Today, we’re winning.

This post was due yesterday, but… life.

It was supposed to be one of those quick and easy writing projects with a specific goal. The ones where words tumble out so deliberately and evenly that it almost reads too easily.

It was supposed to tell you to contribute here, to Stories That Must Not Die, because everyone has a story, and even just the simplicity of that idea is what pulls the rest of us through. It was supposed to say that there is a home here– for your strangest, most painful, most complicated, most vague words. And for you.

It’s supposed to explain how, after living a series of dramatic Stories, I have a new appreciation for the strength it takes to tell them, so there will be a space on Rarasaur blog for everyone who contributes here. A page link to all contributors, and a rotating banner image on the site featuring one Story a week. I’m sure others will do the same.

In other words, you will be heard.
And so will your mother, or your best friend who doesn’t have a blog, or the art-only-blogger, and that poet-blogger, and that kitty-blogger, and our youngester-blogger, and even that vlogger fellow.

This is a place for Stories, and their Tellers.
You are welcome by our campfire, no matter how you tell your tale.

I only hesitated because I thought I’d spruce it up, Rara-style, which requires a little one-on-one time at the computer.

I call this Rara-Style. Others call it CrazySauce.

But then… life.

For those of you who have followed my life, you’re probably imagining Really Big Things, but the truth is– nothing exceptional happened in that ellipses.

But it crippled me anyway.

• My always-cheerful, wonderfully-positive boss said, “That’s our only problem, we don’t dream big ENOUGH.” And I started to wonder if there was something wrong with me, because I really don’t dream at all. I made a whole blog for a vision board, and it’s basically blank.
• My cat became sick. In a year of taking care of them on his own, with no resources or help, my husband kept them well. In less than two weeks, I made one sick. I didn’t know what to do, or how to do it– and a constipated cat became the symbol for my entire future.
• Then I woke up at 6:15am again. Doors pop at 6:15am, for chowtime at the women’s prison. Day 27 of freedom and I’m still counting days and living on their schedule. It may never change.

I may never change:  helpless-pointless-me may just putter through life as a dream-constipated free-prisoner forever more.

In which case, does this post even matter?

Then I read my first reader-email of the day:

“You’re always so ON it, so ladylike, so perfect timed. You post so regularly despite everything that happened. It’s like doesn’t even slow you down. I’m nowhere near that strong.”

And it reminded why this place exists.

It’s those damn dots.
We ellipses what should be spoken.

I’m not always on it. Sometimes I call people when they’re trying to give their toddler his much needed sleep. Sometimes I miss deadlines and realize I’m so far behind that I might as well stop moving. Occasionally, I text people details about the state of my cat’s bowel movements. Regularly, I curl up in a ball and let life beat the living dinosaur out of me.
Rara-style.

How I Sometimes Think Others See Me

How I look for at least 3 dots a day.

Life doesn’t just slow me down.
Life pummels me. Bloodies me. Trips me up.

Every day I don’t go extinct, I drop a straw in a caffeinated beverage, and call it a win, because it’s not easy. I don’t sail through it. I’m so-incredibly-not good at everything.

Most days end with me on the floor like the ice cream top that falls out of a cone.

And the only reason I get up again is that I know I’m not the only one, and because there always seems to be a helping hand stretched out at the peripheral of my melted vision.

And because … 5-second rule.

So I’m here to tell you:

Trust us with your story.
Even the small ones.

Share what happens in your three dots.

Tell us what you need so we can be the hand in your peripheral.

And remember that it’s just a Story, and the things we are in those passing three dots are just temporary. They didn’t make us extinct. They probably aren’t even true.

And we certainly won’t let them hold us down.

Put a straw in a caffeinated beverage, reach out your hand to a friend, and count out the three dots and 5-seconds that we survived.

Today, we’re winning.

________________________

Share your story:
https://storiesthatmustnotdie.wordpress.com/share-your-story/

How do you celebrate the survival of a day?