Tuesday, July 24, 2018

My Studio is Cool

It was hot all day Monday—really hot. But the studio, where I worked all day on the cat palace, was cool. Sheba seems to feel the heat too. She doesn’t want to go for walks or play the ball for too long. 
It’s absolutely fabulous working on a craft project in the summer heat but in a nice bright cool studio—and the best part is that for the first time in my life I don’t have to clean up every day. I just turn off the lights and go back to the house. This is the first time in my life I’ve lived with a dedicated studio space. I am blissed out by my good fortune.  
I bought two gift hampers for the raffle from Costco. Now I can relax about securing enough raffle donations. Buying a lot of the stuff I need has me feeling I’m doing sufficient work—and I’ve plenty of time left to finish the palace.
There’s magic happening here. Sheba, Fred, Ethel and I get closer every day. Fred and Ethel have discovered the joy of having me scratch their necks and there’s no flinching whatsoever any more when I pat them. They are totally accepting and purr the moment they are touched and Sheba never leaves me. She and I play a lot together at night and we have exercise sessions during the days.  Everybody likes this summer weather.
My speech is really bad and has been for several days. It’s weird that a drug can so effectively treat my seizures but not my speech. I have to talk in my Dingo voice a lot.
When I’m having real trouble speaking, people who know me will say, “Switch to your Dingo voice.” They think I can do it like that! Snap! But I can’t. I’m not an actor; I have no previous experience “being” someone else. I have to “find” Dingo and I don’t really know how I do it. 
When someone recently said to use it, I could hear myself trying to find it. I always find it and it only takes seconds, but I can’t change instantly and the challenge gives credence to what Dr. Shoja says—that I use a different neural pathway. And that’s what it’s like.
When I was walking through France, I was following a trail that led out of agricultural area into a wooded area. I followed the trail up the hill. It was easy, but when I came to its crest I came upon a quarry and a several trails exited down the backside of the hill where I had to go and I had no idea which one to take.
I always think of the terror of that moment when people tell me to speak as Dingo. I can never find the path. It’s trial and error. But I chose the right trail in France and I always find Dingo.
I’ve lived here for almost ten months and I’ve never locked the doors of my house. Now I never even close them. I leave them wide open—they are screened to keep the cats in—day and night. I love the forest scent I can often smell in the house and that birdsong is indoors too.

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