Santa Claws!!

Hi everyone! I volunteer at Chicagoland Animal Rescue, a PetSmart Charities organization. Our biggest fundraiser of the year is the pictures with Santa. Adam is suiting up again this year on the 9th, but feel free to come in any of our four days!

If you can't read the flier but want the info, let me know and I'll get it to you. We can always use volunteers, but please bring in your furry friends!! From every $9 photo package we sell, the shelter receives $5. We've seen all kinds of animals (cats, dogs, hamsters, ferrets, rats etc.), just make sure you follow the store guidelines when you bring them in.

It's a great cause, believe me. We adopted Houdini last year from them, so we know first hand how much work they put into every rescue. Not to mention, I write all of their newsletters. ;) Feel free to pass this on to whomever you think might be interested in a picture, volunteering, fostering or adopting one of our many felines! Thanks much for reading, I know I got a little wordy but I thought I might explain a bit more than what's in the flier. Let me know if you need more info!!

Anew - ignore the awful sentence structure please

Yes, this is yet another foray of mine into the world of online journaling/blogging/posting/what have you. I used to keep a paper journal through most of grammar school. I most likely threw it away at some point during high school, but I kept writing (online and off) for about six years after that. I can remember two very clear moments when I lost the desire to write.

I took a creative writing elective during college, thinking that it would be good experience to learn some actual form and encourage myself to be confident in what I wrote. I never felt accepted enough, or that I ever met their standards. Especially when we had to read our work out loud in class. OUT. LOUD. I hate having a room full of strangers (or for that matter, people I know) look at me while I read my own creative work. I can handle reading research papers, but not something I've written from my soul/heart/mind. I feel too exposed and vulnerable, and incredibly inferior.

The other moment is when my mother discovered a poem I had written about my grandmother's death, and essentially made it part of her funeral. I just can't handle that public outing. I can't. I shut down so much after my grandmother died that I'm afraid to start writing again for fear that I'll never stop crying.

All of this fear is part of the reason I quit playing music. The public display, the ego that supposedly shields one from the stares and the non-committal comments. It's just too much for my negative self-esteem to handle.

This all coming to mind on a rainy night, two days before the anniversary of my grandmother's death. So I apologize for the stream of consciousness babble and the awful sentence structure I have put before you (whoever may find this).

I love you, gram.