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DST, Change, Distractions

November 1, 2026 //
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I woke feeling groggy and confused, unsure of day, date, or time. I spent the time getting dressed also trying to figure out the change to the clocks as I stared fixedly at my phone.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

…Was it earlier or later? I couldn’t quite sort it out. I manage to dress and leave the house, feeling incredibly clumsy and more than a little stupid. I did manage to remember to take the bag of cardboard to the recycling bin. Small win, but it counts. The clock change reliably fucks up my morning routine for awhile, until I’ve readjusted. Again. G’damn it is frankly astonishing that anyone thought this would be a good idea.

We change the clocks forward, we change them back. The change is irrelevant to the length of a day. We’re just stupid like that.

Squirrel!!

I enjoyed some time in the studio yesterday. Nothing much came of it; two small pastels, one actually “bad” (to my eyes), the other… fine? Not what I was going for, but it’s “saleable”. I may rework them both. I’ve got another I chronically eye with irritation, from some time ago. Sometimes I sit for long moments eyeing “failed work”, contemplating how to “fix my mistakes”. My Traveling Partner made some interesting observations about yesterday’s work. He made good points about how best to revisit each, and made the observation that pursuing my craft will certainly mean failures now and then to learn from. Wise words.

… I appreciate feeling supported as an artist…

Last night was Halloween. Goblin hoards visited at regular intervals, mostly princesses this year, and a couple of large dinosaurs, and one or two Toy Story characters. There was also a tiny Hunter S Thompson, which struck me as strange and hilarious. We didn’t run out of sweets. It was a fun evening. I was glad when it was over, though. It’s a lot to deal with.

The fog on the trail is dense this morning. I walked with my headlamp on a dim setting and carried it in my hand, lower, and pointed towards the ground. The temperature is just above freezing, but cold. I’m grateful to have put on warm layers. I regret not grabbing my scarf and gloves from my gear bin. I was distracted by a rather large possum seeming to be approaching me as I stepped out of the car. I wasn’t frightened; I didn’t want rabies. 😆 It veered away quickly when it finally noticed me. Too late for my scarf and gloves, I was already headed down the trail.

The walk to this “halfway point” was spooky in the fog. I enjoy indulging my imagination with thoughts that somehow the world does not exist beyond the fog.

The beginning of this trail is partially illuminated by the streetlights along the edge of the parking lot.

“Already” the sky is turning bluer, grayer, and night is fading away. The fog obscures everything and muffles the sound of HVAC on the air museum buildings in the distance. I can’t hear any traffic, either. November 1st, All Souls Day, in the fog. Spooky indeed. If the ghost of my mother, my Granny, or my Dear Friend turned up, I would not even be surprised. I persist in hearing footsteps, but no one approaches. I think I hear conversation somewhere in the fog. Random noises remixed with my tinnitus, is all.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Meditation in the fog “hits different”. That’s not a complaint. I stretch and watch the trees become more prominent in the strangely blue gray of the foggy dawn. Soon it will be time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, Words

Refresh, Relax, Recharge

October 23, 2026 //
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I’m feeling better. Enough better to really enjoy a walk in the chilly autumn air before dawn. Refreshing like a cold drink of ice water on a hot day.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

It is cold, though. Above freezing, but only barely. I’m grateful for this warm sweater and the fleecy cardigan I added to that as I left the house this morning. The cold manages to feel more refreshing than anything else. I’m glad to resume my morning walk. It just “feels right”. I definitely needed the rest I got from taking a break from my walking for a handful of days. I’m glad I yielded to my Traveling Partner’s strong recommendations that I stay home, get some rest, and give myself a break.

When I am sick, one of the things that is notably impaired is my judgement, along with my impulse control. In other relationships, this has lead to things like me going out in a snow storm to take a city bus to the closest location of a specific fast food chain at my then-partner’s behest, in spite of being feverish and struggling to breathe when I had the latest hideous strain of flu. It sounds ridiculous without any embellishments or storytelling strategies. I was so sick I was having to sleep sitting up – but my fucking partner still sent me out in a snowstorm for a fucking cheeseburger. I very nearly missed the last bus back before the roads were shut down and the buses stopped running completely.

…He complained that the burger was cold by the time I got it home to him…

I sigh to myself. I didn’t even understand at the time that I was being taken advantage of, which still feels more than a little embarrassing, now.

I’m grateful to enjoy a relationship with a partner who looks out for me, now. Being cared for truly feels really good. I’m always looking for ways to return the favor. Partnership; we’re in it together.

The weekend is coming. I’d take off on my own and give my beloved a break from having me around so much while I’m sick, but I did that last weekend. We don’t have it like that. Besides, I’d probably do well not to rush myself back into the full measure of work and busy-ness, immediately. I sit at the halfway point of my walk thinking it over. A short work day today makes sense. Maybe a gentle weekend close to home, and time in the studio, or reading quietly? Coffee with my Traveling Partner, over conversation about our radios, perhaps? Quiet and gentle sounds good.

The cold morning nudges back to my feet. It’s some time before sunrise, and there’s only a hint of daybreak to be seen. I’ve got a busy (short) day ahead… May as well begin again, and get started on it. This path won’t walk itself!

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Bad Dreams, But…

September 29, 2026 //
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Okay so, yeah, I’m having a lot of bad dreams lately. Even when they aren’t “nightmares”, they’re often deeply unpleasant.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I woke this morning, grateful for the bright light of my silent alarm; better than the dream I was having. Hell, I’m not surprised by the bad dreams – have you seen the state of the world? The shameless exploitative corporate greed? The thoroughly corrupt government? The war in Ukraine? The genocides? Oh yeah, more than one of those going on, it isn’t limited to Palestine. How can human beings be so incredibly vile?

I’m struggling to maintain perspective, I admit it. I feel disappointed (in humanity, generally) and I feel betrayed on an unreasonable personal level. I was stationed in Germany when the Berlin Wall came down. It was such a proud moment for humanity and I felt such hope for the world. I sigh quietly as I walk the dark trail with my dark thoughts.

I get to my halfway point and stop. I just stand there in the dark awhile, after turning off my headlamp, letting my eyes adjust, watching the stars. After a handful of uncounted minutes gazing into the eternal darkness of the vast night sky, I sit down and cry awhile. I don’t fight the tears. No shame. No guilt. Only emotions I can’t quite process without allowing for the grief. Grieving is powerful stuff and difficult to control or limit or reason with, and now and then I am flooded with tears over what we have all lost – all those lives, all the wasted potential, all the hurting and the sorrow.

…We could do better…

I was once a soldier in an army. I have been to war. I have looked directly into the eyes of my enemy and found that he was every bit as human as I am myself. No one walks away unchanged. We live with the consequences of our actions,  that’s just real. I sigh to myself. I’m grateful to have gotten out alive. I’m grateful to see another sunrise. I’m grateful to have my Traveling Partner’s warm, loving embrace when the weight of the world threatens to pull me down into the depths of madness and grief (and even when he’s dealing with his own shit, he is there for me).

Being human is hard. Being the best human being the resources and experience available permit a person to be is harder still, and it for sure feels like a lot of people aren’t even trying.

I’m grateful for this solitary time to just get shit right in my head before a new day begins. Most days this is the only solitude I have. The rest of my day is interacting with people at work, and out in the world, some days so continuously that by the time I get home to my beloved I have nothing left to give. That seems thoroughly unfair, to the two of us. I embrace the little bit of “me time” life permits me to have and try not to bitch about it not feeling like enough. …At least I don’t also have children.

My beloved pings me. We converse a bit. The clock ticks on. My head aches ferociously and slow tears fall for a moment and stop. At 14 I once felt very similarly, I think, sort of lost, and frustrated-angry-sad. I dealt with it by packing a small bag with everything I thought I would need (it wasn’t), and I walked away. (It would be weeks before I turned up and ultimately went back, but that’s a story for another time.) I hadn’t yet learned that we cannot escape who we are so easily. I’d hug her if I could and assure her it gets better…then wonder if I should also tell her it’s going to get so much worse, first?

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The world is a pretty chaotic and sometimes grotesquely frightening place, but right here? Right now? This moment? It’s fine. A woman on a hiking trail looking at the stars. It is peaceful and beautiful. I make room to enjoy this moment as it is. A lifetime is built on moments; it important to savor the pleasant ones, whatever the circumstances.

The mild almost warm morning wraps me gently. The first hints of daybreak begin to develop. I watch the sky quietly. I think about these mortal lives and the place we hold in the cosmos. We are so tiny, so fragile and finite – how is it these moments feel so important? I sit with my thoughts until it is time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, Free Will, gratitude, grief, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

Darker, Chillier

September 14, 2026 //
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Autumn is definitely approaching, although I won’t be surprised if we get another stretch of hot weather, later, we often do. This morning is cooler and feels chilly. The receding darkness of night seems somehow darker, reinforcing the perception of seasons changing.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I got down the trail to my halfway point still in darkness. Beating daybreak by some minutes, I sit quietly in the darkness, listening, watching, and simply being. It is a Monday morning, and the weekend felt too short.

… I sit thinking about seasons and cycles, and the ticking clock of mortality…

Next weekend I will enjoy a brief rest from the day-to-day demands on my time and attention; I’ll be painting on the coast. I’m looking forward to it, but having been planned, I’m no longer preoccupied with it. The recollection forms, I acknowledge it, and my mind moves on to other things. It’s not that I don’t need the break, I for sure do, it’s more that I don’t benefit from picking at it like a wound. It’s soon, and the time will pass in the usual way, moment by moment, and that’s enough.

… What is “enough”? It’s an important question, and a very personal thing. Your results may vary…

I twist and stretch, seated uncomfortably on this rock. It’s not the fault of the rock; I often sit here and it’s fine. This morning I ache, mostly strangely sore muscles. Not all that strange when I remember I’ve been making a point to do more, and have added strength training reliably to my exercise regimen. Slipping without falling on the muddy trail yesterday probably also used my muscles differently. I feel the most sore in muscles that I relied upon for my balance in those moments.

I yawn and watch the sky lighten. Daybreak(ish). I’m ready for a new day, and also a little reluctant to “deal with all that”. Typical human bullshit. 😆 I’d rather be at home, in my Traveling Partner’s embrace, living a life of ease and leisure. Turns out the world doesn’t give away such lives as freebies very often, and I didn’t take the steps necessary to get to that place, when I was younger. It would have taken very different circumstances, too, most likely. I’m not bitching – I’ll walk the path I’ve chosen (we all do), and hope to choose more wisely in all kinds of things than I did when I was much younger. We don’t know what we don’t know, and mortal lives are surprisingly short. I sigh to myself. I’m grateful in spite of challenges; it could be much worse. I’m fairly fortunate.

I’m waxing a bit philosophical perhaps. Life is pretty good, for most values of “good”, and I’m content more often than I’m not. That’s a big deal. I stretch and yawn, and get more comfortable for meditation. Then I stretch more, again, and write awhile. It’s quiet and so far the morning is lovely and peaceful here. I think ahead to coffee. That’ll be nice, too.

My hands are stiff and the morning chill seeps into my bones. I remember feeling warmed from within, in my 20s and 30s, as if my heart was a tiny white hot sun burning inside me. I rarely wore a coat and mostly didn’t feel a need to. I often walked a brisk two miles to grab lunch at my apartment, instead of on base, and my walking pace then was such that a two mile walk (each way) still left ample time for lunch. Funny to feel (and be) so much slower now.

The sky is still mostly dark. Somehow it’s already time to begin again.

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

Sometime In The Morning

September 9, 2026 //
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I woke gently, got up, dressed, and kissed my beloved on my way out. It was dark (and very early) then, and it is after daybreak now.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

My walk was pleasant, and the miles passed quickly. It’s a work day, and I guess on some level I am feeling purposeful. I say so, noticing that I didn’t stop at any sort of halfway point this morning. I walked and walked, lost in thought, until my walk was over. Shit. That’s a little strange, but not a problem at all (just a difference).

I get to the car and sit comfortably, writing, my random musings still banging on the latched screen door of my consciousness, like a friend who won’t let me sleep in on a summer morning, peering in from the closed door, calling my name. I write easily, about nothing. Mornings and coffee, walks and changing seasons, merriment and sorrow – all just words on a page until someone (maybe you?) connects some point I’m making with their own experience, and finds comfort or insight there. I think about that for a little while.

Sunrise comes. I’m still thinking my thoughts. Insignificant stray thoughts about nothing particular, mostly, and my writing pauses to let some thoughts move on along without comment. Like pedestrians in an intersection, the signal changes, traffic flows, and stops continues, then pauses, over and over again. Same with my writing, I suppose. Some mornings the words pour out of me like a busy freeway, other mornings my mind is stop and go traffic during some mental rush hour, slow and not getting anywhere any time soon. 😆

I yawn and watch the pink and blue gradient of the morning sky slowly change. A new day, eh? I guess I’d better be getting on with it, then. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anhedonia, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words
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