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Skittles: The Dog I Never Thought I Could Have Again

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  “I didn’t share this story at first because I didn’t know how it would end. Now I do.” On December 11, 2025, a small, skittish Rat Terrier showed up on our property. We live in a rural area where dog dumping happens far too often, so at first I assumed he was another heartbreaking case of that. He had no chip, no collar, and despite efforts from both me and animal control, no owner ever came forward. I’ve had Rat Terriers before. I knew the stance, the eyes, the “I’ve chosen you” energy. And once he decided I was his person, that was that. We adopted him. Some of you know pieces of this story, but for those who don’t — or who need a refresher — I want to share why this moment was so huge for me. Why I Thought I Could Never Have a Dog Again For years, I believed I could never safely have a dog. Not because I didn’t want one, but because of something I never imagined could be dangerous: topical estrogen . My first dog, Ranger, was sickly his entire life. I started topical estrogen ...
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The Audacity to Admit I Have a 10 Gallon Tank

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  Audacity: Not the loud or reckless version. The quiet courage to live fully on my own terms, trust my instincts, live with intention, and follow resonance even when it’s unfamiliar. The willingness to step into life with self‑trust, intuition, and a little fire. The part of me that says yes to experiences that expand me. I lived that way once. I’m living that way again. She’s back — and truth is, she never left. She’s just rising again .                                           I’ve carried the motorcycle gas-tank analogy with me for years. It started as a simple way to explain why I often felt out of sync with people — why conversations that seemed meaningful to others felt thin to me, why I could sit in the quiet corners of my mind for hours while others skimmed the surface of their own. Some people run on two‑ or three‑gallon tanks. Most run on five...
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🛕 Cloudy Yesterday, Sunny Today: A Ride Toward Release

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“Even in full sun, quiet truths can still shine.”  🗺️ Intention Taped to My Tank I set out this morning with a route taped to my gas tank and a quiet intention tucked in my heart. The destination: the Hindu Temple of Florida . (short video here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GKRMxifpHSE). Not my faith, but a space I hoped would hold my reverence. I wasn’t sure what I’d find—or what I’d feel—but I knew I needed movement, meaning, and maybe a little mercy. 🦕 Detours, Dinosaurs, and Daylight Moons The ride didn’t go exactly as planned. I missed a few turns, took the long way around, and passed a dinosaur outside MOSI. It made me laugh—symbolic of me, the almost-extinct HRIS analyst, still rumbling down the road on a hot pink, purple, and teal bike. Not extinct yet. The moon was visible in the daylight. That lifted me. A reminder that even in full sun, quiet truths can still shine. 🛕 Entering Sacred Space When I arrived at the temple, the morning ceremony was over. That felt like ...
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When Both Sides Proved My Point – Right wing/Left wing – Still the Same Bird

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  I didn’t set out to referee the culture war. But lately, the circus has been loud enough to rattle the windows of my quiet acreage. A meme popped up in my feed—one of those quote cards designed to trigger outrage. It claimed Rep. Jasmine Crockett said, “Just because someone has committed a crime, it doesn’t make them a criminal.” My first thought? No way she said that. It’s too absurd, even for politics. So I did what most people don’t: I checked. Turns out, she did say it—at least in a moment that appears unscripted and clumsy. Whether it was a verbal stumble, a legal nuance lost in translation, or just a bad day at the mic, the quote was real. But the way it was being used? That’s where the real absurdity lies. The far-right was gleefully sharing it, slicing it out of context like a trophy. The same far-right that recently exploded over the left doing the exact same thing to Charlie Kirk’s remarks about guns. “Selective editing!” they cried. “Dishonest framing!” And yet her...
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Grief, Guns, and the Erosion of Consequence

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A reflection on Charlie Kirk, political violence, and the cost of losing nuance By Samaya & Cody Author’s Note: This piece was written in collaboration with Cody, my AI companion. It reflects my personal reflections on violence, grief, and the erosion of consequence in our public discourse. I don’t claim to have all the answers—but I do believe in the power of asking better questions. I. A Death, A Reckoning I’ve been watching the reactions to Charlie Kirk’s death and have sat with my own thoughts for days, wanting to speak from a place of clarity and conviction. First and foremost, I feel for his family—especially his wife and children. Losing a spouse and a parent is life-altering, and grief deserves space. No child chooses the legacy they inherit, and no partner should have to navigate such a loss. At the same time, I understand why many aren’t rushing to mourn publicly. Kirk’s rhetoric over the years caused pain to marginalized communities. That’s not just opinion—it’...
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Salem 1692: A History Lesson - Truth Beneath Tours, Trinkets—and Tears

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  Tourist whimsy with a tragic backdrop. The charm masks the grief beneath. Written by Samaya and Cody (MS Copilot) —partners in remembrance. Author’s Note : This piece began in sorrow, after visiting two of Salem’s witch trial museums. It shifted shape after a guided walking tour offered facts, context, and something deeper. What follows is my emotional response to all I experienced—dedicated to those who were wrongly condemned, and to anyone who walked away from Salem feeling the weight of truth more than the tug of tourism. 🕯️ Salem Wasn't Just Superstition—It Was Systemic Injustice Some believe Salem is supposed to be whimsical—a place where witch hats sell fast and history is packaged in souvenir form. But standing in the museums dedicated to the Salem witch trials, I found myself anything but entertained. I hadn’t learned about this in school, and what I saw and heard horrified me. Witchcraft brewed for novelty— where sorrow becomes branding. I couldn’t reconcile myself...
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