Basically, that's my life's goal.
(See above Post Title).
All I want to be around; have my life filled with; work with are the aforementioned items/things/whatever.
I worked as a veterinary assistant for nearly five years at a podunk animal hospital in the valley. I loved it most of the time for a few reasons: the clients loved me and I loved them (I loved their animals and they laughed at my jokes....the humans, not the animals) and obviously that is the quickest way to my egocentric heart: Laugh at my jokes and I'll love you forever.
But just to BE in the company of animals constantly was heaven.
My boss, not so much. The Doctor (who shall remain nameless) did NOT love animals in anywhere NEAR the same stratosphere that I did and was just a difficult person in general, to put it charitably.
It was the only time in my professional life where I quit a job in a fiery blaze of angry glory: I left him a letter during his lunch hour, explaining to him in a myriad of reasons why I thought he was a horrible human being and left my key under the door. Goodbye.
My mother was just starting to get sicker and sicker at that point and unfortunately, I would've had to leave that job at some point soon anyway (although that wasn't apparent at that time yet) to become her full-time caretaker.
And so it was. I left that behind and I miss it. At the same time, I was undergoing my longest stretch of sobriety, yet. I lived a monk's life, as my brother put it at the time. I would walk a couple of miles to work in the morning, put on my scrubs, tend to animals, walk the couple of miles back home in the evening and go out onto a large balcony that we had and tend to various herbs and vegetables that I had planted. I considered myself an amateur botanist. It was beautiful therapy to combat the tremors and constant, near-murderous anger that plagues the newly recovering Alcoholic.
It was zen and peace.
It was the precursor to a hell that I wasn't yet aware was coming my way. Yet, I weirdly miss those days. Plants and animals; animals and plants. Peace and quiet. Love and acceptance.
I'm trying to re-institute those elements back into my life again. I don't know how yet, but in smaller ways I figure it can be achieved.
I think Art comes in the way one simply lives and I think it can be created by just doing what you think is beautiful.
Still trying to figure out how to turn it into commerce and profit, but that's the common problem.
The EASIEST part for me is finding art in those every day things; people, buildings, pictures, words, plants and animals. Just moments.
And in a way, it's heartbreakingly easy. I want everyone to see the world that way.
(See above Post Title).
All I want to be around; have my life filled with; work with are the aforementioned items/things/whatever.
I worked as a veterinary assistant for nearly five years at a podunk animal hospital in the valley. I loved it most of the time for a few reasons: the clients loved me and I loved them (I loved their animals and they laughed at my jokes....the humans, not the animals) and obviously that is the quickest way to my egocentric heart: Laugh at my jokes and I'll love you forever.
But just to BE in the company of animals constantly was heaven.
My boss, not so much. The Doctor (who shall remain nameless) did NOT love animals in anywhere NEAR the same stratosphere that I did and was just a difficult person in general, to put it charitably.
It was the only time in my professional life where I quit a job in a fiery blaze of angry glory: I left him a letter during his lunch hour, explaining to him in a myriad of reasons why I thought he was a horrible human being and left my key under the door. Goodbye.
My mother was just starting to get sicker and sicker at that point and unfortunately, I would've had to leave that job at some point soon anyway (although that wasn't apparent at that time yet) to become her full-time caretaker.
And so it was. I left that behind and I miss it. At the same time, I was undergoing my longest stretch of sobriety, yet. I lived a monk's life, as my brother put it at the time. I would walk a couple of miles to work in the morning, put on my scrubs, tend to animals, walk the couple of miles back home in the evening and go out onto a large balcony that we had and tend to various herbs and vegetables that I had planted. I considered myself an amateur botanist. It was beautiful therapy to combat the tremors and constant, near-murderous anger that plagues the newly recovering Alcoholic.
It was zen and peace.
It was the precursor to a hell that I wasn't yet aware was coming my way. Yet, I weirdly miss those days. Plants and animals; animals and plants. Peace and quiet. Love and acceptance.
I'm trying to re-institute those elements back into my life again. I don't know how yet, but in smaller ways I figure it can be achieved.
I think Art comes in the way one simply lives and I think it can be created by just doing what you think is beautiful.
Still trying to figure out how to turn it into commerce and profit, but that's the common problem.
The EASIEST part for me is finding art in those every day things; people, buildings, pictures, words, plants and animals. Just moments.
And in a way, it's heartbreakingly easy. I want everyone to see the world that way.
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