Pet Friendly on Bleeding Ink with Feminine Collective

“Pet Friendly” on Bleeding Ink with  Feminine Collective

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Pet Friendly

I am not a patient person and yet, somehow I find the patience, for her.
Maybe it’s because she needs no words to show me what she wants, just a tilt of the head to the left or the right. Her gold and grey swirls of fur glisten when she sees me, a smile lights her face accompanied by the back and forth velocity of her wagging tail. I understand she gets all the colors of me, the sliding scale blacks, blinding whites, kaleidoscope greens, envious purples, indigo blues, muddy yellow, envious green, sherbet pop orange and the griege in between.

Some days I don’t want to make the trek in the heat, the rain, the bitter freeze, walk the same block after block, be pulled and yanked in this direction or that chasing some unfortunate cat across the way. Some days I’d rather not walk at all, too tired of the monotone. I do it anyway, in spite of myself. In sub-freezing temperatures, sweltering unbearable heat, in all climates because she is my responsibility.

I’m grateful I didn’t have kids. I fear I would’ve been an inadequate parent and grave disappointment, too quick to lose my temper, too consumed with worry, too selfish probably.

Truth be told I don’t particularly get most humans, but she does.
They expect too much, disappoint too much, ask too much, or maybe it’s me. Maybe I do. We are the rare breed of misfits and misunderstood.

My girl, my spirit animal loves everyone. She does not discriminate, so I let her stop and say hello. Sometimes, I surprise myself with a smile and hello; the corners of my lips curling upwards like an emoji before I realize it. Sometimes the smile turns upside down when she sees a cat pulling my arm out of the socket. Sometimes I’d like to strangle her, she can be stubborn and doesn’t always listen, come to think of it neither do I.
She knows I’m not always 100 percent, and she couldn’t care less. She loves me anyway. Maybe that’s the beauty of mutual pet-friendly understanding.

If only people were so kind.
When she snuggles in between the crook of my legs for an afternoon nap, and I feel my breathing slow I understand what selfless love means. Her heartbeat calms the storms, the anxiety, and my forever-impatient soul. I’m a better person in that singular moment when she’s sound asleep without a care in the world.

The house is too quiet when she is not around. I missed the pitter-patter of paws the umpteenth days I did not see her. She could not visit. All the days I was committed, locked in a hospital ward with no air. I’d press my forehead to the glass trying to teleport myself the two blocks between her, me and my family. Two impossible tiny blocks from home, and later sixty miles farther away, but it would not matter. No matter how hard I tried, I could not escape the locked windows and doors. Walking out wasn’t an option.
At the least, the night sky still sang for me, and the stars shined brilliant the same for her and I. Lighting the way back to my humans, the ones who love me unconditionally, waiting on the other side of pane. The precious ones, who made sure she was fed, cuddled and loved while I was absent. I drew a map with a sharpie on the window in my room, so I wouldn’t forget my way or lose my mind deep inside the blacks and greys come morning. I wasn’t supposed to; I couldn’t give two shits. Eventually, they took all my pens away, my weapon of choice. Talk about writer’s block and cold, cruel punishment. Someone handed me colored pencils as if I was a five-year-old playing outside on the sidewalk. Give me a break, life is complicated and chaos lives outside the lines in a coloring book.

So what if I’d gone a little insane? I missed her warmth inside the cold, cruel sterile environment. The scratchy sheets inside the empty room where she was not allowed to visit. Too bad, she would’ve brightened everyone’s day. It was not a warm place, dog-friendly or inviting. It was indifferent. Twenty plus days is a really, really long time to miss being outdoors, oxygen, and the daily routine of a quiet life.
The simple task of walking the dog.

I’m home now, passing the grotesque, uninviting, terrifying inhospitable building, pausing short of breath questioning was it real or was it all a bad dream? I steady my footing, let out an amen and a great big “FUCK YOU, fuck the whole lot of you” under my breath while speeding up my gait.

My girl, pet-friendly crooks her neck way back, and her eyes tell me all that I need to know. I am less selfish, less mad, and more me than yesterday.

 

#Author Diaries – Christy Lynn Abram, author of Little Miss Somebody

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#AUTHOR DIARIES IS PLEASED TO WELCOME CHRISTY LYNN ABRAM, GRAVITY IMPRINT AUTHOR OF Little Miss Somebody.

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Christy Lynn Abram is an Author, poet and Wholistic Muse. Through her books, workshops and insightful articles, Christy inspires others to find peace after trauma. Look for Little Miss Somebody’s release with Gravity Imprint in the spring. Read more about her eclectic and enlightening  journey of self- discovery at: www.christylynnabram.com

What is your book’s genre/category? Fiction/Coming of Age

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Please describe what the story/book is about. Little Miss Somebody is the story of one girl’s journey to escape her abusive mother and find the love she desperately needs.

NOW FOR THE JUICY, FUN PART ~ DISCOVERING MORE ABOUT WHAT MAKES YOU, THE AUTHOR TICK.

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Please pick 15 random questions from Proust’s Questionnaire and answer.

What is your idea of perfect happiness? Perfect happiness is peace to me. Being still; free from worry, anger and disappointment. Just being.

What is your greatest fear? My greatest fear is I will have regrets. It’s scary to think I will be old one day. I want to make sure I do all the things my heart longs for.

What is your current state of mind? Movement. I am always thinking of new ways to be innovative and free.

On what occasion do you lie? I don’t lie often, but usually when I feel I’ve done something really wrong or someone is mad at me. It’s habit. But, I have to tell the truth my conscious eats at me.

What do you most dislike about your appearance? My weight. I’ve let stress and anxiety get the best of me. I’m working on changing my habits now.

What is the quality you most like in a man? Strength and loyalty. I like to feel safe. Like he can take care of me. That’s why I’m with my husband.

When and where were you happiest? I am the happiest now.

Which talent would you most like to have? Creativity. I love to create and design. I’m an interior designer also.

What do you consider your greatest achievement? Speaking my truth. It unlocked a lot of my inner turmoil. I am so grateful that I stepped out on faith.

Where would you most like to live? In Europe.

Which historical figure do you most identify with? Buddha. I love his peacefulness.

How would you like to die? As an old woman surrounded by love and lightworkers.

What motivated you to write the book and what have you learned about yourself from the process?

My past. I wanted to tell my story to support and inspire other trauma survivors. I’ve learned that I matter, and to be proud of courage and tenacity.


Thank you Christy for living in the light, sharing your Wholistic  experience and knowledge with others and being true to you in spite of the trauma and life challenges endured.

Wishing you continued success with your writing pursuits and truth seeking. I look forward to the anticipated Gravity Imprint release of Little Miss Somebody.


Website: http://christylynnabram.com

You can follow Christy around the web

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorchristylynnabram

Twitter: https://twitter.com/wholisticmuse

Google + : https://plus.google.com/+ChristyAbramL/posts


ABOUT JACQUELINE CIOFFA

Jackie Cioffa bio

Jacqueline Cioffa was an international model, celebrity make up artist, world traveler and storyteller. Living with manic depression, she is an advocate for mental health awareness, and author of the poignant literary fiction debut, The Vast Landscape and sequel Georgia Pine.

“The essence continues because you do. Harrison leaves the door open a crack. I seize the opportunity to revisit my whole, healthy self a bit longer, live in the mystic beach home I adore, dream eyes open. Hope is our greatest asset. To choose hope against the worst possible odds is the true measure of life.” ~ Georgia Pine by Jacqueline Cioffa

Look for her new column, “Bleeding Ink” with Feminine Collective.

The Infamous Proust Questionnaire

In the 1880s, long before he claimed his status as one of the greatest authors of all time, teenage Marcel Proust (July 10, 1871–November 18, 1922) filled out an English-language questionnaire given to him by his friend Antoinette, the daughter of France’s then-president, as part of her “confession album” — a Victorian version of today’s popular personality tests, designed to reveal the answerer’s tastes, aspirations, and sensibility in a series of simple questions. Proust’s original manuscript, titled “by Marcel Proust himself,” wasn’t discovered until 1924, two years after his death. Decades later, the French television host Bernard Pivot, whose work inspired James Lipton’s Inside the Actor’s Studio, saw in the questionnaire an excellent lubricant for his interviews and began administering it to his guests in the 1970s and 1980s. In 1993, Vanity Fair resurrected the tradition and started publishing various public figures’ answers to the Proust Questionnaire on the last page of each issue.