Without Proofreading

 I'm simply going to type this, probably never to read it.  I need to dump, and since my children don't visit here, it's a relatively safe space.

I'm in a bad spot.  Not suicidal.  Don't worry.  I've been there, and this isn't it.  But I am struggling and stuck.  I turn 61 in a couple of weeks and realize my life is draining away, but cannot find the energy or inspiration to make necessary changes.

It isn't COVID fatigue or cabin fever.  I'm much too much of an introvert for that.  This is suffocating lack of energy, lack of ambition, lack of interest.

It may be time to get my medications re-calibrated.  Thankfully, I have an appointment with my psychiatrist next week, so that can be discussed.  Sessions with my therapist have stopped due to her coping with two children at home and my dealing with lack of money due to all sorts of unexpected expenses.    So, I sit on the couch day after day except for walks with Tap, getting nothing done and hating myself for getting nothing done.

Projecting On

So, in the middle of all this, I have been knitting occasionally.

This is a reversible broken rib scarf out of an odd ball of sock yarn I came across.  

I'm also working on a pullover hoodie

and a "library capelet":

As usual, I can't tell you the specific names of the yarns.  I don't know why keeping track of that type of thing has never interested me, but it simply hasn't.

Just a few days ago, when Tap and I took our walk, I was in t-shirt sleeves.  Today, it was two layers of leggings, socks, two shirts, and a hat.  As I type this, I'm still wearing two shirts, but am down to a single pair of leggings.  Barefoot, as I usually am.  Yep, barefoot.  

The Throwing Up of Hands

It's been a bit of a day.

Tap has been a pill.  He has asked and asked to go outside, but when we'd get out there, he's just sit down.  Or sniff around the driveway for a bit before turning to come back inside.

My dryer has been acting up.  I can only wash tiny loads in my camping washing machine, so it can't be from being overloaded.  Now, I have absolutely no desire to start going back to the laundromat, much less have to think about replacing two major appliances.  Because. . .

. . . I also had to call the heating company again.  Same problem as before: no response at all from the furnace.  This time, though, it turned out to be a slightly simpler fix.  The filter was full enough that air couldn't pass through as easily as it's supposed to, causing an automatic shutdown.  Also, a couple of joints of duct pipe needed to be replaced.  I did learn, however, that burning candles can clog up your furnace filters.  I was sure all the animal hair was the source of the problem, but, no. 

Then, washing dishes tonight, I suddenly felt water through my socks.  I thought maybe I had just splashed some water out of the sink, but of course not.  There's a leak under the sink.  I think I know what it is (the nozzle faucet hose thing), and I've got a towel under there to see if anything else seeps out.  Now, I don't know what to do if that is the problem, but here I am.

So, I've eaten two bowls of ice cream (after successfully losing 9 pounds in the last week and a half), and I'm going to bed.

 

Non-Sequitur Day

So, this is Tap's new thing: insisting we share my pillow at night.

Know how when films began having sound, they were called "talkies"?  "Movies," then, was the word for pictures that moved.  Which makes "movie" sort of a silly word, huh?

If you're keeping track of things that spook Tap on our walks, add "fluttering flag."

That online grocery shopping I talked about the other day saw me finding this:

Folded "eggs" made from plants.  They are very, very tasty, especially on fresh homemade bread.

Today, I've watched "My Sister Maria", a sad but loving documentary by Maria Schell's brother Maximilian.  I've been a fan of his for a long while, but didn't know much about her acting until I watched "Le Notti Bianche," in which I thought she was astounding.

If you haven't discovered the comic "Strange Planet," do yourself a favor and check it out.

I'm 60 years old and have heard a lot of euphemisms for menstruation.  This weekend, I heard a new one: "monthly maintenance."  I sorta like it.

 

Cause / Effect

Here is what I've discovered as the owner and user of a bread machine: your pantry and your refrigerator stay full.  This is because you --- okay, specifically non-kitchen-y me --- need to have staples like milk, flour (who knew there were so many types of flour?), eggs (so many eggs!), sugar, baking powder, and baking soda, along with fun add-ins like baking chips of many flavors, and extracts, and coconut, and seeds, and fruit.  And when you --- okay, me --- use curbside pick-up for your groceries, you --- okay, me --- feel a little silly placing an order just for milk and bread flour, so you use the store app and you scroll and you see interesting things and you buy SO much that you have trouble finding places for it all.

But, warm, fresh bread is very, very good. 

How Do You Do It?

 Truly.  How do so many of you write so much about your lives every day?  Each of my days is very much like every other one, so laying out any of them in detail would preclude my having to talk about lots of others.  Too, not much goes on in any given day,  Nothing terribly interesting or inspiring, at least.  All of which to say, y'all amaze me.

Environs

 My coffee table is laden with

1) a stack of four books.  I can't really concentrate on any of them when I crack their spines;

2) my notebook of lists, ideas, and other detritus;

3) bottles of nail polish, because when I can't focus on anything else, they're something I can put to use;

4) a bottle of water, as it's important to stay hydrated;

5) three balls of yarn for three projects that I can't get going on;

6) a bottle of CBD oil to help me through this blistering headache;

7) a bottle of hand lotion, the Den One;

8) dental floss (TMI yet?);

9) lip balm (less eww-y than the floss);

10) a roll of Scotch tape, for which I have no explanation.

What's up around your place?

Ifs

 If you talk about it, adequate words just won't come.

If you don't talk about it, people will wonder if you care.

If you try to distract yourself, you can't concentrate.  You aren't happy with anything you try to do.

If you don't distract yourself, your mind reels, and your stomach knots and the rage builds.

Disgust.

Dread.

Anger.

Fear.

Helluva week.

 

Trust Us. We Know.

Here on the ground in Georgia, we know these Senate run-off elections are important.  We see your TV trucks and on-camera reporters and know y'all are all watching.  We've been voting today, and in the days and weeks prior.  We get it.

We also know how glad we'll be when it's all over.  When the satellite dishes and microphones and invasions are gone.  Because --- and believe me on this --- we are tired of the questions.  We're tired of being reduced to poll numbers.  We're tired of the TV spots.  (Dear lord, are they endless.  ENDLESS.)  We're tired of the calls, whether robo- or actual-human-.  We're tired of folks knocking on our doors and getting our dogs all riled up.  (Okay, maybe that last one is mostly about me.)

We know.  We've done all we can.  Now we wait.

Whoa

Snoop's shades cost $760+.

I'll just keep on coveting, I guess.

Currently Coveting

Twinnie's sense of humor.  Check out her comment on the previous post.

The sunglasses Snoop Dogg is wearing in his Corona commercials.  Honestly --- they are way sharp.

The weather anywhere there's snow.

Several days in a hotel on a beach, my balcony looking out over the water.

A Couple of Questions

My Black-Eyed Peas Delivery System of choice this New Year's Day was soup.  Yours?

Cast purple yarn on to purple needles.  What was I thinking?