This fragile human vessel is so… fragile. The biochemistry of life is complicated. Maslow’s hierarchy is worth keeping in mind. Self-care really matters. Yesterday evening I “hit a wall” – low blood sugar, pain, fatigue, stress… rough. My Traveling Partner reminded me to slow down and care for myself, suggested having a snack while I was rushing around trying to end the day. He was right. It made a huge difference.
I’m thinking about it now as I deal with my physical pain on a rainy day and deal with the background stress of the constant swirling discussion of stressful government madness. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think about dinner. I look out the window at the rainy day. I remember to take pain medication. I drink water. I stand up and stretch and move around. I refresh the content of my thoughts with a pleasant distraction. Basic stuff.
It’s a gray rainy day. Not particularly cold, though it may be over the weekend. I sigh quietly and consider the imminent end of the work day. I think about far away friends and wonder how they are. I think about my Traveling Partner at home, also dealing with pain. Pain sucks. Still… it could be worse. The office is comfortably warm, and home will be as well. That’s no small thing. I think about dinner, again, and wonder if maybe pizza would be good…?
I smile to myself, grateful for what I’ve got, and what works. Hopeful, because that feels better than despair. There are verbs involved – and a lot of those have to do with self-care. So, I do a few of those things, and look forward to a hot shower after I get home. That’ll feel nice… a good way to begin again.
I slept like crap last night. My sleep was restless and disturbed by strange unsettling dreams. Not exactly nightmares, I guess, but my dreams were peculiar and distressing enough to wake me. I woke a bit more than a half hour early for the day to begin, too, feeling restless and fussy. My Traveling Partner was already up, rather oddly, and as soon as I entered the living room he said “now I can go back to bed”, or something of the sort (I was still pretty groggy). It was weird.
Later, after I was long gone and out on this trail in the fog and darkness, he pinged me, awake again (still), and told me about his restless night. Rough. I send him my love and some affectionate stickers and emoji. Probably not very helpful, but hopefully he at least knows I care. Before I can share the love song that has been stuck in my head since I woke this morning, he’s headed back to bed. I hope he finally sleeps.
I pause on the trail in the cold to write a few words and gaze at the sliver of moon in the east through the fog, before I finish my walk and head to the office. Today feels “too busy” and I’m short on rest. I’ll do my best. What else is there to do?
It’s Thanksgiving week, of course it feels busy. I laugh to myself. Human challenges. Human limitations. I breathe exhale and relax. I meditate for a few moments, unconcerned with the cold. It’s not quite freezing. I’m glad I wore warm layers, and my scarf and gloves! I think about sitting by the fireplace, cozy and warm. Winter soon.
“Fireside” pastel 2024
I look at the time, in the pre-dawn gloom. Daydreaming can wait. It’s time to begin again. The day is waiting.
This morning I slept in. It was lovely and restful. I mostly slept through the night, which is rare. My dreams, though, were vivid and sometimes disturbing. I woke in pain, and as soon as I sat up tears began to fall. I was still too disoriented from deep sleep to be certain of any sort of cause, maybe there wasn’t one. Maybe pain is enough reason to weep, sometimes. The gulls call to each other outside the window as they fly by. Yesterday’s storms have passed. It’s a new day – another stormy looking day with heavy gray clouds on the horizon.
Dawn of a new day. I remind myself to stay on the path.
This whole trip to the coast has been a strange one. I’ve spent it in tremendous pain, which I mostly ignore, once I’ve done what I can. I came for solitude, and creative work, and emotional rest, and I guess it’s mostly met most of my needs, most of the time, sort of, but in a limited, inefficient, and dissatisfying way. My Traveling Partner reaches out to me regularly, once he’s up for the day. He’s bored and lonely without me. It’s a limited sort of solitude I’m finding here, spent in the text-based company of my partner on the other end of my 21st century digital leash. I love him, and don’t want him to feel alone or abandonned, so I answer every ping I hear, often so quickly it could be called “real-time communication”. I cherish his words, and I’m frustrated by my feeling of being… whatever the opposite of “lonely” is. Crowded? Is there is a word for this feeling the lovers of solitude feel when they can’t escape the consciousnesses and communications of others? I don’t think I know the word for it. “Impinged upon” seems needlessly cumbersome. Surely there is some more elegant beautifully precise term?
Why is it so difficult for me to keep some of my time for myself, to use as I wish, without interruption or the involvement of others? Is it an unreasonable desire? Why does it so often seem that whatever I plan, try as I might, the world behaves as though my consciousness, my attention, and my availability for this or that task simply doesn’t belong to me at all? I’ve said it out loud in therapy a hundred times, “it feels like everyone wants a piece of me, and there’s nothing left over for me”. I ache with the frustration, the struggle to find some real peace, alone with my thoughts. I struggle to set clear reasonable boundaries, and reinforce and respect them, without being a jerk about it. I remind myself that I am loved. Valued. Appreciated. That my effort and presence matter that much, that I’m hard to be without. All pretty good stuff as far as it goes…but sometimes I just want to be alone for awhile. Alone with my pain. Alone with my tears. Alone with my time. Alone with myself. Present for and with myself, only. It’s fucking hard to find or make that time.
This break isn’t “a vacation”. It’s intended to be a short period of recovery from the ceaseless demands on my time, my presence, and my effort. It’s intended to be a short time spent on my own needs, caring for myself, before I work myself into the ground caring for others. Caregiving is fucking hard. This particular break hasn’t been as helpful or as restful as I had hoped it would be, and at least right now, as I sit with my coffee, it feels a bit like wasted time. Perhaps drinking coffee through tears is not the best moment to assign value to an experience, though? I hear a grim bitter chuckle – my own voice – break the stillness of morning. I’m not in a very good mood right now, although there’s nothing actually “wrong”, besides just being in pain and being cranky over how hard it is to get some needs met in life. These aren’t even new challenges. Perhaps that’s why I’m so cross? I suppose I expect that after all these years of being who I am, I’d have figured this shit out more skillfully by now? Will there come a day when I find myself alone and regretting my solitary ways? (It seems possible, but not at all likely.)
Between headaches, and arthritis pain, pings from my partner and my awareness of his loneliness in my absence, this particular coastal adventure hasn’t been much “fun” – for any values of fun. It’s barely been restful, and even that only in a physical way. Fucking hell, I’ve got to figure this shit out. I feel like my sanity depends on it…
A gift from a dear friend, a memory.
…I miss my Dear Friend. I’d share my vexation with her, and she’d share her perspective with me. She’d maybe make me laugh, or point back to something I said, myself, some time ago that still rings true even now. She’d share a cat story, or a recipe she remembers but can’t have anymore. She’d be there. I’d be here – and I’d feel heard and understood. She did as much to “raise me” as my Granny or my Mother, actually. Our friendship of almost 30 years is woven into the fabric of the woman I have become. In a sense, she’ll always be with me. I still manage to miss her. I miss her perspective and wisdom. I miss her understanding. Of all the human beings I’ve ever known, she seemed to understand my love of solitude more than any other. I miss that.
I sip my coffee and think my thoughts. The journey is the destination. The way out is through. Like a painting that hasn’t quite turned out, this particular weekend has been unsatisfying and feels incomplete. It has its own sort of beauty and worthiness, I suppose, but it feels unfinished and not quite right. Aphorisms and metaphors; I’m doing my best to care for the woman in the mirror. I feel like I’m letting her down. I sigh and watch the gulls beyond the window. I’ll finish this coffee, I guess, and begin again.
My sleep was restless and disturbed by strange vivid dreams. I woke several times during the night, but seemed to have gotten enough rest to get through another day. I woke to find an irritated message from my Traveling Partner, a reminder about a preference regarding housekeeping. Although I appreciate the reminder for what it is, I could do without the “tone”.
… I remind myself it’s difficult for an able, skilled, adult man to find himself so thoroughly dependent on his partner’s assistance and cut him some slack…
I’m working my ass off day-to-day to keep shit caught up, and meet all the complex needs of the household… and I’m feeling pretty cross this morning. The lack of basic consideration being shown to me by everyone counting on me for so much seems lacking – inappropriately so. I remind myself everyone is human and that my efforts are appreciated… but fucking hell I do wish they were reciprocated more often! Particularly where housekeeping and cooking are concerned. I know my Traveling Partner’s limitations legitimately hold him back, for the time being, but the Anxious Adventurer has no such limitations and seems unaware just how much extra work I do that I’d like some fucking help with. Being fair, he’s generally helpful when I ask, but g’damn there’s a fucking ton of everyday shit that is obvious and right in front of him. Dishes. Cooking dinner. Picking up the mail. Laundering towels.
… I shouldn’t bitch; he does quite a bit of project stuff I can’t get to at all because of everything else. I’m just tired. I need a break, and I’m getting one very soon. I relax when I think about it. Day after tomorrow. 😀
I guess it mostly just aggravates me that it often feels like I’m the only one actively putting effort – a lot of effort – into quality of life basics (like dishes, and counter tops). It’s probably not an accurate perception. Perhaps I’m feeling resentful of how little time is left to take care of myself or do anything fun that I want to do for myself, once everyone else’s needs are met? I should figure out how to speak up about that before the pressure builds to some ridiculous emotional explosion.
… It’s especially nice to come home to the dishes being done. It’s rare. I’d love to hear someone offer to take care of the evening meal so I don’t have to. Also exceedingly rare. I can ask for these kinds of things, but that leaves 100% of the mental work of having it in mind still on me. That sucks. I’d rather be thinking about art. lol Waaaah! Adulting is hard!
I breathe exhale and relax. I need a break and I’m taking one. Then I can begin again.
Daybreak arrives as I get back to the trailhead. I’ll head to the grocery store next, then home to tackle housekeeping chores for another week. I’m tired just thinking about it, and my “background” pain is a not uncommon, distracting, 6/10. My tinnitus is crazy loud, drowning out the sound of traffic on the nearby highway. It’s Sunday though, not much traffic.
A view of a day and a beginning.
A huge flock of Canada geese overhead pulls me out of my irritation over the physical limitations of being a human primate. Loud enough to distract me from my tinnitus for a moment. I watch and listen as the flock fills the sky overhead. The rain that had paused long enough to enjoy my walk along the marsh resumes. Drizzly chilly autumn weather is probably the primary cause of my pain today. I took medication for that. It hasn’t helped. I distract myself by continuing to watch and listen to the geese. I mean, I try. My results vary. I sift through the seemingly endless crap in my apparently bottomless handbag looking for my Capsaicin – it doesn’t “fix” anything, but it might give me a bit of relief. Shit. Looks like I left it home. In my minds eye, I can see it on my bedside table, clearly. In this moment, here, I’m still going through the motions of dumping my purse and double checking every pocket. A very human moment.
I sigh, annoyed with myself and with my pain. The rain falls harder and a dense fog creeps in. Forecast says pain all day, time to accept it and move on. Too much to do to let it take over.
I sit with my thoughts awhile. Meditation helps with pain management, particularly if I resist the temptation to focus on the pain. Sometimes it’s hard. I keep pulling my attention back to my breath. It’s a practice. My results vary. I breathe exhale and relax. I let my mind wander to the painting I’m working on. It needs something, and is unfinished. I think about that, instead of the pain I’m in. I shift uncomfortably, but whether it’s physical discomfort or “artistic energy” isn’t clear, and maybe doesn’t matter. Another breath. I watch a doe tentatively walk by, watching me. She steps slowly, with care, her soft gaze assessing my presence; friend or foe? She appears to decide my still, quiet, form is no threat, and stop to nibble on tasty bits of what remains of the meadow grasses. Still watching me, she walks on. I smile to myself. “Yeah, I get it, girl. It’s time to walk on. It’s time to begin again.”
I sigh and stretch and fuss a bit with this all too human aching mortal body. Fuck pain, I’ve got shit to do.
Evening Light 