Returning to the Path

On the Thursday night of May's dawn, as I prepared to go out and aid a friend in drowning her sorrows over Fireball and a crowded dance floor, what I thought was the potential for a breakthrough in my relationship became a break-up.  Via text message.  In reflection, I was probably as surprised to see him suggest it as he was to have me respond with "okay," but I told myself that what's done is done and likely for the best.
Rather smoothly, Orion and Artemis decided to go their separate ways.  As it turns out, Artemis is a bit needy, and Orion needs to start thinking about settling down with the right womb-an, preferably one confident enough in the relationship not to need what was fondly referred to by him as Awkward-Wednesday Talks.  It was not really how I had preferred to spend my beloved Odin days, either, by the way, but I am and will always be hopelessly and stubbornly fond of the idea of open communication.  This particular evening's attempt just ended badly, is all.  It's 10:40pm when I set my phone aside and take another look in the mirror, a bit satisfied to not see Artemis on the surface.  But, there again, Thursday nights belong to the Morrigan in my soul.  Seth goes into his cage just before 11, and I lock the door and wait amongst the stars for Nick and Rick to pull into the drive.  I do not look up at the sky.  I refuse the attention of a winking constellation.


Arriving at Thursday's Lounge by 11:30, I text Allee to see if she's already inside.  It didn't take long for the petite blonde to find me, beer in hand, ex lover following closely behind.  How so very quickly one can become the fifth wheel.  But, truthfully, I didn't mind.  The dance floor is a hunting ground for my Morrigan, and though I really wasn't up for anything, I needed to dance.  I needed to remember to move for me, to celebrate my self.  I needed to appear like I was collected and prepared for the next stage, whatever that held in store.  

If you had seen me, I may have fooled you.  I seemed carefree, happy, open.  Nick knew.  He watched me carefully, too.  Five shots of Fireball didn't get me into as much trouble as one would expect, however mixed as it might have been with my emotional disruption.  I was fairly pleased with myself.  And distraught.  And afraid.  Of morning.  Of mourning.  Of morning.  But, first there's sleep, and dreaming, and before that - dance.  A quick text message after shot two and four slaps on the butt by strangers I didn't return attention to, and I was surrounded by my best friends in Ohio and no longer wheel five.  The look Nick gives me is one of "behave," but I don't need the reminder.  Artemis is pining, or pouting.  The Morrigan just wants to dance, and maybe show that she can be desired.  But, the night is empty.  The lights do not feel the same on my skin.  Still, we stay until Thursday's closes and we're nearly three hours into Friday morning, and I try to pretend as I fall to sleep on Patti's couch, I won't have to wake in the morning.

But, eyes open.

When the sadness started to creep over me like a low wave on Friday morning, Seth sat himself in front of me and lifted a paw for me to hold, his ears back against his head.  As I reached out to pet him, something beautiful (and a little awful) dawned on me.  So, I asked myself, "How would you feel if Seth were in a place that he wasn't petted, held, adored, or complimented as often as he is?"  I cannot tell you, truly, how many times I find myself letting him know he's gorgeous, but with beauty like his it's a bit difficult to keep it in.  But, back to my question, which I answered with a bit of outrage and a whole lot of hugging, it turns out it's a two-parter.  If I can't stand the idea of Seth not receiving the care he deserves, why would I allow myself to go without the same?  I'm not sure why I didn't think of it before, but I have decided that from now on I will demand to be treated as well as my dog.  I try to keep this in mind each moment I realize I won't be seeing the grin I'd become so fond of.  It almost helps.  But, no, not really.  The grin still taunts me.   

As is my habit when I'm going through an emotional spiral, I made plans for the day.  Plans for the evening had been added to my schedule the Monday before, but four in the afternoon was a long time away when I woke so pathetically at 7:30.  After a nonexistant breakfast and half a cup of coffee, first on my list is turning in a job application.  A peaceful mile walk by my lonesome seems to be just what I need.  I find that I'm smiling as I walk, listening to music and the breeze.  I'm smiling as I call Patti asking if there's some chance I might be lost, since I don't recognize any of the houses or apartments I've passed along the way, then laugh a "Never mind, I'll find it," more to myself than to her.  I'm smiling as a goose watches me with only the briefest interest as I pass his pond.  He doesn't have a mate either, it seems.  Cars and trucks move by with occupants that I do not glance at, and I continue to smile.  In the store, a stranger pauses to tell me that I have beautiful eyes, and while I appreciate the compliment, my mind triggers a gut response of wishfulness that it had been Austin who said it instead.  But, it wasn't.  I have a text message that says something about how my lack of input suggests agreement that it's a good idea, the break up.  I disagree with his take on it, but agree objectively with the end result.  There's a hawk feather in my purse that I found along the way.  The significance of this is still only half revealed to me, but in the past I marked my certainty of being on the right path, heading in the correct direction, or being where I was supposed to be by feathers found as I went wandering.

"Were you on the right path?" Patti asks me as I greet Seth after my hour absence to turn in an application at Drug Mart.  I laugh, a genuine projection that I've rather missed the sound of, and answer even as something like Guidance switches a light in my head.  Yes, I was on the right path.  I just thought I was lost.

Allee sends a SnapChat suggesting we go hiking, and I'm grateful for the intermission between a smiling morning walk and the slow restlessness of meeting a friend for coffee and catching up in the evening.  She picks me up before noon, and the three of us -- I the third wheel between Allee and Seth -- head to Quail Hollow for a couple hours before we introduce Seth to her dog, Tucker.  

The whole day holds possibility.  The evening, when it comes, is no different.  I'm reminded of my self, I'm reminded of what I've missed, and who.  I hug a tree and wonder if it hears me whisper a plea to let me stay.  It kisses me and finds evidence of my longing.  But, timing and fate tend to seem rather fickle when you're waiting for them to strike.  I still say, "Whatever will be, will be," even if I'm saying so with gritted teeth, or while wiping away evidence of emotional leakage.  Have I ever mentioned my aversion to "happily ever after"s?


Long overdue, I'll admit.
"Que Sera" by David Grey and Damien Rice.