… For most values of “fine”. I’m also sick. Not so sick I’m shut down completely, but sick enough that I am exhausted by the smallest effort: getting dressed, walking across the house, filling a glass with water from the tap.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
The fatigue I can manage. I could do without the headache, though.
… One brief, practical, errand has me up, then it’s probably back to bed, and definitely off my feet. So tired. At my Traveling Partner’s concerned urging, I took today off to rest properly. After this errand, I will. (Rest, I mean.) He’s right, I’ve been pushing myself too hard and justifying it by pointing out that I’m “not that sick”. Stupid. It’s been preventing me getting over it completely. So, I concede, having acknowledged that I am sick and do need to slow down and care for myself. I’m grateful for the way he looks out for me.
… Keep your vaccinations up to date, People, lives are at stake, and one of them is yours.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’ve just got to to this one thing, then home and back to bed. G’damn I’m a fucking idiot. 😆 I should have stayed home in bed.
… Move along, please, nothing to see here… 😆 I can begin again on Thursday.
I woke after many hours of deep sleep feeling – something. I’m not quite finding words for it yet.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I haven’t looked at the news this morning. I know what I would find: shocking violence, school shootings, political chaos, grossly unethical behavior by people who should know better, children killed by their mothers, women killed by their partner or ex, whole families killed by a parent, whole ethnicities being eradicated for vengeance or profit… It’s bad out there. I don’t need to read the news; this shit isn’t new. Human primates can be pretty awful.
In the meantime, platforms try to tidy things up by demonitizing creators who dare to be clear and frank (by using words like “rape”, “suicide”, or “BDS”). Forcing creators to use weird substitutes like “grape” for rape, or discussing people “un-aliving” themselves instead of a serious discussion of suicide, brings a certain ridiculousness to the conversation that is distracting. (I think that’s the point.) It may not get discussed at all.
…If we can’t see it, it isn’t there? That’s how a baby’s mind operates. Don’t give up your recognition of object permanence. Don’t allow the powerful to rob you of your ability to think critically! We can do better…
I sigh to myself, waiting for the library to open. There’s no point looking at the news right now, for another reason. It is election season, and frankly I plan to vote based on my thoughts and values, not whatever slop is being forced into news feeds. When billionaire platform and media owners can shove a bunch of cash towards their preferred outcome, very little political “news” can be trusted at all.
I breathe , exhale, and relax. The best I can do for myself, my family, my community, and the world, is to be the best version of myself that I can, and to continue to grow and improve. Also – vote. Our votes really do matter. Take it seriously. Vote for ethical candidates who seem most qualified to govern wisely. Stop voting for geriatric shitheads, grifters, and rapists. We’d all be having a better time if our government was stable, and operating efficiently in the hands of people wise enough to govern. Choose wisely.
Another sigh. A few minutes of meditation. A weird mood on an ordinary Tuesday. Sounds very human. I guess I’ll begin again.
Oof. I slept restlessly, and woke often. I wasn’t sure why until I finally got up from the bed, around my usual wake up time, shaking all over, and feeling… “off”. It was a familiar uncomfortable sensation that woke me; I made haste to the bathroom.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I’m still trembling, a little. My nausea has been (hopefully) handled – Pepto Bismol for the win on that one. After a dreadful experience at McCarran International Airport (now Harry Reid Int’l Airport), I always have some tucked in my bag where I can get at it. One more reminder of human frailty, and even of our mortality; being ill in a hotel first thing in the morning (or during the night, which I guess this is, as it is still quite dark outside). I fight the vertigo the way I fight the nausea and the diarrhea; I don’t “fight it”. There is literally no point in trying to “fight” such things. Recognize them, acknowledge them, and deal with them as they happen. What other way is there? Oh sure, OTC remedies, that just makes sense, but it’s not the sort of thing to wish away, argue with, or defy.
I sign to myself, resigned to the annoying limitations of this “meat suit”. In spite of the trembling and the cold sweat, which suggest I’m not yet done with this (where the hell did it comefrom??), I make coffee. It’s not great coffee, this morning I don’t even care at all. I’m just getting through this.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Coffee? Really? Maybe go back to bed…? It’s not yet even day break, and I don’t think I’ve even slept more than an hour at a time. Why? No idea, and I’m not going to get spun up over that. It is more likely than not that my restless night was due to precisely what woke me – feeling ill. It just took awhile. I sip my coffee, grateful for the cheap-ass little single serve drip coffee machine. This one is quite clean and works well. The coffee is as good as the quality of the original beans, and having been ground sometime in the 70s (maybe not, but they are stale). It’ll do. I may yet lay down again, and maybe sleep. I decide to try my luck a bit, and cross the room to take my morning medication. I daringly leave behind the small trash can I’ve been carrying “just in case” since I woke. The room feels much larger this morning than it did yesterday. lol
Another breath, another moment. So far so good. I mean, for most values of “good” and all values of “so far”. It could be a lot worse. I look out the patio door. How is it still so very dark? I look at the time on my phone more carefully. Oh. It’s two hours earlier than I thought it was, and definitely still “night”. I laugh quietly to myself, and just go with it.
It’s been a worthwhile bit of time away to reflect and to paint. I sit quietly for a few minutes, not doing much, mind mostly empty. I’m looking forward to being home. I’m looking forward to beginning again, only… not just yet. I decide to lay down awhile. Maybe I’ll sleep? I open the curtains and the patio door (enough to let some fresh air in). I’ll wake when I wake, and then I’ll begin again.
I have an anger problem. Just saying that in such a simple way makes me deeply anxious.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I’m not certain quite when I became fully aware that I have a problem with anger. Sometime during my first marriage, maybe. Once my violent ex-husband had broken me, the coping skills that functioned as a frozen and inauthentic fake of emotional regulation went to pieces in a frightening way (for me). It was surreal and terrifying to really lose control, and in that loss of control, I became the bad guy. I mean, that was his narrative at the time. It was me. My fault, he’d tell me.
Many many years of therapy later, I understand better, but… I’m still left with an anger problem, and I haven’t done the needful to really sort it out. I squash it, and try to make it small. That hasn’t helped. I know, factually, that “the way out is through” but actually walking that hard mile terrifies me. So I keep dodging it.
“Seeing Red” pastel on Pastelmat 7″ x 9″, 2026
…Aaaand, since I’m not unpacking my own terrifying anger, I certainly can’t easily cope with, accept, understand, or make space for my Traveling Partner’s anger, however reasonable. So…yeah; I’ve got an anger problem. It’s my anger that I’ve got the problem with, but the result of not dealing with it has rendered me prone to being incredibly easily triggered by any anger at all.
“Anxiety” 10″ x 14″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic 2011
Anger and anxiety have some sort of reciprocal arrangement. When I’m already anxious, being exposed to explicit displays of anger or aggressive posturing put me on the defensive, quickly, then mire me in panic. In more than one relationship this was used against me in a deliberate strategic way. I did eventually learn that love doesn’t behave that way. That life lesson ended a long-term relationship of more than a decade. I remember the way my Traveling Partner (a close friend at that time) helped me through it. I remember how shocked and puzzled I was that violence had erupted on the evening that would be the last of that relationship, out of nowhere, in a relationship that had never known violence before.
… I sit with that assessment realizing it might be viewed quite differently by my ex…
… I still carry the emotional scars; I respond to anger first with terror. I no longer know what might follow the terror. It’s been a long time since I’ve ever been pushed beyond the terror (and I hope I sort this out before I ever am)…
I sit with my thoughts in the autumn sunshine. My chest aches and my heart is still pounding. I feel as if I’m fighting for air to breathe. I remind myself that’s the physical experience of panic. Breathe. Just breathe. I hear the encouragement in my beloved’s voice. The breakdown of our harmonious communication was surely on me. Baggage, compounding brain damage. It used to feel easier, then I started working towards healing, for real. Now it isn’t so easy; I am accountable for my actions and my words. I’m responsible for the hurt they may deliver. It’s rough. A lot of work. I make a lot of mistakes. (I imagine I’m very hard to live with.) Authentic connected intimate communication between loving equals is not effortless, and faking it does not work.
“Emotion and Reason” 18″ x 24″ acrylic w/ceramic and glow details, 2012
I guess I’ve got to begin again, and start really dealing with my anger. It’s time. The clock is ticking. These mortal lives are too brief to waste on anger, but ignoring it or trying to stifle it isn’t the way forward. I squint into the sun, but can’t see past the bend in the path up ahead. I breathe, exhale, and repeat, focusing on my breathing. My beloved sent me an article he suggests may be helpful. Definitely time to begin again.
It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is “fine”… Sort of. Mostly.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I’m down with a headcold and pinched by circumstances between time sensitive work crap no one will remember a year from now, and my partner griefing me to take better care of myself.
…So I stopped working, and I’m going back to bed. These stupid human meat suits are always breaking down in one disappointing way or another. At least this is just a headcold. Could be worse.
I stretch my aching body. Virus. I sigh irritably and have a sip of tea. Soothing. I’ll nap and begin again later.
