litters, one of six and the other of four. Yes, you read that right, we have been fostering ten kittens! Imagine that amount of cuteness and adorable furballs, and you can't help but smile. I'll be writing more later about some of the things going on with me. But for now, I just want to share some photos of these babies with you all, and spread some happy through the internet.  See that scarf? It's a killer-attack scarf, but don't worry, Finn will beat it back. I am furniture, you see; I took this photo in a tiny pause as they were jumping off of me like a spring board.  Bavard (l) and Sadie (r) needed cuddles, and so crawled up to my neck.   They love climbing up, and jumping off that over-night bag.  You can hear them, right? They're lions and tiger...

I had a dream the other night-- well, just before my alarm went off in the morning. I was dressed in a suit, with stockings and heels and sitting with a dozen other men and woman dressed the same. We were waiting for the next “class” to start, so we could finish up something or other. I was sitting next to an old friend from high school-- she had aged, changed into what my mind says she'd look like at 40. She was a Senior, back when I was in 8 th grade, and we got along amazingly well; part of it was because we were both the “youngest kids in our class”, so she knew what it was like to be treated like every one's baby sister all the time. Ronna was a good friend and I sincerely hope she got out of the cult of IFB and has a fabulous life-- she was rather irreverent, and I loved her for it. Amidst that closed atmosphere we were both stuck in, she was a breath of critical thinking.. In my dream, Ronna turned to me and said, “So, after Armageddon, and all that, then they expe...

All our cats are rescues. My husband adopted Neko from a litter of kittens who's mother had died. She's a bit cranky, and one of those "one person" cats. I'm lucky she likes me, too. She's the most talkative cat I've ever been around; she talks all the time-- like a 13 year old! Boo meandered up to my Dad's old place, a kitten with a broken tail, eating large grasshoppers. She was so cute that my family kept her, and I inherited her a few years later. Given that she was left on the side of the road as a kitten, and that she'd been hurts, I think she might have some brain damage, but she's a cute cat, anyway. Today, though I want to talk about Willy. He was originally adopted by an ex of a friend, of my husband's. She had him for a little while, and then decided that he wasn't cute any more. I think she's blind as fuck. Then my partner's friend, and old room-mate adopted him. Willy was a shy, skittish cat, with long blac...

You know, I've always wanted to be funny. Part of me wants nothing more than to do stand up-- just once! To make people laugh so hard that their drinks come out their noses, that they piss their pants, that they fall out of their chairs laughing, holding their bellies, rubbing their faces to clear the tears. I have always wanted that. Just once. I've done enough speaking in public, that while I get really nervous, and my voice gets higher and a bit wavery, I figure I could do it. But I'm not funny. That's not to say that I have no sense of humour... I have met people who have no sense of humour, and they're usually pretty dour people. Not because they're mean, or cruel, or anything, but because they just don't see the reason to laugh at whatever has you falling about. I find lots of things to be very, very funny! But those tend not to be the things that stand-up audiences like. For instance, I can't tell a joke about pe...

Trigger Warning: This blog is dark, and rambling, and angry, and hurt, and personal. It's not an accusation against my husband. I know he's not mentioned hardly at all, because this is how I feel. He is, and has been amazing through this whole thing. He also tries very hard to derail my inner peanut gallery. However, if you're depressed right now, or having a hard go of it, you may want to skip this one. I don't want to spiral you down. We'll make it out, right? And everything will be OK. I'm sitting here, on the verge of a depressive episode. I say this, not for sympathy, but for perspective. I know that I, and only I, can get out of, through or avoid an episode. It's not up to anyone else to help me, and really, no one can. It's an internal struggle that no one sees, no one can cheer you on, navigate the short route through, or even lend a hand. It's always been this way, for me... and always will be. I accept this struggle, as part of living;...