Why don’t school bus drivers have to have experience? None at all? Like not even driving? I heard this in the radio for new drivers this year. What about around kids? Just no experience at all? No driving experience? They should say some experience needed. They teach you all the school bus driving things? When? On the job? Before it? What about the guy training? Does he need experience?
What do you talk about on your last day of therapy? Nothing that can really be continued right? No big unresolved issues? There shouldn’t be any if I am done. It’s not my last day. Not even close. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to keep seeing her when she leaves to open her own practice. She thinks I should continue seeing her given my recent losses and now exploring new things. Meeting people. Bucket filling.
I spent the day wondering what to talk about with her. I wanted it to be just light and easy talk. Maybe about her new practice. Instead she opens up a whole new avenue of issues I have. I’ve known I have. How insecure I am. Really? On my last day? So I will need to find a way to keep seeing her? Therapists want us better right? Then what? There are plenty of people out there to talk to them. They like to be talked to? Therapists are people who like to be talked to. I like to talk. I need to talk so that I have less to say.
It is triggering for me to feel something that doesn’t quite sit right when things aren’t balanced. Triggering meaning it brings up something from something that happened once. Like really fragile glass breaking can stop me dead cold in my tracks. Not all glass breaking but brittle thin glass like a thin flower vase or country glass on old country glass windows.
My bucket is finally being filled she says. Someone is listening, tending to needs I’ve never had met. It almost feels like it’s really not allowed. Like I should stop it. It’s too close. These are my buckets no one fills them but me. The bucket never was filled by someone before how can I be certain it stays full? Doesn’t leak? What about too full? Why is there a bucket at all? Why can’t I be my own bucket filler? Because I can’t self validate? Because touching yourself is totally different than someone else? It’s almost electric. It’s shocking and I get goosebumps still.
I felt it not being full for a minute. Uncertainty. Questions not answered. Questions not asked. I panicked at the thought I was filling fuller except in one place and then I felt out of balance. My bucket is weird. Maybe I have two. I need to carry one in each hand so I’m balanced. Do they ever feel too full? Like a burden? What happens to bucket filling when they are full? How long can I hold them? And why can’t I get it out of my head that I am carrying weight of another? When it is actually weight I’ve been lacking. That I’ve felt empty and now am being felt complete. Why was I empty? Because I chose to have a bucket filler who didn’t know how to do it? He was actually a bucket thief. He knocked them over or I had to carry his. Why am I holding them out so far away from me with my arms out in my head? Why am I holding them at all in my head? Why aren’t they just sitting on the ground and being filled. I shouldn’t be carrying them at all.
I likely have drank a parasite from a river. I filtered most my water but towards the end of my hike my filter was clogging. The river was full of mica. Which looked like little diamond dust. So I boiled it once. But I am sure I didn’t boil it long enough I don’t have a lot of patience for boiling water. I usually forget I’m boiling it then I’m just heating and cooking a pan or cooking noodles until they are not noodles anymore and I need a new pan.
I drank this water and made two meals with it. Then two days later had diarrhea. Nothing else and just for about a week. I was just starting to get my appetite back when this came up. I can’t eat again. I was so worried to even call my doctor. I don’t even want to tell people in fear of being told I have corona virus.
I am looking for my bucket to be full. Not just sort of full. It’s been empty for so long. I just have to stop thinking I’m carrying them. That they are something I carry. They feel kind of heavy and like they shouldn’t be filled. But I know that’s just my insecurity I will have to work through. With my therapist so she has someone who talks to her.
I was stopped and asked by a little girl if she could pet my dads dog. I love when little kids do this because it means their parents taught them. Kids don’t naturally have restraint with animals. I then proceed to tell this little girl all about my dad and him dying. That the dog is skiddish around people nervous maybe that they know something about where his owner is? She asks what skiddish is. I say afraid. That he is out with me to learn to be out again with out his special person. That someday maybe she can pet him I hope. Even though I will likely never see her again. She asked questions and was so sweet. Then her mom rode up and said are you trying to make this lady let you pet the dog. And the little girl smiled and said I’m so sorry your dad died but was definitely talking to the dog. And the mom looked at me. I shrugged. The world put that right into my path today. I’m sure they rode away with an interesting and maybe deep conversation I hope anyway. My dads dog is still upset his person died and I’m trying to help him deal with it and it will likely turn into him helping me. Who saved who? I’ve seen the magnet on the car with the dog paw.
My sister is coronavirus free. She is a coronavirus survivor. Her husband is a coronavirus casualty, victim? Non survivor. She needs a shirt that says I kicked corona’s ass. She needs a shirt that says fuck coronavirus. She was sick over 30 days. Isolated and away from her dying spouse who she had to say goodby to via zoom. She didn’t get to touch him one last time. But she did? We just don’t know when it is going to be. The last time she did did she wonder if it would be the last? The last time i saw him I joked not to die of coronavirus. Why not joke right? I knew it might happen and hoped it wouldn’t but a joke seemed the way to say my goodbye I didn’t know was goodbye.
So since my dad died I’ve contracted a tick disease and now a parasite from river water. But not coronavirus. What in the world is the universe saying here? I would of course contract these things I go where no people are not where they are. I spend a lot of time in the woods and the rivers. I’m shocked it hasn’t happened more often. Do I need to be more careful? Always. I am not always thinking of the things I could take out with me from a wild place. I’m thinking of things I could take out with me from wilder places. Like a gas station pump handle or a debit card pad or a person who breaths too close to me.
Oh so not like me. I loved every minute though. You can make anything sound dirty if you just say it right. Try it. Say maybe you can clean her gutters. Or clean her door knobs. Eat her cheesecake. Anything. Some sound worse than dirty. I went to be with him. I needed him. Like right then when he did me. Then didn’t want to leave. He said I can’t kiss him all night yet I couldn’t find a reason I couldn’t. Then I found many. Why? Who says? It was too tempting and again I have a bucket I am trying to balance in my other hand while one is still being filled. Now it slowly is. How can I laugh so easy with him? How can he have such a great laugh? Why do we laugh so different? Why don’t we laugh in other languages? Why are some so big and some a giggle? Laughing is like it’s own language. We could all just talk in laugh. What language do you speak we would ask others? Who, me? You know, I speak laugh. Don’t we all?
He thought I hated him. I said I could never hate him. He said he has heard that before. But he hasn’t met someone like me before. I still don’t hate someone who I should but just can’t. Why? It’s a draining emotion. Like love. It really means something. It can’t be unsaid. Once you love you don’t get unlove. It’s my rule and should be everyone’s. Once you hate how do you love again? Can you hate then not hate? Is hate the absolute opposite of love? I don’t hate you. It is just a terrible word. I am dying to know it’s exact origin but going to restrain this search for now. It’s tabled. I don’t hate and won’t google hate.
My stomach is still rolling around a parasite this morning. It feels like food poisoning which I’ve had just once last year from ground beef that was recalled. My stomach is hollow and noisy and lacking no parasites in it. It is freaking me out that I have bugs in my tummy. I picture tadpoles. I don’t want them to grow and get comfy in there. I’m not supposed to keep the diarrhea from not happening. It has to get out. What a terrible topic yet one not often talked about. Our poop. I was raised by someone who asked what color was your poop. He had a liver disease and it was not unusual for us to chat about stools at diner. If I had an upset stomach that’s the question. Because it’s a clue. We love clues. They give us answers. Black and tarry?yellow and greasy?was it white?. Blue? Oh that was the blue icing from the cake.
So I’m going to keep on letting him help me fill my buckets and I’m going to his. I may not know how but I bet if I ask I could. Maybe I already am and there isn’t anything to ask. He keeps wanting to see me for reasons I can’t understand yet. We make a good bucket filling team maybe.
Aspenleaf 