Sepia...

 Sepia

Have you ever noticed she said to me

As a slow smile started across her face

The type that takes awhile to develop

The kind that starts as a slow lift

At the corner of a mouth

Before it finally reaches the eyes

Though hers never did

Have you ever noticed in old photos

How the sepia tones smooth everything out

How it softens the lines

How it mellows the rough edges

Even if their clothes were dirty and torn

Their faces weary and worn

The sepia evens it out, softens it

We see them stuck in amber

Like a mosquito in a museum

Dying turned into beauty

She lifted her glass to the light

Looking through the shot of whiskey

Everything looks better in sepia

Latest Sleep Hilarity...

I talked about making the mistake on clicking the ad for sleep aids, but that apparently wasn't my worst move lately. 

I picked back up the Calm app. I try here and there to do a more formal meditation practice. To see if I can clear out some of the chatter, or at least redirect it in a better manner. Well one of the guided meditations they have is Seven Days of Sleep. It's supposed to help you settle in and sleep better. There is a day time component and a right before bedtime one. So I've been doing it for the past five days. 

And I've been getting terrible sleep. 

I joke all the time that you can call me Insomnius of Borg. There isn't a sleep patch, pill, system out there that I cannot adapt to and overcome. 

I think the reason this one isn't working is because the bedtime routine ones are screwing up my own bedtime routine. And getting to sleep isn't my greatest challenge. Staying asleep is. Also the daytime meditation focus is about stress and leaving it behind to sleep. I don't have that issue. Not normally. My insomnia isn't tied to a stressful life. It just is.

I'm going to finish out the week since I'm a completist but I can fairly safely say that bedtime guided relaxation isn't for me. I'll go back to my set routine, sort of, I mean we have playoff hockey at least two nights next week and possibly three and then a soccer match on the weekend so it will be over a week before I can truly settle back into my favored routine. By then I should really be ready!

I also ordered one of the sleep supplements to try. I know, it's just going to make the ads worse, but...

This one is a magnesium supplement. It's supposed to help you sleep but more importantly it's supposed to be good for restless leg syndrome. One of the things that happens when I get really tired is I get twitchy legs. It's really hard to fall asleep when you are close to nodding off and KICK out goes your leg. It's very annoying. So I'm hoping that this fixes the leg situation. I'm not super hopeful about the sleep portion of it, but if its stops the legs from twitching that would be good enough. 

They haven't arrived yet, but I'll let you know if they work. 

And then the last part of my sleepless in Hillsboro week...

Last year I bought a sleep program that was based around binaural beats. Basically two different sounds are played in each of your ears (one is each ear) at a low frequency and there is some white noise, masking noise on top of it and it's supposed to help you concentrate if you are prone to busy brain and also help you to sleep. Brain science stuff. I thought it was interesting and it wasn't terribly expensive so I bought it. Ears buds and access to their sound library. One of the things they really stressed was how great it was that it wasn't app based, all web based. 

Well a few weeks ago I noticed that one of my widgets on my phone screen was gone. It wasn't something I used often enough to automatically know what it was. Well it was the link to the website for the binaural library. And, this is the funny part, I don't have the card with the website information anymore because a few months ago I saw I still had the box for the earbuds and was like...why do I keep phone boxes and ear bud boxes? I don't need them. Silly. And I threw it away. Not remembering that I was keeping that specific box because it had the QR code I had to scan to get to the website with the whole system on it. 

Happy ending, I emailed the company and they sent me a link to their new app that they have now instead of the website. Turns out that's why my widget disappeared, they took down the website. 

It does make me laugh that they were so pleased that they didn't have an app right up until the point that they had one. And that when I finally tossed out an empty headphones box it was the ONE headphones box I shouldn't have. 

*sigh*

So anyway, two more days of the Seven Days of No Sleep and hopefully the supplement will get here soon so I can give it a try and stop kicking the cats and the hubby while they are trying to sleep, or at least kicking them accidentally.

Dream Stories...

I had a dream last night that I thought, OH this is going to be a great story. 

Let me give you the highlights. 

It started with Brent and I looking through a back lot area of Lowe's. We were looking for some rocks for the yard and thought maybe they would have discount rocks back there. Yes, I was dreaming of cheap rocks. 

So anyway as we worked our way further and further into this back area it was getting darker and darker and spookier and spookier. I finally turned on the flashlight on my phone to look around. And apparently we had wandered off of the Lowe's lot and onto someone's private property. And they had spent years designing it to keep people away. 

There were tons of carved stones and wood work. Skulls and faces and dark craggy areas. Just really creepy. Finally we found the caretaker to have him show us the way back out. And as we were walking out I suggested to him that instead of trying to keep people away by scaring them they should open it up to the public and charge admission because a lot of people would pay for the experience. 

He said he'd take it as a suggestion. 

Which, of course generally means, yeah no. 

So I was telling Brent he was really missing out on a fortune and that's when we ended up at the house where the owner had gone missing. Everyone was pretty sure he had killed his daughter and then disappeared. Somehow Brent and I had been recruited to take a look around the house to gather clues for the police. 

There was a missing picture from their hallway of family photos. That was really about it. Except, of course, for the missing people. 

We were wandering around taking inventory of everything when THE GUY SHOWED UP! Oh! So we are in his house, without his permission, and we think he is a killer! How scary! Well, no. I mean, I was very nonplussed. He was there with his new girlfriend which made me wonder if he killed his daughter or if his girlfriend did. And the only thing I asked them about was if there was a cat. Because we were going to make sure the cat was taken care of since everyone had disappeared, but it looked like maybe they didn't even have a cat. 

While the girlfriend was showing me the cat food, I missed it because they kept it in a tupperware container. (Like we do, but somehow I didn't recognize that as cat food) the grand daughter and her new husband showed up. She had also gone missing. But apparently she was on her honeymoon. 

So the old man hadn't been missing, he'd just been out of the house for the day, the grand daughter was on her honeymoon and the daughter, well, we never got to the bottom of that but neither of them seemed concerned that she wasn't around. After all, she didn't live there.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was what I woke up thinking, OH that will be a great story. I was sure the missing picture part was going to be the linchpin in the whole mystery. Even though I knew there was no mystery. Just Brent and I breaking and entering an old man's house. This was story time gold. I didn't write down any notes because I've learned over the years that they never make sense. And usually if it's really good I remember enough of it to write a story from it. And it was 3AM so I really didn't want to wake up enough to write down the notes. 

But lucky you, I remembered it. It's stuck with me all day. With the added, What the heck? vibe. 

So what that means is there is something in there. I just don't know what. I don't know if it's something I need to pay attention to in my life that the dream is highlighting in some way. I don't know if it's something in the dream that really will make a great story. 

The only thing I do know is I got a blog out of it and I gave you all a little understanding as to why it's not terrible that I suffer from insomnia. 

Flames...

Flames

Fire makes its own wind

The oxygen rushes in to feed the flames

A large fire can make tornadoes

 Spinning walls of flame

Consuming 

Moving

Burn

The only thing left is ash

Piles of what was, now blowing in wind

Wind created by the same fire

Its own destruction

Reclaiming

Clearing

Change

The smoke clears and what's left?

Some seeds cannot open, cannot grow without fire

It takes extreme heat to crack them

For the new to start again

Germinating

Sprouting

Grow

Fire can make its own wind

The wind feeds the fire, hotter, bigger, stronger

Ashes left behind feed new growth

That only happen from fires

Burn

Change

Grow

Old Habits...

Being a child of the 80s and growing up with diet culture and thin equals healthy and nothing tastes as good as thin feels and fat shaming and no positive body representation it's very hard for me to not equate my weight with a good day or a bad day. 

And since I am heavier right now than I like to be it's been quite a few bad days. 

So I'm doing something I've tried in the past, without much success, I'm going to just stop stepping on the scale. It tends to make me anxious to not do it though, like I feel like I'm out of control just by not paying attention.

Disordered eating, it's the gift that keeps on giving. 

But I think I've found a way to work around it. No Weigh May. 

You all know I love a rhyming challenge. 

And because it's a set amount of time I think it won't trigger that feeling of losing control.

I think.

And I know, a lot of people have thrown out their scales and never been happier. I am not one of those people. But I'd like to be. 

I'd like to never ever consider what my weight is. I'd like to be one size for clothes and never shift. I'd like to not equate my size with my health. And I am trying. I really am. 

But it's years of conditioning to overcome. And it's been really hard. 

Brent and I have talked about it and he is the same way. Really easy for him to tell people, "Are you healthy? How is your blood work? How is your fitness?" and then tell them to not worry about the weight if everything else is good. And yet, he still freaks out about his own weight. 

I am the same. Be healthy. Be happy. Love the body you are in and appreciate everything it does for you. 

YOU, not me. Don't be ridiculous. 

But because I know that I have these challenges, and these triggers that can lead me into literally starving myself, I am careful at least. I pay attention to what is setting me off. And I try. That's a huge change from my youth. But I'm still not completely there. I'm not sure I ever will be and I try not to beat myself up for that either. But I would like to be better about it. To love myself a little more. Not have that be dependent on what the scale says.

So this is going to be me trying. 

No Weigh May. 

Communication...

Communication is difficult at times. 

Or at least clear communication. 

I've written about it before, how important it is to me to not be misunderstood. After Brent asks me a question and I've answered in a paragraph worth of words and he then sums up the answer as "yes then?" I often feel like I need another paragraph to explain why I needed the first paragraph. Yes the answer is yes but there is a reason for it. It's not a stand alone answer, there are reasons.

I want to be understood. 

And I understand how frustrating it is when I think I've been really clear in what I'm saying and someone does misunderstand me. And how angry it makes me when I realize someone is intentionally misunderstanding me. 

So all of that is a lead in to an interesting interaction over the past few days with an author that I follow, Father Nathan Monk.

When Taylor Swift's album dropped he posted the following: "Taylor just dropped a new album which is a great time to remind y'all to buy art from starving artists. Signed, a starving artist"

So what do you see when you read that? 

Is there an also in your head or an instead of? 

That's what the discourse broke down to.

And I will say when I first read it I saw an instead of. 

And this is why: 

When Beyoncé released her country album a few weeks ago and people were having HUGE fits about it, Father Nathan Monk wrote one of the best reviews of the album I've read. He talked not only about how good the music is, but how it fits into an historical timeline of country music. How wonderful it was. But he didn't mention buying art from starving artists. Though Beyoncé is far from starving. 

Having those posts come on the heels of each other it was easy to assume he was saying, don't buy this, buy that. 

And people jumped all over him for it. 

Even I had something to say. (I know you all are shocked considering how reticent I am to share my opinions) "I think the word also in this post would have been good. Without it it's really easy to insert an implied instead of.

Edit: Which as I wrote it down it made me realize we all should insert the implied also. If there are two ways to take something and one makes you mad, take it the other way."

And that was my take. With the fact that people love to hate on Taylor Swift. With the recent love in post for Beyoncé. I think it was easy to misconstrue what he was saying. If he was indeed saying "also."

I also think it would be fine if that's what he was saying. If that was his opinion then that's his opinion. 

But he didn't take it well. And I mean, I'm not the only one to have suggested an also would have been a good addition for clarity. There were other comments. And I will say I don't think making a suggestion for clarity is bad thing. 

So today he posted an essay about being purposefully misunderstood. And how that wasn't what he meant at all. Though he spent a lot of time talking about how Taylor Swift doesn't need your money and other people do so maybe it is what he meant, he just didn't mean it in a way that would make people angry? 

But anyway, he ended it with a call out to the word 'also' and a call out to other Taylor Swift lyrics, which was both clever as well as kind of snotty. Which I for one, appreciated. 

"That’s what I was trying to say the other night, but because I didn’t say “also,” then I guess it’s me; I’m the problem, it’s me.

Oh, there he goes. Playing the victim, again"

Yeah, I mean, I love his writing, but in this instance I think so, I do think he was the problem. I understand that when your job is communicating, and that is what writers do, and you miss the mark when you feel like you hit it squarely it's hard not to take it personally. I mean, they are your words, of course it's personal. But sometimes you really do need a paragraph to explain your point, or even just one more word. 

And at the end of all of this I will leave you with a recommendation to follow him on whatever social media platform you use and to subscribe to his substack. He really is a gifted writer even when I think he missed the mark by just one word. Maybe even especially then, because he did come back with a whole essay about one word, and I can appreciate that. 

To guess what Brent would have said about it, "So you mean also then?"

Where Does It Come From?

I've had people ask that a lot. Where does the story come from?

Sometimes, okay often, I think it's asked with worry. Considering the number of dead people I write about I can sort of see that.

But sometimes I think it's just genuine curiosity. How do you make up a whole scene out of your head? I used to (and sometimes still will) do it as a party trick. When we were travelling during the summer with the church group I would tell stories on the bus. Just start one and go. Same as writing it down, but there is nothing left at the end except the memory of the story. The way stories used to be told before writing. 

I did it when Katie was growing up. First telling her stories, then telling stories with her. And we had stories we told over and over again. Things we had made up but became just as ingrained as The Birthday Monsters or Goodnight Moon because we told them over and over. But each time just a little differently I'm sure. 

I've done it at lunch with friends. Sometimes they've given me a brief "what about them?" nudge and watched as I spun a whole story about the couple at the next table. Or in New York, about the mafia squirrels in the park. 

I don't always know where the story comes from. It's just there. But sometimes I know what triggered it. What was the pushing off point. 

Today's story Shhh.... was one that started a couple of days ago. I was reading the comments on an ad looking to see if anyone had tried the product. 

It was for nonalcoholic tequila. I've tried the nonalcoholic bourbon from that company and it's pretty good. You wouldn't want to sip it straight but with a mixer? It's close. The challenge with nonalcoholic tequilas is that most companies add some sort of chile to it to get that tequila burn. I can't have nightshades so it takes it right off the list for me. This one doesn't have that so I was wondering if it was any good. 

It never fails that in the comments of any nonalcoholic drink there are people who are mad, like BIG mad that anyone would bother. If you aren't drinking for the alcohol why are you even drinking? Like just liking the taste of it isn't enough. Then there are actual alcoholics who are BIG mad about it because it could be triggering for someone to drink the nonalcoholic version and then just dive right back into a bottle. Both groups think there is no reason for these products. 

And in this comment thread there was a group listing their reasons for not drinking alcohol even though they weren't alcoholics. Family history was a big one. And I get that. I've always watched the amount I drink just because of that reason. Addiction is big in my family. Alcohol, drugs, shopping, food, we like to have those pleasure centers lit up, thank you very much. So over the years I've often just stopped drinking to prove to myself that I can. And then I start again when I feel like I want to. And stop again when I want to as well.

For instance, I haven't had a drink since last June. I did Dry July and never picked it back up again. I started Dry July because I was in one of my phases where the fact that your body processes alcohol as a poison, no matter how much or how little you drink, really bugged me. Like there is no other poison you would willingly ingest. Oh it's just a little poison, no big deal. Ridiculous. So I stopped drinking. Also alcohol makes my night sweats worse. And like I talked about yesterday I have a hard enough time sleeping, I don't need to do something that is going to trigger a heat wave that's going to wake me up. So why in world would I drink poison that is going to make me have a hot flash? Easy to stop. 

But during the times I'm not drinking people have opinions. And they get really mad at me for choosing not to drink. Like my not drinking is some sort of judgment on them. I don't drink. I'm not drinking right now. I might drink some other time but for now the whole hot poison thing is keeping me away from it. You do what you want, I'm fine. 

But if I were an alcoholic then people would be supportive of my not drinking. 

Like it has to be a disease before you are okay to stop. No preventative treatment allowed!

And reading all of the comments from people as to why they didn't drink made me think, what if someone pretended to be an alcoholic so everyone would get off their jock about not drinking? And then this story started in my head. The drunken confession of a nonalcoholic. 

I can't always pinpoint where a story idea comes from, but this time I could.

It was those damn ads again. 

Shhh....

She wasn't the only liar in the room. She believed that she was never the only liar in a room, but at least in this room they all admitted it. Addicts were known liars. To others, to themselves. They lied. But she was pretty sure she was the only one lying about this.

She also wasn't the only person in this room to have had an affair. Or if not an affair, slept with someone they should not have. It was a common part of their rock bottom stories. The affair, the tawdry one night stand, the piece that brought it all crashing down. She'd heard a lot of them. The stories. 

She'd been in AA for five years at this point. She often thought she'd heard all of the stories that there could be. Or at least all of the variations on a theme. 

She had never shared her own story. She'd thought about it in the beginning. But then talked herself out of it. Rightly, she believed. When it became too awkward to attend a meeting without sharing she'd change times or locations. A whole new room full of liars to hide with. 

In vino veritas. 

You are only as sick as your secrets. 

She did not drink and she did not share her secrets. 

So she guessed she remained sick. 

But that was okay to her. She'd rather be sick than spread poison. 

She'd argued once with a group leader working the steps. He believed that often addicts hid behind the second half of the 9th step. The one about making amends but only if doing so wouldn't harm others more. He thought people hid behind the do no harm part to protect themselves. She did not agree. She thought that often people made confessions to make themselves feel better, to stop carrying the weight of the transgression, without ever considering how that would make someone else feel. 

She had been drinking at a conference. That was her last time. She was drinking with a woman who she really believed would be able to make that leap from work colleague, to work friend and eventually to just friend. There had been a real connection. One of those very comfortable things that happens. You just click. And they had spent the past two days going to meetings together and eating meals together and sticking by each other at all of the forced fun events. And actually having fun. 

Then the last night she had more to drink than she should have and said something she shouldn't have. Revealed an level of intimate knowledge about a man that she could not have known if they hadn't slept together. Because they were only work colleagues at the time, because she didn't know her that well yet, her work colleague didn't even realize what had been said, but if the friendship progressed, eventually she would. Eventually she would think about that conversation and the math would not have worked out. And she would have known. 

It wasn't a risk she was willing to take. 

Technically she had not been married at the time. But it was truly a technicality based on legality. She and her wife had been together, had committed to each other, years earlier. And the affair, it was an affair, not a one time drunken accident, had ended not because she had realized she didn't love him, but because she realized she loved her wife more. And she loved how her wife looked at her. And felt about her. And all of that would go away if she found out. 

And all of her wife's friends who had told her that a bisexual could never be faithful would have been right. That she wasn't really one of them. She was just oversexed and couldn't make up her mind. She'd been dabbling but would go back to dick as soon as one came along she liked the look of. Some lesbians could be very unwelcoming to those they felt didn't fit the whole mold. And she didn't really blame them. So many of them had been told their whole lives that they didn't really want a woman, they just hadn't found the right man yet. And here she was sleeping with women when she wanted and men when she wanted. Just making it more difficult for the rest of them to assert that they had no urge to sleep with men.

There had been many late night discussions about monogamy and that it was the same with her as it was with her wife. Just because she was bixsexual didn't matter. Monogamy was monogamy. They were only going to sleep with each other. They promised. 

She had lied.

She didn't realize at the time she was lying. She hadn't meant to lie. And she had been deeply ashamed of herself even while the affair was happening. But she had fallen for him as well. And she had a lot of excuses and reason why it was okay. Why nobody was going to get hurt because nobody ever had to know. And that worked until the first person found out. And she realized it was only a matter of time before her wife did as well. And she did think about it for a moment. What she wanted to do. Maybe she didn't want monogamy. Maybe it had been a mistake to think that it was for her. 

Then she went home and saw her, at the time, eternal fiance, and realized that no, she was her home. She was worth everything and more and that there was no excuse in the world for doing something that could hurt her that deeply. 

So she ended the affair. Messily it turned out. Nobody wants to hear, I love you but I love them more. And no matter how she tried to word it, he had heard that as the truth. I still love you, but you are not enough. She is. She is enough. And you are not her. It had been dicey for awhile. She thought any day she would come home and find he had confessed, he had spilled her secrets. But he didn't. And she didn't. And life moved forward.

Until that night in the bar when she heard the words so casually slip from her mouth and the alarm bells that hadn't been dampened with booze rang. 

She hadn't touched another drop. She couldn't risk it. 

She told her wife she was stopping because her family history was rife with addicts, which was true. And that she was getting too comfortable drinking too much, which wasn't. She rarely drank too much. She could take it or leave it. But if she just left it people would still want her to drink. She didn't want to have that one too many drinks in vino veritas moment to sneak up on her again. So she would just leave it.

But nobody likes a sober person unless they are an alcoholic and then they leave you alone.  

She wasn't the only liar in that room, but she was pretty sure she was the only one lying about being an alcoholic. 

So Many Ads...

I have always had trouble sleeping. If you know me you know that about me. It's so much a part of who I am that I didn't realize it was odd until I was in high school. Like I legit thought that everyone had a hard time falling asleep and that everyone woke up for hours in the middle of the night. When I first heard that there were people that would go right to sleep and not wake up again until morning I was shocked. Thought that there was something wrong with them!

The few times in my life where I've slept well have been amazing. Just often enough for me to chase that high...low? The high of being able to stay low? Something like that...

But yeah, I'd love to sleep better. Though I manage with less sleep than most and I do think that my body is designed that way. And I don't really break down unless I'm in a complete insomnia stretch where there is little (an hour or two a night) to no sleep. I can do that and handle that for about three days. Generally it happens when I'm manic and so it balances out. The manic energy overrides the sleep need and I just keep going. But if it hits when I'm in a "normal" space or heaven forfend a lull it's miserable. By day three I'm in tears over everything. 

But that's rare. Usually it's just I'm a little tired and I would like some more sleep. 

I made a mistake the last time I was in a stretch of not enough sleep. It was one of those bad stretches where I didn't have a false bump of energy coming in to balance out the lack of sleep. I was just exhausted and it was taking its toll. And so the mistake happened. 

I clicked on an ad for a sleep aid. Then clicked through to their website to read what the ingredients were and if it was worth trying. 

I know. But I was tired and not thinking clearly as to the consequences.

So now I have at least a dozen sleep aid ads in all of my feeds. Facebook, Instagram, Google, Threads, over and over and over again. THC gummies, mushroom tea, ashwagandha, valerian root, melatonin, magnesium, tart cherry, over and over and over again. 

And I've tried most of them. Melatonin is no good. (It's actually not really good for anyone in the way that they market it, maybe for jet lag, but otherwise your body makes its own, and you'd be better off heading outside first thing in the morning for a dose of natural light to start your own system up) Valerian is a no way from me. (I get really odd dreams while taking it, and it doesn't work for staying asleep all night, just deep sleep for a few hours with really odd dreams then laying awake for hours wondering what the fuck I just dreamt) Ashwagandha I'm allergic to. I tried CBD drops before and they did nothing and I don't really think adding in the hallucinogenic part is a good idea. (I've never smoked pot or taken pot gummies, it's just not a thing I think is a good idea with the way my brain chemistry is already) I've tried the tart cherry and it did nothing but make my teeth feel fuzzy. So that leaves the mushroom and magnesium. 

And I just don't think that's the answer. But maybe?

If I could find one that didn't have all of the other pieces as well.

Because that's a big thing with sleep aids, they throw it all in there hoping one of them will work for you. 

And do not click through an ad to see if it does have all of those ingredients but then you will be just like me and inundated with nothing but ads for gummies, teas and pill. 

It's exhausting. 

But not in a good way that helps you get to sleep.

So what does work? As odd as it sounds I do have suggestions for anyone who has problems sleeping. 

Get a good sleep routine established and try your best to stick with it. 

We drink some tea an hour or so before bed. A warm cup of tea signals to my body that it's time to head to bed. A warm shower or bath does the same thing if you like doing that in the evening. For me the tea works because a bath takes too long and I don't want to get my hair wet in the shower. 

So a warm cup of tea
Brush teeth, wash face, go pee, all that bedtime maintenance stuff
I read for a bit. I know that a lot of sleep experts will tell you not to read in bed. Or watch TV in bed. That the bed is only for sleep and sex and I've tried that as well, but it doesn't work for me. What works for me is to read a bit to wind down. Usually only for 15 or 20 minutes maximum. 
Then I go to sleep. 

That's the routine. Every night. The only thing that varies is the starting time for the routine. I'd really prefer to be in bed by 9:15 and asleep by 9:45 every night. The hope is that I sleep most of the night and so clock as close to 8 hours of sleep as I can. It doesn't usually happen for me, but Brent gets close that way and he functions best on 7-8 hours so it's a good compromise time. That doesn't always work since we have hockey games and soccer matches and such that keep us out later than that at times, but I function better if I stick with the 9:15 in bed time frame. 

I'm waking up at least 3 times over night. If I'm lucky I get back to sleep right away. If not I pick up my book and read until I'm sleepy again. Again, the experts will tell you to get out of bed, but if I get out of bed it's game over. I am awake for the rest of the night. The idea of getting out of bed and doing some quiet activity until I get sleepy again is foreign to me. Once my feet hit the floor my brain is fully on and engaged and I will read or listen to music or color or whatever quiet activity I am trying out until the sun comes up and Brent starts his day. 

And I've also mastered lying in bed perfect still and almost asleep. It works for me as an almost good enough solution to sleeping. If I can shut everything down, quiet my mind as much as possible, keep my body as still as possible, it's close to sleep. Again, the experts will tell you that you should never do that. That if you cannot sleep you should get up. But if you have chronic insomnia sometimes that's as good as you are going to get so you should take it. Rest if you cannot sleep. 

I never pick up my phone overnight. I have it on do not disturb from 9PM until 7AM (we usually get up at 6 but if we're lucky and can sleep in until 7 I don't want a text ruining that). There are only a few people on my override the DND list and I cut it even further once our parents all died. There are very few problems that cannot wait until the morning to deal with. You'll handle them better with a full night's sleep anyway. If you do pick up your phone just say good morning and get out of bed. 

The blue light tells your brain it's time to be awake. All of your social media accounts give you something to focus on that isn't calming. It's just not a good idea. Leave it on DND, or leave it in another room if you have to. It's just not good for sleeping. 

Comfortable bed, good room temperature (I like it close to chilly without becoming freezing), comfy night clothes or no clothes if that's better for you. White noise or ear plugs if you want. We have blackout curtains (thanks to Dana and honestly I cannot believe we didn't have them before), or an eye mask would work. And no pets. 

Yeah, that last one isn't for us anymore, but it really does help your sleep if you don't have someone waking you up for a walk, or to be let outside, or to be fed, or because they just miss you so much while you are asleep (Tig). 

But handle the things you can. Set yourself up the best way for you to get the best night's sleep.

And NEVER, EVER, no matter how tired you are, click the sleep aid ads. 

Happy Birthday!

It's Dana's birthday today. Skippy requested poetry for her, I KNOW how weird right? I mean Skippy wanting poetry? But in her birthday message to Dana she wrote. "Let me commission Denise to compose an ode to your birthday." I might be paraphrasing a bit but I'm sure that was the gist of it.

So I started thinking about it. At first I was thinking an ode. That's a good birthday poem. An Ode. But then I thought, oh! I could write in iambic pentameter! Because what better way to say happy birthday than to show off a little? And then I realized that Phoenix rhymes with some funny words so a limerick might be fun. There once was a girl from Phoenix...who led Marc around by his...

But wait! Today is National Haiku Day! OF COURSE Dana was born on Haiku day! Haiku is my favorite!

So I give you, by Skippy's request (I KNOW I'm still amazed at how much she is loving National Poetry Month) some birthday Haiku in honor of Dana's birthday.

Darkness creeping in
A cold chill causes shivers
Oh! It's just Dana!

(look, I love her like I made her, but she's creepy as... well...me)

Candles on a cake
Pour more coffee in her cup
Everybody sing!

(cake is all well and good, but the woman really wants coffee)

Superhero stance
Step in front of the grenade
Bad Denise rises

(She literally stepped between an unsuspecting crowd and an about to lose it YOU ARE BREATHING MY AIR me, not all heroes wear capes, some of them wear sweatshirts and are still freezing when it's 65 degrees outside)

Your sun is broken
This will always make me laugh
It's not been tainted

(some jokes are always funny)

Sniff...pause...sniff...concern
What am I smelling right now?
That's outside, sweetheart

(again, some jokes are ALWAYS funny. The difference between living in a hellscape and living someplace where trees grow, flowers bloom and outside spaces smell like both instead of melting tar)

I could write some more
Or I could just wrap it up
Happy Birthday Love!

(Honestly, I could write a dozen more. I love Haiku, and I love Dana, and I love Skippy and want her to feel like she got her wish granted, but I will end here. Happy Birthday, Dana!)

Starting Over...

I lifted weights today. 

It is the first time I've lifted, outside of PT exercises, since like September? October? A long time. 

I barely lifted. I would have mocked myself for even calling the amount of weight I lifted, lifting last year. Do you even lift, bro? Well no...not really.

Using 10 pound weights for everything right now. Very light. But something. And I need to do it this way. And I need to go really slowly as I build back up. I need to pay close attention to how my elbow feels not only while I'm lifting but for the rest of the day and the next as well. 

So far so good.

There was one thing I had to modify, and one I had to drop completely. Though to be fair the one I dropped was because of my toe. I thought maybe I'd be able to do split leg squats since the weight was going to be so light, but even body weight on that toe is never going to work, so I dropped it. 

The one I modified I was supposed to hold a weight on my shoulder, right hand holding on right shoulder, while I raised the right leg, and I cannot keep my arm bent like that for any length of time. I'm guessing the tendon doesn't work like that anymore, or at least not yet. There is a pretty good ridge of scar tissue in there from the tear repair and right now I don't have full range of motion without discomfort. And I'm not sure I ever will. But I modified it and worked it out. 

It was a banner day. 

Now, here is the funny part to me. 

The workout app I use tracks your stats. It knows what you did the last time you did that exercise, for instance. But they pushed an update at some point that resets your stat records after 6 months. So for every single exercise I did I got a Congratulations! Highest 1 rep weight in the past 6 months!

Every. Single. Exercise.

Yay! The shoulder presses that you could do 40 pounds on you did 10! Good for you! Oh, good for you!

It made me laugh. 

Even me, who loves a gold star SO much, thought it was a little silly. 

But maybe not. Maybe it's great. Things happen and you have to start over. And it's nice to get recognition that you are better today than you have been in the past 6 months, even if you aren't where you were. 

And of course, that is going to be the difficult part now (assuming my arm holds up and feels fine tomorrow), not pushing too fast and too hard to get back there. I mean, I will get back there. I know I will. On most everything at least. There might be things I can never do again without modification, but I am pretty sure I'll be able to tackle most everything. I just need to keep reminding myself that I am stronger today than I have been at any other point in the past 6 months. 

I have to remember in December before I had the procedure done lifting 10 pounds was out of the question. I couldn't even put a plate in the cupboard. And right after having the procedure done, and for a few weeks after, I couldn't do ANYTHING with that arm including straightening it. I remember the day I could straighten it without it shaking from the effort and what a big deal that was.

So yeah, I lifted 10 pounds today. Shoulder presses, chest presses, weighted squats, upright rows, deadlifts, I did a plethora (small p) of things today, all with weights. And I broke a bunch of my own 6 month records doing it. 

Go me!

Sunday Haiku...

 Spring sunshine teases
Thoughts of summer days ahead
Frost warning tonight

The flowers planted
Grow, but only what I say
No weeds allowed here

The weeds then come back
I can't stop Mother Nature
Though I keep trying

Colors look lovely
Bright and bold in the sunshine
Candy for the eyes

Trying to find love
By writing garden poems
But it's still just work

Scrabble...

We are irreverent in this house. 

I could add qualifiers as to what we are irreverent about but it's pretty much everything. 

The news was all over the NEW Scrabble this week. Fox thinks they've gone "woke" because official tournament Scrabble and the official Scrabble dictionary have dropped some offensive and derogatory words. Which, I mean if you want to play by the plantation rules, you go on ahead, nobody is in your home making sure you don't say or spell the n word. As you well know, Fox News...

And a lot of people are up in arms over the new version of Scrabble they are releasing that is easier. It's designed more for team corroboration instead of individual competition. It has cards to make it easier to make words. They are trying to bring in more people to play by making the bar lower. 

When I saw the story about the easier I thought of Brent's mother. The woman loved Scrabble. And I could just hear her saying "Instead of making it easier, how about you get smarter?" And then I laughed thinking of the jokes we would make about sending her the easier version because the last time we played I beat her. 

Brent and I were talking about the new easier version this morning and his mother. And he said, "though maybe she needed it since she lost." And then he said, "Too soon?" and I had to tell him what I had thought and laughed about.

Then we talked about how it must make her a restless spirit that the last time we played Scrabble she lost to me. I am not sure but it's quite possible that it was the first time ever that I beat her. Brent thinks I beat her a few times over the years, but I don't know. I am not good at Scrabble. I like words, but I'm not great at spelling. And she (and she taught it to Katie) would do that dirty twisty way of playing that would box off the good letters and spaces on the board. I mean, it's not dirty, it's in the rules, but when the only word you can see you can't play because you've been boxed out it's dirty. 

And the last time we played was when we were home for my mother's funeral so I was out of sorts. I was distracted and sad, of course, and I still won. Which might have been why I won. I wasn't overthinking it. Just relaxed into knowing I was going to lose and it would eat up a few hours in the day and then...

I can still see her face as she went over the board again and again trying really hard to be a good sport about it but...she did not like to lose. She did not like to lose at Scrabble. And she did not like to lose to me most of all. 

So yeah, we would have joked about sending her the easy version, but we never would have. And eventually I would have succumbed to the pressure for a rematch so she could beat me soundly. 

But that's not going to happen. There won't be another game. 

So I will always be the Reigning Mastenbrook Scrabble Champion!

It's a Surprise!

So yesterday's poem was a surprise to me. 

Not that I wrote it. I mean I want to write 8 this month. 

But the last stanza. 

I pulled a twist out on myself!

Which happens sometimes in writing fiction. I say sometimes because most of the time the twist is planned. I know how the story ends. I know the "oh this changes everything" moment. But sometimes when I'm writing what I think is going to be a straightforward easy story something twists at the end surprising even myself.

That was yesterday's poem.  

I had been out digging up daffodils to make way for some bushes we are having planted today. And I went between aggravation that they DID NOT WANT to be dug up and enjoyment of that freshly turned dirt smell. 

I love that smell. 

And when we lived on the urban growth boundary I'd get it in the spring and in the fall in LARGE doses. They turned fields for planting and then after harvest and all of that really rich soil would come to the surface and...ahhh....

Wet dirt.

Seems an odd thing to enjoy the smell of but I know from posting about it one time and the response I got that I am not the only person who thinks it's great. 

As I was digging up the daffodils I was trying to think of something to write. Couldn't really make it poetic but thought, well, maybe it will come to me as I go.

And as I started writing I thought oh maybe I'll tie it into golems. We are all made of earth sort of thing. But then my line about eating it gets really morbid. And then I wrote that line about mouths filled with dirt and...

The images from the bombings and total destruction in Gaza came forward. Ten thousand children dead. Trying to wrap your head around that number is impossible. Looking at the houses just laid to waste and thinking, what if? What if it was your family? 

Bodies of parents lying over their children trying to protect them from the bombs and the rubble. But one frail body is not going to protect another one. Though you would still try. 

Fist fulls of dirt in their mouths. 

It ended up turning the poem on it's head. 

Sometimes when you surprise yourself it's not all that great. 

Digging In The Dirt...

Digging in the Dirt

    There was something about the smell 

Was it primal? A throwback to a different time?

When we were connected with the land. 

When we grew what we ate. 

But each shovel brought that rich smell.

Loamy. Dark. Full of nutrients.

Children often ate fistfuls of dirt

Parents wiping it out of hands and mouths

Telling them no, we don't eat this!

But the smell was too much for them

And they'd do it again

Skip the middleman

No vegetables, just the dirt

She was tempted to do it herself

What would it taste like?

Chocolate like the color?

She laughed to imagine her own children 

Seeing her on her knees digging in the yard

And instead of planting flowers 

Eating fistfuls of dirt

I learned it from you!

She would tell them, you did it first!

But of course they hadn't. 

She did it before them

Her mother did it, her grandmother...

Down the line; generations of children

Fistfuls of dirt in their mouths

Mothers and fathers in a faraway land

Digging in the dirt

Frantically wiping it away from faces

A generation of children

 Fistfuls of dirt in their mouths

Tears watered her garden

Anger hardened her heart

That Old Time Religion...

I've talked before about how when I left the church I didn't realize how much of the church was still left in me. 

When you are raised in a religion like the one I was raised in everything, and I mean everything, is tied back to the church. It's just your mode of thinking. Constantly. 

I can remember a youth group meeting once and talking about secular versus religious music and how we should all be listening only to religious music. That the secular stuff was bad for our souls. I countered with the fact that sometimes even though it wasn't meant to be, the secular stuff could be religious and speak to us that way. I said the song Starry Starry Night was one. And I wasn't the only kid in my group who had had the same experience listening to that song. 

Clearly the song is about Vincent Van Gogh. And listening to it now that's (mostly) what I hear. But there is still a part of me that remembers being 15 or 16 and hearing it and thinking this is about Jesus. 

Now, I understand what you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now

And the end:
They would not listen, they're not listening still
Perhaps they never will

I mean I totally could make that fit with Jesus. And the taking your life could be his sacrifice on the cross, it's sort of taking your own life when you know it's coming and don't stop it and...

Well yeah, it was a stretch but the fact that I wasn't the only one of us who did, and did it with other songs as well, shows how deep that conditioning went. Everything we did, every thought we had, was supposed to be for the glorification of God and when we fell short, which of course we would, weren't we lucky we were forgiven?

Guilt, shame, and saving us from ourselves. Great conditioning. 

And at times it still rears its head. But now usually in things that piss me off. Like if I get an outsized reaction to something I can almost always find it's tied to the church.

I'm going to tell you two different little stories here and they are totally tied, trust me. You'll probably see it but maybe not. And also, I'm going to get really personal about my sex life, so if you don't want to hear about that at all, which I don't blame you, who wants to hear about their friend's sex lives? You can back out now and it's all good. 

When Katie was born it was a rough delivery. Long labor. Forceps used to crank me open to get her out. Stitches. Then my milk didn't come in. And her bilirubin was really high so we had to keep going back to the hospital for tests. And I was not prepared for what being a mother was going to be like. The constantness of it. I mean, I knew, intellectually that once the baby is born you are always responsible for them. But there is a difference between intellectual and physical. 

I was exhausted. 

I think Brent got a week off for New Daddy leave and then was back on rotating shift work. Twelve hour shifts. I was the primary parent. He stepped in when he was home. I loved when he was on mids. He would come home around 2 in the morning which was close to a feeding time for her so he would take care of that and I could sleep through that whole stretch. Ahhh...

Before Katie was born we had a lot of sex. Like often multiple times a day sex. We were young. He would leave for six months at a time so when he was home we felt the need to make up and stock up. And did I mention we were young? And poor. Like it's not like we had a lot of other entertainment things we were going to go do. We stayed home and did each other for free!

Once Katie came along things changed. We did have sex but it was sporadic. But like I mentioned, the birth was rough. Not only was there healing that had to happen from her birth but during that time I also had to have surgery on my anal sphincter. Which makes it sound like we were having anal sex, but no, not due to rambunctious out of the box sexy time, it was due to other issues, but it did make the whole area really painful. The idea of putting a penis inside of me was not high on my list. I could barely tolerate a finger before my vagina would spasm and lock down. It was not great times. 

I was exhausted and touched out from constantly tending to Katie. My whole vaginal region was in pain. I was emotionally just tapped. And if all of that wasn't enough, I felt guilty about it. It was my job as a woman to take care of the house, take care of the kid, and make sure I was attractive to my spouse and giving him sex whenever he wanted it. 

Because that's what I had been taught.

Seriously. It was in our pre-marriage counselling. I should keep track of the clock and make sure I was ready to greet him when he got home from work in an attractive outfit with the kids and house in order. That I needed to make sure I showed him that he was my priority as soon as he walked in. Instead I was lucky if I had changed out of my sweats and didn't have spit up down my back. And my priority? My priority was the child who needed attention. Or the laundry that was about to topple over. Or the sheer exhaustion that was going to take over. Sex? Sure...let me get back to you on that.

I knew I was failing. And I worried that he would leave me because of it.

Eventually it all evened back out. Katie started, if not sleeping, at least staying in her bed during naps and one glorious afternoon I put her down then quietly tiptoed out to the living room and said the very romantic, "We have an hour. Wanna go?" I am a sexpot, what can I say? 

And after that first really difficult year sex got to be more regular again. The times of multiple times a day and not leaving the bedroom for a weekend were not on the horizon, but multiple times a week were back on. 

And yet the guilt of that first year still persisted. 

Until one day Brent was talking to a friend of ours in the kitchen during a party. I was eavesdropping from the doorway because as I was about to walk in I heard Brent say, "You know I say this with love, but you're an asshole." I had to hear why.

The gist of it was his wife had just had her 6 week check up after having the baby and our friend was mad because he was expecting to get laid that night. And he didn't. She said that the doctor had given the okay but that she didn't feel like it. And he was really mad about it. He was ready for sex. Brent told him he was an asshole. That it didn't matter that he was ready for sex. He hadn't pushed an 8 pound person out of his body. And that his body hadn't changed. And that he wasn't being called upon to feed said person multiple times a day. His body was still his body and his wife's body was now a co-op. And when SHE decided she was ready for sex, then that's when sex would happen. Until then grab some lotion and shut up. 

He also suggested that instead of whining about what he wasn't getting maybe step up more and help out so she got some rest and a break and that if he was very lucky if she was feeling well rested he might reap other benefits from that. (Now you see how the middle of the night feedings he took over not only helped him bond with Katie, gave me some extra sleep but also provided him with bj benefits, I had the energy for some sexy time, but not the desire to have anything in my nethers touched) And then he said, but she doesn't owe you shit. 

I love that man. 

Today a friend posted a joke video where a guy says he's going to give his partner a rose for everytime she "put out" during her pregnancy and he handed her a bunch of plain greenery. Oh my god, what an asshole. 

Now, look, I get it, she was filming so it was a setup. I get that it was supposed to be a joke. But...

Because I was raised in the church what I saw was an asshole who felt like he was owed something he didn't get. She didn't put out. She didn't give it up. She didn't do her duty. She didn't...

Dude...

Now I don't have any idea if it was a high risk pregnancy so she couldn't. If she was just uncomfortable to the point of not wanting to. Or if she just didn't want to have sex with this asshole. But the video clip "joke" made me angry. It came across as shaming her. 

As a serious note...compatible sex drives are important. One of the best lines I've heard about sex in a relationship is that it's like oxygen. You notice it when you aren't getting enough. But the way to rectify an imbalance in sex drives is with open communication and possibly therapy. Not with a belittling joke made at your partner's expense for laughs from strangers. 

Don't belittle your partner. 

Don't expect that you are due sex. 

And as another helpful hint, making fun of your partner, making them the butt of a joke, that's not going to get you laid at all. 

And it pisses me off on a larger scale because I was raised with the opposite belief. That it was her job to make sure he was still getting laid during that time. That her responsibility was to make sure HIS needs were met. The religion I was raised in gives women the you are secondary message on a constant basis. It's in the God is the head of the Church and your Husband is the head of the family message. The not so subtle messaging that your husband should be like a god in your house. Unquestioned and adored. And, obviously, can have sex whenever he wants. And if you aren't doing it then it's your fault when he leaves. 

Not his fault for not being better at it.
Not his fault for not taking things off your plate so you have the energy for it.
Not his fault for not seeking out help to get you both on the same page about it.

It's your fault. No roses for you. 

It wasn't a funny joke, to me. It was in bad taste. It belittled his partner and made him look like an asshole. But what made me react the way I did was that it was a message that was drummed in my head for so long that I spent a year deep in guilt after having Katie because I wasn't feeling, or looking, or acting, sexy so I was clearly a bad wife. 

I was being an asshole to myself.

And this guy was being an asshole to his partner.

He had lotion. He was okay.

And he could have made a video of that for Only Fans and maybe made a few bucks for his baby's college fund. Win win.

Asshole. 

Stories...

The gif is of someone eating popcorn, or of Kermit drinking tea. That's the online reaction.

A friend posted their change in relationship status a week ago. Then their spouse (also a friend) posted screenshots and their side of what happened. In between those things I made a joke post that was triggered by the first post, but not completely directed at it, that when someone changes their status like that you should be able to click for more information so you can get the full story. The OP came back and offered up their side of the story if anyone was interested.

My hand shot up so fast I left comic book dust devils.

OF COURSE I want your side. I want their side. Your side. The neighbor's side. I want all of the sides. But write them down so I can read them at my leisure please. 

And I know it all sounds very flippant, and it is in a way, but I love people's stories. Which is good because strangers tell me their life stories all the time. If I didn't like them I would have a miserable existence. 

But I love getting all of the stories. I love getting all of the nuance. I love hearing (or reading) about the feelings involved. 

Now, they did not in fact, dash off a note telling me their side of the story because what was supposed to happen, what I was supposed to say was, Oh it doesn't matter. It's your business. I still love you no matter what. 

I broke the social contract of expected responses. 

But don't offer me a story and then don't tell it, that's just rude. Sheesh...

I have a few friends who write. I talk about Dana's writing all of the time and how much I love it. She tells stories I want to read. I want her to win the lottery so she can just stay home and write all the time. I don't think she's ever sent me a story or a story idea that I haven't thoroughly enjoyed. 

I also have friends who have had to write for school and they will send me things they've written to see what I think. Usually with a caveat of how much they hate writing and how terrible they are. And it always amazes me how good a lot of them are. Like I would read this for fun levels of good. They don't want to do it anymore, but I always assure them that if they did, they were good. 

And then...well I have friends who write things that are just not for me. I mean I'm sure there is talent there. It's just not the stories I want to read. And those are the worst moments. I had to tell a friend a few years ago that they really wanted a different Beta reader than me because I didn't like those types of stories and so would be a bad judge of it was any good.

I mean I'm sure it's not terrible, but to me it's fairly terrible because I don't like the genre.

Or sometimes the style. 

I have friends who write very important things. I know they are very important things because they are written in such a way to emphasize that they are very important. And maybe they are. Maybe the ideals and ideas are very important and I'm just too basic to appreciate them. For sure that could be it. But I generally just say that isn't for me. That style of writing isn't my cup of tea. 

Or bucket of popcorn. 

I mean come on...you can't tell me you are going to tell me the deets and then not send them. Clearly that is the real tragedy in a decades long married collapsing...

Yeah, I can hear myself. 

I'm not happy about being that shallow.

But they promised me a story. 

(and I'm really mostly kidding, of course I'd like to hear all of the story, but I am also really sad for my friends and the journey they are just starting that I know will be ugly and hurtful and difficult)

Eclipse

Eclipse 

Grief is like an eclipse

Total, partial, solar, lunar

Grief is like an eclipse

The darkness can be all consuming

Or just a sliver gone

Nobody would notice 

Except you 

The corona of the sun

Only visible during a total eclipse

You didn't know what the sun was made of

Until the light was gone

The lunar eclipse

The middle of the night

Even the reflected light disappears

You were awake to see it

Feel it

Miss it

Did anyone else notice?

Grief is like an eclipse

It moves on

It passes

But you

You stared at it

Trying to see even a bit of what was left

And now it is burned into you

Forever imprinted in your eyes

Your heart

Your soul

Grief is like an eclipse

Aren't You Pretty?

Yesterday afternoon Brent and I were going to run some errands and then grab dinner out before coming home to watch the Women's Final Four. Before we left I briefly considered putting on some makeup and then decided to just run a brush through my hair, and out the door we went. 

I had to laugh a little about how often that happens now versus how often it would have happened 15 or 20 years ago. The not wearing any makeup out in public part. Not the brushing my hair, I do that daily. 

Then this morning I was thinking about it again. I used to have acrylic nails that I had filled every two weeks. I got a pedicure once a month. I always wore makeup. Even if we were going to be home I would at least put on a little bit of powder and mascara. I wore perfume almost daily. Trésor or Miracle by Lancôme, if you were wondering. I did not leave the house in yoga pants. Are you kidding me? Jeans were as casual (and I did do casual) as I considered proper for public viewing. 

Then I went to massage therapy school. The nails had to go. Not only no acrylics but no nails past the nail bed. If there was any white at the tips that was too long. No perfume, not even strongly perfumed soaps or deodorants. Everything was scent free. Yoga pants became a daily uniform. I still didn't go out without makeup but I did pare it back to almost always having that casual face on. Some powder or tinted moisturizer (I don't wear foundation normally, even in my most made-up days I don't care for the way it feels on my face) and mascara.  

A lot of you know about how 10 years ago or so I realized I didn't own a single lipstick so went all in on finding one of those. I now own a few more than one and I love a bright red lip or a berry lip. And if I do my makeup I almost always add a lip now to the powder and mascara. I like eyeshadow but I don't have a real talent for applying it so I do it sometimes and sometimes I don't. And like I said when I started this post, a lot of times now I just don't do any of it at all. 

Now the part that made me laugh (like I mentioned above) is that I was wearing makeup daily when I was in my 20s, 30s, and 40s. Now that I'm in my mid 50s I don't. I wore it before to look young and fresh and pretty and now that I could use the help looking young and fresh and pretty I just... don't care. I like how I look with makeup on. I think it looks pretty. And I don't mind how I look with it off. The big change is that I don't care what other people think about if I am made up or not. 

Part of that is age. Part of that is where I live. It's really common here for women not to be overly made-up. I can remember traveling to Texas or other Southern states for work and how underdone I felt while I was there. Even in my most made-up face it wasn't anywhere close to what they were doing. So much work. 

But a big part is just comfort. I am comfortable. I'm comfortable aging (though I'd like to do it a little more pain-free than I've been doing lately). I don't view age as something to hide. I am 55, I'll be 56 at the end of the summer. Hopefully someday I'll be 100. I'm just going to get older. And some days I don't feel like bothering with makeup and I'm okay with that. 

I'm not saying that I don't want to look good, I just think my definition of good has changed. Like this picture. 

How cute is that shower cap? I mean I look adorable, right? 

I don't wash my hair every day and it's gotten too long to just do a top pony and still stay out of the water. I needed a little assistance so I bought this. And it makes me happy. It reminds me of when I was little and I'd wear sponge curlers to bed on Saturday night so I would have curls for church on Sunday. Roll the hair, put on the sleeping bonnet. Try to sleep with rollers in your hair and don't let the word sponge make you think they were soft and comfortable, they weren't. 

But that's another beauty standard I left behind. I thought for years and years that unless my hair was curled it wasn't cute. I did everything I could to make it look curly. Sponge curlers, hot rollers, curling irons, perms, all of it. For about 10 minutes of curl if I didn't shellac it all in place. Then I finally gave up and just let it hang straight. But it took years YEARS of wearing it straight for me to decide that I really did like it that way. That it could look good straight. And now...truth be told, I still curl the ends at times. Just a little bend. I just think it looks a touch better that way.

Like I look a touch better with powder, mascara and a bright red lip. And most of the time if we are going out I will still do at least that much. Sometimes even a bit more if I want to be all fancy. 

But I still look pretty cute bare faced with a polka dotted shower cap on my head. 

Especially if my glasses are off. 

End of the 5k Series...

Today was the last day in the latest workout series I've been doing. This one was a Run a 5K! series and since one of my goals for 2024 is to run a 5k that was perfect. 

And after 12 workouts today I did (not) run a 5k. I ran a 4.15k. 

See you can adjust these workouts on IFit to match your own levels. And I am a slow runner. I'm an incredibly fast walker, but I'm a slow runner. And since the workouts are videos and time based, by lowering the speed I lowered the distance. So I didn't make it to a 5k today. 

And that's okay. 

I have a whole year. 

And I ran (slowly at my snail's pace, barely a jog, really a movie slow motion look how attractive I am run, if you want to be honest) for 35 minutes. A slower than slow shuffle run for 2 minutes, a steady state 4.2 mph run for 30 followed by another 3.3mph slow shuffle for 3 minutes. No walking. All slow running. 

And that's the first time I've ever done that. 

Ever.

As in my entire life. I've never run for that amount of time straight. 

I'm impressed with my progress. Even if I didn't make it to a 5k by the end of that series. There are a lot of other series to do and I can work on increasing speed during them. 

If I want to. Or I can just plan on working to a point where I run for 45 or 55 minutes. 

But that's later. 

Today I ran for 35 minutes straight and I'm pleased with that for sure. 

And also...why is running at 4.2 mph so much harder than walking at that same pace? When I'm just walking for my workouts my top speed is 5.2 mph but my base, steady state, this is work, speed is 4.5 mph. That's a pretty darn good clip. And it's work. I get my heart rate up. I break a sweat. I have done it for an hour at a shot pretty regularly. But lift both feet off the ground and suddenly 4.2 feels like I'm going to die if I have to go one more minute longer. 

What the heck?

It just seems crazy to me. 

I get it, I do, even slow jogging I'm lifting up and pushing off and it is more effort. I'm engaging more muscles. It really is stressing my cardiovascular system more. Which is also good. I need to stress that system. I need to make sure that my heart is strong and my lungs are clear. 

Now I just need to add back in lifting heavy things and putting them down again and I might even get back to my former fitness levels from a few years ago. Now with extra cardio! Or less cardio. Less time more fit? Something like that...

BUT ANYWAY...

Today I ran for longer than I have ever run in my life and I'm pretty pleased with myself. 

I hope your day has something in it that you didn't ever think you'd be able to do and I hope you are pretty chuffed about it. Happy weekend, everybody!

Nourishment...

I think I have it. 

I think I have what was dancing around the edges of my goals/no goals conundrum. I think I was missing what it was really all about.

Nourishment. 

I want to do things that nourish me. Mind, body and soul. 

When we were in Hawaii I had at least two plates of fresh fruit every day. At least. It's one of the best parts of going there. They have some of my favorite fruits just ripe and ready to eat. Papaya and every variety of the lychee family you can imagine. It's like summertime in Oregon when I eat berries all day every day. 

That sweet that I crave but in a way that is really good for me. 

I read voraciously because it nourishes me. It expands my mind as I learn new things and it expands my empathy as I read about other people and their experiences. It also fills my tank so I'm ready to sit down and write my own pieces. 

I work out because it nourishes me. It enables me to move freely. To be active in my daily life. It also regulates my mood. I need to work out to manage my own mental health. To physically and mentally feel prepared to face the world and experience it. 

Match those things with the goals I set. 

I am seeking nourishment in 2024. I want to fill my tank with all of the things I enjoy. I want to feel at ease in my spaces (that's where the cleaning comes in) I want to fill my mind with good books, good articles, good people doing good things.

I don't want to focus on those that wish to starve me. Starve us. The book banners, the LGBTQIA+ haters, the ones who want to use their beliefs to rule over everyone else.

The stingy and the greedy. Those that feel they need more when so many have nothing. I don't want to put my energy toward them, they have enough. 

But I will. In a way. I will fill myself with what I need, to be able to speak out against them. To put what resources I have in a direction that offsets the greed and the moreness of their fucked up lives. And I will watch to make sure that I continue to nourish myself so I have what I need to keep pointing out that they are overfed yet undernourished. Don't be like them. 

When I set out in the year not having any goals, when I wanted it to be a year of being not doing, it was all the same things. But I need that star to reach for. That gold star nourishes the kid in me who didn't get them and craved them. She's still there. But now it's up to me to cover her in stardust and fill her with light. I'll nourish that part of me so that I can reflect it back out to everyone else. 

Don't be confused, that 16 year old who thought the world should burn is still there too. And I do hand her the matches when I feel like what the world needs isn't the reflection of stardust but a good old fashioned burn it to the ground moment.... That nourishes me as well. Fire nourishes the forest. My anger feeds that part of my own soul that fights for the underdog. 

Goodness and light with a little go fuck yourself, remember?

It's a year of nourishment. 

Food
Fitness
Mental 
Physical
Stars
Matches

Sounds about right to me. 

Clouds

 Clouds

I stopped to watch the clouds yesterday

They looked like jellyfish in the sky

Virga the weather people said

When the rain leaves the clouds

 But doesn't reach the ground

Leaving fading trails behind

What must that be like?

To finally be full enough to rain

Only to have the rain disappear 

Never nourishing the ground

Never filling a stream

Just fading away

Back into a cloud

To try again

April Musings...

Yesterday as I started National Poetry Month with a whimper I thought, why is this not coming to me at all?

I mean last time I did it, it was hard, I remember it being very hard, but I did a poem a day. Yes, a few days were Haiku, Sundays especially seemed to be good Haiku days, but I wrote a lot of free verse and structured verse. I even wrote a freaking sonnet. And...a lot of it was good.

I know I always say I write Bad Poetry, but that's more of a joke than a reality. Because poetry is hard. Let's just start there and acknowledge that it's hard. Anyone who writes poetry can tell you that. You need not only mastery of language but one of feelings as well. And GOOD poetry? Well that's even harder. Because then you need a mastery of language and a mastery of feelings AND a way to convey both of those things in a way that is general enough for public consumption but feels personal to each person reading it. 

So a lot of poetry seems mawkish or worse, boring. 

And a lot of creative people have a phase of their lives (generally middle school or high school) where they crank out a TON of really bad overwrought poetry. Because you are dealing with a lot of really overwhelming emotions around that time and have no idea how to process them. 

I always get a little bent when people try to discount young love as just not that serious. "Oh it's just puppy love" well have you ever loved a puppy? It's one of the most heart filling experiences ever. And it doesn't even have to be your puppy. Now imagine you had never ever seen a puppy before and suddenly you are exposed to a fluffy golden retriever puppy who wants to do nothing else but be your best friend. It's overwhelming because you've never experienced it before. 

First loves. First breakups. First loss of friendship. All of that is so hard because it's new. You have no defenses against it. Like an immune system facing a brand new virus for the first time. That shit can kill you. Or at least feel like someone has ripped out your heart and shredded it. 

And we don't take it seriously enough. If a friend gets divorced or even ends a long term relationship that wasn't a marriage we have all of the appropriate sympathy, or at least fake it for them. We know that it's hard for them. We don't say things like it wasn't serious, you don't feel what you think you're feeling. So they can mourn and move on.

That doesn't happen in middle school and high school. People discount those feelings, and we don't even have the right words to talk about them. So it overflows into really bad poetry. 

But to write really good poetry you need to have a different grasp on language and emotions. Like now. I'm a full grown adult person who happens to be pretty fucking good with words. I can even make you feel things about pretend people.

So that explains why in 2016 I able to sit down and write a poem a day. But why can't I seem to tap it now? What was different in 2016?

I was depressed. 

Like normally my swings are mild. Manic and depressive but on a small pendulum and a consistent swing. And I manage it all without medication. I use workouts, sunshine and saltwater. And it keeps me in my swing arc and I do okay. Sometimes up, sometimes down, a lot of time in the middle. But 2016 was a long stretch of down. 

The politics were awful. As if you need reminded. And it was the first really big wave of anti trans bullshit. It was all around bathrooms. And it really pissed me off. I even addressed it in a blog with a short poem at the top to make it count. I was angry about it all. Now, of course, I'm angry and scared. It went from being none of your fucking business to none of your fucking business yet entirely my family's business. And because at the time I was unable to break out of my depressive cycle it just added to it. Not only did I feel like shit personally but it felt like the whole world was a dark place.

Looking back at it I realize I should have asked for help and gotten some professional assistance. But I thought I could manage, and I thought it would surely get better at any moment. I also hid how terrible I was feeling from everyone. I never said, hey look, I would rather just sit in a dark room by myself and try not to think about anything at all. I put on that pretend EVERYTHING IS FINE face and soldiered on. I was the only one who knew and the only really strong outward sign was my writing. Or lack of writing as it were. 

Except for April. Where I was able to write every day. 

Poetry. 

It was a good place to put all of those messy extra feelings. 

So now to try and figure out if I can tap that swirl of emotions when I am actually fine. 

Or it will be a month of Haiku, and that would be okay too. 

First Day of National Poetry Month!

 

First day of  April

Time to start a new challenge

Haiku as standby

Poetry month starts

Lack of sleep joins in the fun

Does this even rhyme?

Early morning sun

Cloudless skies beckoning me

I hate gardening

Four seems good enough

Prose can come back tomorrow

April has started