must be written.

Remember when I met Whitey?

I met Whitey one day after work in Korea. It was March. It was raining. I had previously written about anxiety.

Anxiety was on high. I was lost. I was reading the History of Beauty paradoxically enough. 

I heard whimpers outside.

I found a puppy. Took him in, tried to keep him. Tried everything to make it work. Paid my vet to watch him, tried to walk him every lunch hour, tried to keep him in my balcony, tried to keep him outside.

Tried to put puppy diapers on him, tried to have my neighbour watch him.

I loved Whitey so much. I was lonely. I was alone.

Whitey loved me. I took care of him.

But of course my beloved beautiful dear readers...I forgot to tell you...

Whitey was never really mine.

No, he wasn't.

It was me doing my old thing again. Hurricane'ing, waltzing in, tying myself up to something that didn't fit.

Taking care of Whitey hurt. Losing Whitey almost made me lose my mind. But I get it now.

It's not supposed to be so hard. It's just not.

We go on. We love. If I knew now, I'd still do the same. I'd still take in a strange dog. I'd still toss it up, turn it around and hope for the best.

“If you knew what was going to happen, if you knew everything that was going to happen next—if you knew in advance the consequences of your own actions—you'd be doomed. You'd be ruined as God. You'd be a stone. You'd never eat or drink or laugh or get out of bed in the morning. You'd never love anyone, ever again. You'd never dare to.” M. Atwood

“But in the end, back she comes. There's no use resisting. She goes to him for amnesia, for oblivion. She renders herself up, is blotted out; enters the darkness of her own body, forgets her name. Immolation is what she wants, however briefly. To exist without boundaries.” 

I hope for steel. I hope for bone. I hope for the kind of strength I'm learning I never had to acquire. I hope.

In January, I told 2 boys I'd teach in my novel study class that Pandora's box also contained hope.

Hope alongside all those horrors.

Why?

Not because we need hope to cope with them.

No.

Because hope is also a horror.

Except when it's another puppy. Who's waiting. [kaspy - August] As tired as I am, here's to hope.