Wicked Wellstone

August 16, 2013

Crowds of ecstatic children surround me in the lobby of the Wellstone building in my neighborhood. I approach the Volunteer Coordinator to offer to facilitate a support group for young women, to create a sub-culture of self-aware individuals, who may have a greater chance at overcoming life’s greatest challenges. People need others to confide in, communicate complicated problems, solve threatening issues, trust, count-on, push and prod, as well as create a new and self-educated environment at home and work. Though the Wellstone representative disagrees with me, I refuse to give up this chance of being a part of the agency and supporting women to fulfill their dreams, goals and feel less at-risk in their sanded-down lives. If changing a system were easy, everyone would be doing it.

The cat, whose gums are slightly less red than yesterday, is stretched-out in my lap, warming me to the boiling point. Ty is lying on the hardwood floor next to the couch, waiting for the moment I make noise to get up, and head off to my bed. It has been a tiring day of little accomplishment, save a shared dinner, and walk with a friend who is kind enough to listen to my blather-on about a frustrating time in my existence. I am grateful for the large ears and wide shoulders surrounding me these days.