So long old friend.....

Shortly after she woke up this morning, Jen opened the back door that leads onto our porch and discovered something terrible. The local raccoon had paid a visit overnight and killed my pet turtle who was in a small basin on the table. I went out, surveyed the damage, sat down and sobbed a bit. I've called my Mom sobbing today. TWICE. I'll probably cry again before the day is through. Over a turtle, you ask? Yeah. A really great turtle.

I don't remember exactly when I caught the musk turtle I'd later name Stinkpot, but in my mind it was right around the beginning of high school, maybe 1985? Stinkpot hailed from Little Squam Lake in the small town of Holderness, New Hampshire. It was an unimaginitive name, since Sternotherus odoratus is commonly known as a stinkpot. It was like naming a cat Kitty. I remember him giving off the musky stink the species releases as a defense when captured, but I was clearly undeterred, and decided right then and there that he would be my pet and come live with me in New York City.

I'm a reptile and amphibian guy (a herpetophile, if you must). I always have been, as long as I can remember. I grew up with four older sisters, none of whom feared reptiles in the least. I always remember there being pet turtles in the house. We spent a nice chunk of our summer every year on Squam Lake, which is where I learned how to catch frogs and turtles and I'm sure those turtles from my memories were from. I remember a painted turtle named Green Slime, after a patch of algae where it was found. Maybe unimaginative turtle names run in the family.

Appreciating reptiles is sort of like appreciating houseplants. You can't expect the kind of interaction you'll get with furry pets, but turtles are probably the best reptile ambassadors. They move at their own pace and can live to be hundreds of years old. They're cute...look at a hatchling turtle and tell me otherwise. Stinkpot's personality was a mix of reclusive and inquisitive, typical turtle. When I'd remove him from the water, he'd pull into his shell, but when set down, he'd slowly emerge, his kind little face pushing it's way out. Taking deep breaths through that little pointed snoot, he'd crane out his neck to survey his surroundings with those strangely expressive eyes. I used to put the very tip of my finger in the water and watch him slowly and very deliberately get ready to strike at it. He never got me, I could see it coming a mile away. But I thoroughly enjoyed watching him go through the paces at his own pace.

The last few years he'd been living in a community tank with 2 other turtles, including Gertie, a Florida cooter who absolutely dwarfed him in size. Those two were the best of friends, always basking together, sometimes with Stinkpot using Gertie as his basking rock. I liked that they got along, big turtle and small turtle, different species but turtles united under the order Chelonia. Stinkpot was an adult when I caught him, and was a pet for at least 25 years, pretty much my adult life. For all I know, he could have been older than me. That turtle knew me when I was a virgin with two legs. He was around that time I had a mullet, for all those relationships that went sour and felt like the end of the world. How much easier my life would have been all those years if I could have just taken it at his pace.

When I took him out here just recently to give him some TLC for the skin fungus he'd contracted, he seemed older. He'd lost a lot of the stored fat that made his legs look like he'd been filled into his shell with a piping bag and he didn't seem to have the same kind of energy he once did. I wondered if he may not be at the end of his road. But the fungus got better, and he was eating, only to get poached by a raccoon. That should have been the one thing I didn't have to worry about protecting him from in the big city. It was really hard seeing him torn and shucked like an oyster, an empty upside down shell buzzing with flies. It was like getting called in to ID your murdered friend.

I thought about keeping his shell, but realized I had no desire to clean it of what flesh remained, nor did I want a memory of finding him that way. I'd bury him if I didn't fear raccoons coming to exhume him. I hate the fact that I just have to discard him. He's not trash. I lost a longtime companion, even if he was only a reptile. The sadness I feel speaks to the positive effect he had on my life. I will truly miss him, and it's killing me that he went the way he did, even though it was in the most natural of ways. Not even the city can hold the laws of nature in check. Stinkpot, you were a fine specimen, and I am most grateful for all the time I had you in my care.

I'll end with a link to a fantastic NY Times article about turtles from a few years back. Read it if you've got the time, it will make you appreciate the ambassadors of the reptile world a little more.

Sunday Blues

Sundays are the day I have to go online to certify my claim to get my weekly unemployment benefits. I hate doing it. It reminds me that I'm still unemployed and have been unemployed for close to a year. When my last job ended, it was with a mix of worries and relief. I didn't want to be out of a job, but I'd been looking for other employment opportunities for close to six months at that point. The job was stressful, and for a long time it had been taking a toll on me. I had a month of vacation time coming my way that I had never gotten to take, so when it ended, I was ready. But now I'm more than ready to get back to work.

Being unemployed sucks. The benefits aren't great, but I couldn't survive without them. Job searches are this crazy rollercoaster ride of building hopes, then disappointments, then having to start all over. That's been when I'm even getting called in for interviews. Many, many more resumes get sent off into the ether, never to be seen or heard from again. I've never, EVER been good at selling myself. Pretty much every job I've had I've gotten through either a backdoor or by attrition. And now I'm 40, competing against graduates half my age. It's a tough situation, and I know a lot of people have it worse than I do, so I try not to dwell on it, but today it hit me kind of hard. I'm over this. I want to get my life back and not keep playing a waiting game and living in limbo.

Sometimes you have no choice but to push forward, and this is one of those situations. Tomorrow's another day.

OHISASHIBURI

As they say in Japanese, it's been a while. No need to expound on the reasons why. To bring things up to speed, I'm out of work, been so for longer than I've hoped to be and I'm actively looking to change that. I also turned 40, so I've turned a corner in my life and I'm thinking about how to reinvent and repackage myself. It's been alternately interesting, depressing, and scary. Recently, David Horvath (the creator of Uglydolls) has been posting a lot of great stuff on his Google + stream. By great stuff I mean really wonderful advice from a guy who has made it big doing it his way. He doesn't sugarcoat it. He straight up says that you're going to encounter failures, but he also comes across like the life coach I've been looking for. It's been really inspirational. It's hard to find your mojo. Harder still to maintain it until it bears fruit. Hardest of all, finding it again when you feel that you've lost it. David's online pep talks have been amazing, and have lit a fire under my ass.

Today I got messaged on Facebook from a colleague from my old job. Despite the fact that we've never met in person (he's in Los Angeles, I'm in New York. Really wish it had happened, just never came to pass), I've always felt that we had a good rapport, which is actually not so crazy to think in the age of the internet. Anyway, he was just reaching out to me. The company we both worked for has been having a hard time of it the last couple of months, and both of our positions got eliminated. It was nice to hear from someone in such a genuine, unspoiled fashion. In stark contrast, I haven't heard word one from my old boss/head of the company. Not even a "thanks for everything, wish you well". It was really disappointing. Disheartening even. But then out of the clear blue, "hey, how're you doing?". People surprise me and disappoint me in equal measure.

Today I also had a talk with my neighbor about the outdoor space we share. To be fair, we had been encroaching on his space in recent weeks, and he just made the perfectly valid point about not wanting to have to look at somebody else's stuff. We'll ignore the fact that he doesn't separate his trash, drag the building trash to the curb, or shovel the walk when it snows for now. But the encounter itself was uncomfortable for me. It reminded me that one of my real weaknesses is that I hate conflict with people. I'm fine with angry conflict, probably a little too comfortable. When we lived on Sullivan Street, we had these asshole neighbors who just co-opted a courtyard space in the building that happened to look directly into our apartment. I eventually confronted them about it. It was extremely hard for me to do, and talking to my neighbor today I had that same shitty feeling in my gut. Was I turning into the asshole neighbor? This fucker never once cleared the steps when it snowed 8 inches a week once a week for the entire month of January. But he pays rent, and that space is his, even if I feel it would be better used by me. I was in the wrong, and he was right for calling me out on it.

I think one of the reasons I stopped blogging for so long was that I was always looking for some kind of way to wrap up disparate things I wanted to write about in some kind of neat fashion. It has been cool to find something I needed without even really looking for it, thanks to David for that. Anonymous colleague, I hope we do get to meet in person some day. Downstairs neighbor, I appreciate you coming to me to address your issues. I hope you know that despite the fact that I hope you move out and somebody much cooler moves in, I never want to be the bad neighbor. I know how shitty they can make things. And to myself, need to work on resolving conflicts in a way that doesn't leave me obsessing about them, because that does me no good whatsoever.