Christy Wulff

I have three cats. I love them all, but I do have a favorite. Fenway, which was already his name when we adopted him, is a domestic short hair of the black and white persuasion. He has a very distinct personality. When I get home, he runs to the door – granted he’s just happy I’m home to feed him, but still. If I’m sad, he knows and comes to give me love. He sleeps with me every night. He tries to sleep on my pillow every night, but he’s 17 lbs so that never works out very well and he ends up at my feet. He’s the best cat ever in the history of ever.

Fenway the Cat

But.

Fenway has a digestive issue. Since he was a kitten he has had the most stinky, nasty poo I’ve ever seen come out of a cat. It is always runny and gross and just ew. My husband calls him ‘Funky-Funk’ and ‘The Notorious F-U-N-K’ or sometimes just ‘Notorious’ for short. The litter box has to be scooped out every day and the contents thrown into a plastic bag, which is then thrown in the special ‘poo poo trashcan’ that sits in the garage. The whole litter box is changed (emptied, scrubbed, refilled) by yours truly every weekend. It’s a whole thing.
With all of this nastiness (and if you know me, you know I am NOT one for dirty or nasty things anywhere NEAR my house), one would think I ought to harbor some ill will toward this cat. I don’t. I don’t even mind doing all of these things because if I didn’t do them, I wouldn’t have Fenway.

So.

I’ve been contemplating some things lately, you know, small things like life and my place here in this universe. I’ve also been hearing a lot about being grateful and how this perspective can indeed change your life. Up until last week I wasn’t on board with this concept as it just didn’t resonate with me. I didn’t see how someone could look past a bad situation and find something to be grateful for. Then, I thought of Fenway. Yes, changing a stinky litter box is small in comparison to some of the real shit life throws our way, but for me it was that moment when I finally got it. There is ALWAYS something to be grateful for. Perhaps you’ve guessed by now, but this post isn’t really about my cats. This post is the beginning of what I shall call The Litter Box Trials, which is essentially my commitment to live a more grateful life.
• Areas of focus: Husband, Child, Work, Other.
• My Plan: Gratitude journal, purposefully stop complaining, two gratitude letters per year

I’ll update you in a month and let you know where I stand and the impact this little trial has had on my day-to-day life. While you wait, here is a pic of me snuggling with Fenway.

Me and Fenway

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I’ve said it over and over; writer is who I am, author is what I do. Well, these days it’s more like: writer is who I am, stare-at-blank-pages-and-watch-my-amazon-ranking-decrease-by-the-nanosecond is what I do. I am a writer. No one can take that away from me. But in terms of writing to finish the multiple novels I have in progress, I’m not writing. Football teams get rebuilding years, so why can’t I? This, as in 2015, is my rebuilding year. I came out of the gate strong – a novel (or more) a year from 2008-2012, all of which were published in some form. I spent the entire year of 2013 editing my most recent failure, I mean novel, which was published in December of that same year…and I never really got back on the wagon. Publishing that book was the worst experience of my young writing career and left me jaded, bruised and certain that I, in fact, was not good enough to be an author. Yes, I spent a solid 12 months feeling sorry for myself. What can I say? I have a hard time letting things go.

To be fair, life has changed me too. I’m not the starry-eyed girl that I once was and now know there is no such thing as a story-book happily ever after. There’s ‘we might not kill each other and are too stubborn to just let things go’ and ‘I’m very attracted to you but it would be great if you didn’t speak or have an opinion’ and maybe, if you’re lucky, ‘we get along pretty well and still find each other’s thoughts and feelings relevant.’ Needless to say, love isn’t a go-to plot point for me these days. Now, I’m more about finding yourself in the blackness of life – carving out your little portion of forever and finding a shred of peace in the madness of existence. So I carve away, rebuilding something that could someday resemble a soul and read books like, ‘How To Fix Your Novel’ and ‘Writer’s Doubt’ both of which are very good, by the way.

I imagine this is what those who are truly mad must feel like when they stop taking their medication because they ‘feel fine’ and don’t need it anymore. I do need to write, but I just…can’t. Random thoughts jumble in my head at night when I try to sleep, odd words spill out into the emails and content of my day job and people I’ve never met are angry with me for refusing to finish their story. What if the sad truth of the matter is there is nothing left within me to share? What if the sad truth is…there never was?

Like I said – a rebuilding year.

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Welcome

The Litter Box Trials – An Experiment in Gratitude

Rebuilding