I love animals.
Every kind. Size.Shape. Doesnt matter.
I wish I could save them all. And make sure they never had to suffer. And provide a great life. And great homes. And lots of wild open space. And more trees. And more food. And more love.
I just watched a video a girl made for her hamster. I have been sobbing for a while. I dont know why I do it to myself? I hate it. Just makes me so sad.
But it makes me happy too. Because I know that little hamster was completely loved and will be missed and thought of. A lot of people think that small animals are not as important as dogs and cats. I have to say that is completely untrue. No living thing is greater than another.
I have two dogs. I'm very close with them. I love and respect them both. They are my friends, and my family. They always seem to understand me, even though we dont speak in the traditional way.
I have a ferret. He is my greatest joy in life. I coddle him, and love him. I help him grow and explore. I take good care of him and watch over him like a mother.
I even had a very close relationship with my fish, Lancelot, whom unfortunately isnt with me any longer. I bought him from a mall. He was a tiny little grey speck swimming around in a baby bottle when I brought him home. He grew into a handsome siamese fighting fish with an enormous personality. He was so smart, and cute. I would sit and watch him for a long time. When I walked into the room he would dart at the glass because he was excited to see me. He used to dance with me when I danced in front of his tank. And jump out of the water to grab piece of broccoli, peas, and fish food out of my hands. He even used to swim to the surface and let me pet him. He brought me so much happiness and love.
Every animal I have ever had has been loved and fawned over. I just dont understand how people can be so cruel to these poor little creatures that a lot of times depend on our kindness to survive. It disgusts me. Its one of the things that keeps me awake at night. I just feel so powerless to change it.

I must have been around five. Or Six maybe. Well I think thats how old I was. The memory is cloudy and far off. My grandfather was going through his things, and  I was sitting on the bed watching him. I can see the crammed bedroom with it's dangerous splintery floors. I can smell the dusty scent of old powder and years of filth. 
To provide some background, I grew up in my grandparent's home. My grandmother raised me. And my grandfather slept all day, worked all night, and had obsessive hoarding disorder. I grew up in a house that was so crammed full of things there was hardly enough room for myself. My grandfather's "stuff" overpowered the entire house spilling into places that were supposed to be sacred. Like the bathroom, and even my bedroom. I slept on a twin sized mattress. It never had a sheet covering it because there was no way to get one on with all the clutter piled high all around it. I had no friends because my home was not a normal place. I played made up games alone. Pretending I was someone else for hours in small isles that we used to walk through the enormous collection of junk that our small house was completely filled with.
Mice ran rampant. Everything was disgusting. I lived off of instant soup, and chef boyardee. Anything I could cook for myself. At four years old cooking skills are pretty limited. The microwave was perched way up on a shelf that I couldn't reach, even standing on a chair. So I boiled my cans of breakfast lunch and dinner in dirty pans on the stove. When I came downstairs from bed each morning I would toss my shoe into the kitchen before I entered to let the mice know I was coming and scare them into their hiding places. Eventually, I got used to their presence and decided they were my cute little friends. I remember avoiding the places that I knew my grandparents had placed traps in fear of spotting one of my beloved mice, my only little friends, stuck on a glue board or smashed in a snap trap.
I grew up in complete chaos. Puzzled by many things around me. Tormented by gross images that burned themselves into my reverie. But this day, in my grandparent's bedroom, began my young life's most bothersome mystery. A mystery that burned eternal throughout my days and still remains unclear to me today.
My grandfather used to force me to sit and watch him rifle through random boxes of junk. He stopped and gave a long winded explanation about each and every single thing he came across. I would have to sit for hours and endure this kind of thing. On this particular day he was going through his bedroom dresser. One drawer at a time. Piece by piece. For what seemed like forever. His dresser didn't contain clothes like other people's did. Instead it had random pieces of junk spilling over the sides of the drawers. Everything from christmas ornaments, to random tools he would never use. Thirty year old letters and cards from people long gone from his now secluded existence. As he worked his way through one of the drawers, explaining each piece of shit that he found, he stumbled across something that immediately evoked awkwardness.
I couldn't really tell what it was. It was rubber and flesh colored. I vaguely recognized it as something that had to do with being a boy although I wasn't really too sure. Stupidly, my five year old self asked my flustered grandfather "Papa, what is that thing?" Though it is apparent to me today that this was a huge flesh colored dildo, my grandfather explained that it was part of a halloween costume he once had. I envisioned him in a big flesh colored cat suit wit this plastic thing snapped into place between the legs. After stating that this was his halloween costume from long ago, he told me he loved to dress up and had won many prizes for best costume at many parties in his day. He proceeded to share pictures of himself dressed as a woman. An entire album dedicated to his drag days. Posed in strange positions. Scantily clad.
I cant explain it. I'll never understand it. It is completely beyond me why this caused me so much pain as a child. But at this moment my outlook and relationship with my grandfather changed and would never be the same. I would always be afraid of him. And I would always be aware that he was a little different from other grandfathers. I remember always being wary, waiting for the next inappropriate conversation (they did come frequently after this). I wondered till my heart ached. I pondered over my grandfather's sexuality at a time when I wasn't too sure what sexuality was. It seemed dirty. It bothered me. Why was he married to my grandmother? This was really the beginning of some major confusion and pain for me.     

I'm mostly looking for tranquility. I have so much to do this year... and I'm just trying to figure out how to not rip my hair out doing it all. School. And work. And family. And friends. And boyfriend. These things all want a piece of me and it gets so crazy sometimes.
2009 was not a very smooth year for me. I lost my cool a lot. And had quite a few mental melt downs. This year I just want to be calm and collected.

   

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