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Sleep

February 9, 2026 //
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My sleep used to be much worse than it is these days. I’m certain the CPAP machine helps (although wearing the mask and the experience of continuous positive air pressure are somewhat unpleasant and took getting used to). Sometimes my sleep is still of poor quality for one reason or another. Sometimes it’s just not enough sleep to feel rested. Sometimes I’m plagued by nightmares. This morning I’m faced with insufficient sleep of poor quality, due to interruptions (noise mostly).

I reliably wake up ridiculously early. Generally at 04:30, probably a lasting byproduct of early mornings in the military, construction, and long commutes for morning shifts of various sort. It requires days of leisure time without an alarm being set to boost my chance at “sleeping in”, and I rarely do. When my Traveling Partner and I were developing our friendship, he had encouraged me to take control of one factor I definitely could control to improve how much sleep I got; my bedtime. He suggested I go to bed earlier, based on when I wake and how much sleep I need (back then I was often up until midnight or later, still up early). It was advice that made a lot of difference for me. I go to bed pretty early as a result, rarely later than 21:00. (He has said, now and then, that he’d enjoy my company and would like me to stay up later, but not only do I still wake up early, I also deal often with interrupted sleep. Going to bed early is my only reliable chance at enough rest.)

Why am I on about sleep and sleep quality this morning? I didn’t sleep well last night, and didn’t get enough rest for the day ahead. It’s occupying my thoughts.

This morning I’m tired. So tired. It was after 21:00 before I went to sleep last night. I woke around 01:50, got up to pee and went back to bed, eventually falling sleep again. Sometime shortly after three, my Traveling Partner woke me. He couldn’t sleep, and was having difficulty breathing. He goes to the living room, wakeful and irritable. I try to return to sleep. Not much success. Every time I start to drift off, another noise wakes me, again. A cough. My partner trying to clear his throat or his sinuses.  The scrape of a chair along the floor. His frustration and sometimes panic feel palpable.

I definitely need more than four and a half hours of sleep, and I keep trying. I’m startled from a sound-but-too-brief moment of sleep by a firm hand knocking at the Anxious Adventurer’s adjacent bedroom door, and my partner’s irritated inquiry. I groan quietly and turn over and try sleep once more.

I drifted in and out of a restless sleep from the time my Traveling Partner woke me until the clock read 05:00 a couple hours later. My head aches. My eyeballs feel gritty and dry. I want literally nothing to do with other people, at all. At least not right now. I dress and leave the house. I don’t feel like walking, either. I just want to be alone with my irritation for awhile. I swing through a local coffee chain for too many shots of espresso over ice, black. Fuck Monday. I’m so not ready for this.

My Traveling Partner had returned to bed as I was leaving for the morning. I hope he gets back to sleep and gets some healthy rest. I get no second chances on a work day. I sigh to myself. It’s not his fault he’s having difficulty sleeping (or breathing).

I’ve set clear healthy reasonable boundaries about my sleep and not waking me if I’m sleeping, unless I’ve asked to be wakened (which I almost never do; I know how to use an alarm clock). I respect the sleep of others. Somehow I have still found myself in partnerships in which my partner(s) have found some justification for waking me, under one circumstance or another (and in some past relationships often). There’s rarely any sort of actual emergency that requires my attention, more that someone “wants a word” or to ask a question, or share a complaint. This frustrates the shit out of me, because it’s already difficult enough to get the rest I need.

Where caregiving or real emergencies are concerned, of course I roll my ass out of bed and do the needful without complaint. Everything else, I try to look past my fatigue and irritation to understand what is going on that might push a person to undermine someone else’s very necessary rest, and I try to be a compassionate and understanding partner, family member, or friend. This morning I’m having to fight through more annoyance than usual; I stayed up later last night to hang out with my Traveling Partner awhile longer, and I’m paying for it with lack of sleep. It feels “unfair”, but it isn’t really about that, and it’s definitely not personal. I made a choice. Just damned annoying that this is the outcome.

… I’m so fucking tired…

It’s been many days since I slept deeply through the night and woke feeling rested. I remind myself that it could be worse. I once endured more than a decade of sleep so poor I counted it a good night if I got even two hours of unbroken sleep, and rarely slept more than four hours total in a night. This is not that.

A new day will dawn. We can begin again.

I sit quietly at a local trailhead, listening to rain tapping the roof of my Traveling Partner’s truck. It’s comfortable and warm, and I am alone with my thoughts and my coffee. I definitely don’t feel like dealing with people right now. I’m tired, headachey, and irritable. Unfit for company. It’s too early for work. I don’t feel like walking.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and focus on sorting myself out to face the day ahead. Soon enough I’ll have to begin again. I’ll do my best. It will have to be enough.

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Categories breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being, The Big 5, winter, women

Maybe Don’t

February 7, 2026 //
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If you are an American citizen, maybe don’t be a racist sh1thead, and you won’t have to endure the bitter fruits of our racist colonizer forefathers. We live on stolen land. Humanity is potentially already on borrowed time. It matters very little to our dead ancestors, now, but how we treat each other certainly matters to the living. Personally, I’d much rather see our government give broad, compassionate amnesty to every immigrant in the nation, along with a clear reasonable path to citizenship than see masked government thugs in our streets harassing, assaulting, kidnapping, and murdering human beings whose sole crime was crossing a fucking line on a map. Our hands are not clean with regard to matters of territory,  even within our own borders.

… And in case you hadn’t noticed, these government goons are violating the rights of citizens, too, and yes, even murdering them. How do you reconcile that with your values and understanding of our civil rights? Asking for everyone who thinks this shit is pretty g’damned terrible and inexcusable…

G’damn, I wish America didn’t have so many petty assholes and racists in it. We didn’t do right by the indigenous peoples of this continent, and we are failing the immigrants who risk so much for the dream of becoming American. Do better America.

I sigh to myself, wondering where this path leads. We are facing a new cold war era, it looks like. This saddens me deeply. We had come so far as a global society, but rather stupidly we’ve allowed fascists and authoritarians to move into power again, and here we all are. Be more careful with your vote, people, for fucks sake, this crap actually matters! Pay attention.

Yes, I’m angry about this stuff, no I won’t shut up about it.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and pull myself back to this moment, right here. It’s hard sometimes; I want so much to be able to do more. 

Waiting for the sun.

I get comfortable in my Traveling Partner’s truck, here at the trailhead. I’m waiting for the sun, or at least enough daylight to make out the trail ahead of me. It’s a familiar trail and a mild morning. I’ve got my headlamp, somewhere down in my purse, I just don’t feel like walking in the dark this morning, and my time is my own, for the moment. Hopefully my beloved gets to enjoy sleeping in. I’m in no hurry.

I spend peaceful minutes meditating, watching the sunrise-to-come slowly touch the horizon with streaks of a hue I have no word for. Something between tangerine and magenta, and striped with clouds that want to be lavender, perhaps, but are a grayer hue entirely. Well above the horizon, almost overhead, spots of cerulean peek playfully through the clouds, hinting at blue skies to come. The view isn’t ideal for photograhs; it is obscured by signage, and the highway and power lines cross my field of vision, but I look past all of that and watch the colors and clouds shift with the evolution of dawn into day. Nice morning for it.

Today I’m not alone. Already the parking outside the gate is filling, and space is limited. This hour, this weather, it’s a near certainty these are birdwatchers and photographers, rather than casual walkers or noisy friend groups. It’s fine. I don’t prefer to share the trail, but that’s probably a pretty common sentiment in this group. 😆

Perfection isn’t part of the experience.

The main gate opens with a groan and clangs into place. The trail, and this moment, await me. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, anger, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, winter, women, Words

What To Do About Nothing

February 6, 2026 //
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I woke abruptly from a deep sleep. Someone had cried out, loud. My Traveling Partner! I got up before I was fully awake, and headed quickly to the sound I had heard. Pain has a specific sound, and I am still “tuned” to be alert for his voice in the night, since his injury a couple years ago (has it been so long already?). This morning? Broken toe. Ouch. Painful, but maybe not an emergency. After some conversation, he assures me he’d rather I went to the library to work, than have me stay home. He’s been trying to get some time to himself for a few days. I’m sure not going to mess that up for him.

…I am alert for him to reach out to me, anyway, my phone turned up louder than usual, and next to me on the table where I can see it if it lights up with a notification…

For almost an hour, I’ve been sitting with my coffee. Just sitting. Not writing. Not drinking coffee. Just sitting. I’m not complaining, just taking note. Weird morning. I feel a purposeful frown on my face. I am “triggered”, not so much my anxiety though, this is a different “feature” of the PTSD – this feeling of purpose on the edge of action; readiness. A left over of domestic violence bug-outs and military deployments, mostly, I guess. I tend to feel more comfortable day-to-day if this particular need to be “ready to go on a moment’s notice” is gently supported (the gear bin my SUV, water, emergency rations, and my backpack, too, are elements of supporting this need, as much as they are simply useful for camping or emergencies). Other than that, I don’t give it much thought. Fighting it definitely does not help. This morning, I have no action to take right now, but I am “on alert” nonetheless. It may last awhile. I could do without the acid reflux though. lol

I take a deliberate willful sip of my coffee. It’s just the right drinking temperature. I take a longer drink of it. I definitely appreciate it this morning. Rough way to wake up from a rare deep sound sleep. I’m not exactly groggy. I’m not quite entirely awake. I feel fired up by a sense of urgency that has no outlet, and not grounded in this moment, here, now. I feel connected to each of the many past versions of this woman that I am, who has waited on the edge of urgency, so many times, for the action yet to come. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I offer myself a silent assurance that this too will pass, and sit with the experience, waiting for that. I’m grateful for the good cup of coffee this morning. I’m grateful that I will see the sunrise a little later, as I make my way from this cafe to the university library to finish the work week, instead of from the ER waiting room.

A broken toe is not “nothing” – hell, even a stubbed toe is crazy painful (and the pain lingers). The titular “nothing” in the subject line this morning is to do with the “nothing” in my head, sitting here triggered, waiting for action that is not necessary, and is not now. I consider the sensation – it is an uncomfortable one mingled with unease this morning, which puzzles me. It’s a bit like picking up a mug I know to be white, and perceiving it as some other color entirely in spite of that knowledge. I solve it when I remember I am driving my Traveling Partner’s pickup; my car is at the body shop. My gear and preparedness are not conveniently at hand – and a sick feeling of panic surges and I feel a chill of tension sweep over me. Well, shit. Okay, so that’s not necessary. I chuckle to myself, feeling entirely too human, but appreciative to have picked up on the subtle signals from within that something didn’t feel right. Much harder to deal with a feeling that is not clearly identified, I find. I breathe, exhale, and relax; my Traveling Partner is as well prepared as I am (maybe better, considering the differences in our vehicles). I don’t have my backpack – but his is in the truck, and equally well-equipped with basics. I don’t have my gear bin, but his is there, and there’s quite an assortment of useful stuff tucked here and there. I’m less than 2 miles from home. Less than two miles from the storage unit into which I put my gear while the car is in the body shop. The panic subsides.

I sigh to myself. I feel worn down and tired. I feel more than a little “anti social”. I’d like to hop in my car and drive to the horizon just to see what might await me there. I’d very much like to… something. I don’t know. I feel a certain yearning, but it’s not clear why, and I find myself wondering if it is simply nothing more than the shifting sands of my emotions as the biochemistry of emotional experience has its way with me? I breathe, exhale, and breathe again, letting the breaths come and go, without much else going on. This is the moment I am having, now. That’s fine. “Nothing to see here.”

My mind wanders to summer camping, spring flowers, and new trails. Maybe tomorrow I’ll drive out to Chehalem Ridge, or Miller Woods? I sit with my coffee and my thoughts. Brunch with the Chaotic Comic on Sunday – unless one of us flakes on that. We often do. We don’t take it personally; we’re having our own experiences, and sometimes we need to change our plans. The friendship is worth accommodating our quirks in an understanding way. I’ve got the truck, and mild weather – maybe a drive to the coast and a visit to Fogarty Creek and the private cove beach there? The thought of a taking a different direction, tomorrow, appeals to me. I sit with my thoughts awhile longer.

…It’s already time to begin again…

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, winter, women, Words

The Secret of Moments

February 3, 2026 //
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Each tick of the clock is its own. Each moment is unique and precious, like a breath, or a snowflake. They are fleeting, those ticks of the clock, and those mortal moments. Yesterday, around this same time, the morning was filled with chaos (household internet was down, my laptop had a brand new operating system on it, my work day was shortened by an afternoon appointment and filled with unexpected meetings), this morning this moment is peaceful, and rather mundane. Yesterday’s challenges are behind me, today’s are still ahead.

The time is…now.

With each moment being fleeting, and unique, and the tick of the clock ever ongoing, and our mortal lives filled with opportunities, choices, and changes, it can be easy to feel harried, or pushed around by circumstances, and forget to truly live those precious moments, and to make informed choices from a thoughtful perspective. I sip my coffee and think about that.

I think about the way my Traveling Partner calmed me down after I had hastened home frantically to sort out what had “gone wrong” with my new OS, and get back on track for work as quickly as I could. Hilariously, what had gone wrong was mostly the human being at the keyboard. lol Small details I didn’t recognize in their new form, and tools I was less familiar with, and in a moment of panic, I stopped understanding what little I knew. My partner was patient, and he is deeply knowledgeable of computers and operating systems, as if it is part of his DNA. In an instant, he had identified the issue, sorted things out, showed me where I had gone astray, and I got my day started. He’d already resolved the household internet issue. He’s good like that – and I’m fortunate to enjoy a loving partnership with a human being whose skills complement my own so well. In some other moment, he may have been the one seeking out my assistance with some thing he felt ill-equipped to handle.

I think about my appointment later in the afternoon yesterday, and the lasting feeling of calm loving support that had carried me through the day. Going to the VA often makes me anxious (and angry). The appointment was routine enough, just my annual thing with the VA: blood work, images, a consultation, updated prescriptions, another vaccine. The VA stresses me out most of the time. I dislike the stark reminder of my mortality on display, and I similarly dislike the facade of support for veterans also on display. Oh, don’t get me wrong, the employees at the VA (the doctors, nurses, clinical specialists, technicians, and cleaning staff) do their best for veterans every day against the terrible constraints they face due to lack of appropriate staffing, lack of required funding, lack of approval for this or that treatment for one condition or another – and the frankly performative “consideration” for veterans by our administration is grotesque and disappointing. It’s not the fault of the staff, but the hopelessness, cynicism and disappointment permeate the air at the VA – at every VA facility I’ve ever been in. It’s not a partisan thing, although this current administration is by far the most grotesque and horrifying in my own lifetime – every administration makes new veterans, and none actually wants to pay the full measure of the price to care for them. (And if veteran’s are not cared for, well then their lifespan is further shortened, eh? Less costly by far. It is quite Dickensian from that perspective.)

I sigh and sip my coffee. My appointment went fine. Images taken. Vaccine received. Blood drawn. Hell, I even capitulated to having a pelvic exam and a pap smear (probably my last based on current recommendations for women in my age group). Sexual health is important, even as we age. Anyway, it was fine. Only a moment.

Yesterday I was quickly wrapped in stress. This morning is quite different, calm and inviting. I smile to myself, enjoying this moment. And if it were a shit moment filled with stress and chaos? Well, I know it will pass. There will be other moments. It’s not an easy thing, letting small things stay small; it takes practice, and sometimes some help. I had watched a peculiarly timely video that touched on change and moments and resilience in a way I found useful. I’m glad I had; I needed those words of wise perspective and encouragement yesterday!

…Each time for the first time. Each moment the only moment. “Ichi-go ichi-e” – live your moments with intention, and presence! Show up for your own life. These moments are finite and mortal, and we have so few. Each having our own experience, walking our own path, we connect over briefly shared moments. I smile to myself. Crappy muzak in the background of a chain cafe on a work day morning, sipping on an utterly ordinary cup of black coffee – even this moment is precious. It is mine.

Sometimes it’s a metaphor – sometimes it is just a cup of coffee. 🙂

I smile and sip my coffee, reflecting on this moment, and other moments. The music plays on. The clock keeps ticking. Eventually, I’ll begin again, for now, I’ve got this moment right here, now. It’s enough.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, winter, women, Words

I Keep Walking

January 31, 2026 //
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I get to my halfway point on this favorite trail before daybreak. Most of the walk thus far was in the gloom of nautical twilight, and it is a foggy misty morning on the marsh. There was a full moon visible when I started, but it was quickly swallowed by the clouds.

We don’t always walk a well lit path.

I walked with my headlamp on until the faint predawn light became enough to make out the path, then switched it off and let my eyes adjust. A dumb idea on an unfamiliar or poorly maintained trail, but this trail is very familiar, kept well, and free of debris or obstacles, generally. My steps crunched along in the dim light. The moon broke free from her cloud prison briefly and in the meadow I saw a herd of deer standing. They disappear into the fog as the moonlight is obscured by clouds again. I kept walking.

By the time I reach my halfway point, I’m wondering again if I may be coming down with another cold or something? I feel like I’ve worked hard to get so far. There is no opportunity to shorten my walk now – it’ll be the same whether I walk on, or turn back. I recall waking during the night, drenched in sweat, somehow still feeling cold, feeling chilled and woozy as I got up to pee. The covers were clammy as I wrapped myself in them again, never really waking up completely. I feel mostly okay, just sort of low energy with a little sinus congestion, which mostly passes as my morning allergy meds kick in. I sigh to myself, sitting on this fence rail at the edge of one of the marsh ponds, swinging my feet like a kid. A passing raccoon gives me a sideways glance, but doesn’t take any real interest, going her own way.

I sit quietly with my thoughts for some while before I pull off my gloves and begin to write. Just sitting here in the stillness before sunrise, I feel my “batteries recharging”.

I breathe, exhale, and relax and wonder what it might be like to feel recharged and energized through companionship and community. Life must feel very different for people who crave the company of others, even needing it profoundly to enjoy life at all. Although I do recognize the interconnectedness and social nature of human beings as creatures, my awareness of connectedness and dependency doesn’t seem to change my need for solitude. This is rarely a problem for me, these days; I have accepted who I am in this regard, and it does nothing to diminish my affection for those dear to me, nor reduce their importance to me. I just also have to take care to nurture myself, and make a point to get enough time alone. Without it my mental health quickly begins to suffer and I have more difficulty managing my PTSD, and my emotions.

I like walking as a metaphor for making a journey, or progress, or growth, or forward momentum in life. I like walking. Giving it some thought, I am aware that I’ve used “going for a walk” as a source of needed solitude for as much of my life as I can remember. It can be g’damned difficult to find solitude in a world of social creatures. I find a solitary walk exceptionally reliable for finding a moment or two utterly alone.

A new day dawns.

Daybreak comes. The fog on the marsh fills the low places. I stretch and sit awhile longer. Soon enough I will have to return to the world and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, winter, women, Words
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