Humanity

So. (Sew. a needle pulling thread.)

I can’t tell anymore if my moods are because of anxiety about money, or grief, or resentments about past activities. or even the foods I am eating…

How I am stitched together:

I have a therapist, I have fresh veggies in the fridge, I have steps to take concerning money which is more than i might have, my kids are relatively healthy, but boys don’t talk as much as girls and that is deafening sometimes, when they are going through stuff and you only get the spottiest of details and all you can do is cook food for them that you think will make them happy and then you look at your plumpy round belly and recognize where it has come from.

comfort.

How I am falling apart:

reasons for anxiety and mood swings and depression,

  • bad food choices that are super comforting when they actually occur.
  • Hello macaroni and cheese, homemade of course, literally heavy with cheese.
  • i use a test kitchen recipe but I can’t link to it without you having to pay to join and that sucks so much I am going to boycott it. creamy stovetop mac and cheese, if you already pay to play.

3. And then there is candy. I’m partial to cinnamon bears and swedish fish, but also go down hard for chocolate riesen.

4. financial upheaval in the sense that I am still trying to move along with a refinance and trying to dream about a future that is sustainable for me, and might even truly sustain me. like, on the insides, with beauty, work, and joy.

5. i don’t have a lot of energy, which could relate to 1,2,3, or 4, really. And i’ve got a date to attend but I just don’t have any feelings about it and forcing myself to go do it is both good and bad and I’m not sure where I stand on it right now. gah, i don’t want to go, i just want to sit on the sofa and eat my candy goddamnit.

6. I’m heading off to the flower farm this morning, and the beauty will soothe the beast. But one thing I’ve realized now, in my third week of working at two farms, is that my body is not 27 anymore, and I need to be damn careful about how I stand, and how I position myself when I am hauling things, because damn, I need more hot baths than I have time for.

7. Goddamned fucking pandemic is making everyone so afraid still, and everything is tentative and weird and i keep wearing a mask but most people aren’t and I’m just confused as to if one of us is in the wrong or doing something useless. am i doing something useless? really? its exhausting. so goddamned exhausting. and still, nothing to do but feel the feels of the entire fucking world. swampy ground.

8. regular old depression. if you can pick that feeling out from all the others, and normalize it a little, that would feel good, i suppose, if depression feels good.

9. grief. feeling the loss of supports right now, even though new ones are popping up everywhere. grief. loss my shit yesterday at finding a recipe written in my lovely motherinlaws hand. its fine, its fine, i am holding it together.

fine. fine.

all you.

-lovelove.

and don’t worry about me, please, its just life.

Mess. Color. Beauty. Work. Fuschia and Nasturtium and Pansy

Humanity

Wild, wild pendulum.

Honestly, my moods are fucking insane.

I want to blame the hormonal shifts that come with perimenopause, I do. Fucking 47 years old.

But I am also doing a lot of things and trying to stack all the pieces just right so that nothing falls down, and its a lot anxiety provoking.

Today’s freak out was about money. I’m trying to refinance a house and since you know how profitable the blog is, I am sure you are not worried about me at all. but still, the working at farms thing isn’t really the best idea when you are trying to prove yourself to a bank. So i feel like I’m in a movie, and I’m the down on her luck salesman who just sits at the loan desk, waiting for a better answer. And I’m doing a lot of rabbit hole blame towards my ex and myself for all the latitude I have given him, which has put me in this hole in the first place. GOOD FUCKING GOD. And blame is not something I like to saddle up on. Its very prickly, and in a very bad way.

Sigh.

Today I did not have to go to any work places, because I had a mammogram appointment and some therapy (soon, very soon now.) And its snow/raining so I am incredibly lucky. And my old body is still creaking from the last couple of days anyhow. You really should have seen me getting up from the sofa yesterday. Really really.

However, having all the time to snuggle is no good, when things feel like they are ricocheting around the room. ‘Things’ being my moods.

Turns out this is just a complaining post. Goddamnit. Maybe I’ll come back after therapy and see whats up then?

Please hold: Part 2 will be arriving shortly. . .

Okay. well fuck. So, turns out I’m completely anxious for good reason. Right? I mean, money, and dreams and hopes pinned on bureaucracy (i had to look the spelling of that up, bureau? really?) are anxiety-provoking things.

And I was missing my dad, my right-hand man who helped me do stuff like this. He’d let me do it, but somehow I’d feel much more in control. Protected somehow from the slings and arrows. I guess we all want that. and i do.

I’m okay. I’m glad of therapy to point out what might lie beneath the annoyance of refinancing my life and dreams. I’ll be fine, refinancing or no. and thats the whole damn truth.

fine.

  • lovelove
Humanity

well then, or, Eat your Joy.

I’m coming in from the cold to let you know that i’ve had my most profitable month ever here at lovelove, and i want to be open and transparent with you about how i am doing, financially.

I made $1.39 from the ads that you see alongside the writing, this month alone. Those ads that i have no control over, except to allow them. This brings me to $13.27 since 7/2018. Never let it be said that writing is not lucrative, friends. I am living proof. I only have to reach $100 before they’ll write me a check, so there.

Just wanted you to know. Suze Orman, eat my grits.

Now.

I’m doing okay. I have dreams going on, and meditations, and sadness, and sacredness. I’m clearly on the cusp of some things and trying to jar myself into action, smooth bumps and load vehicles and the like.

I’m working more days of the week, outside and I love the feeling of my heart pumping as I carry feed and water for the hens. And baskets and baskets of eggs. I’ve also started at a flower farm nearby, and between the two, I am awash in beauty regularly.

Its all experimental, after all, this life. Its all experimental. I mean, experiential. exponential?

Make sure you are fed, dear ones.

Eat up your joy.

Lovelove,

me.

selective focus photography of joy free standing letters with lights
A word I happen to have above my stove, but haven’t photographed, so I’m stealing someone else’s …Photo by Natasha Fernandez on Pexels.com
Humanity

what i’m doing.

  • i’m crying a fair amount, but now my eyes hurt and i’m trying not to.
  • i’m meditating most days. a guided meditation, so i have even less opportunity to think. thinking is the enemy.
  • i’m working part time in a flower greenhouse, to learn, because i’m dreaming of having my own greenhouse lately and goddamnit, those things are not cheap and are a whole big deal. they arrive unassembled, goddamnit, and empty. (laughing.)
  • i’m gathering all my dreams into a big pile to see what I can make of them, try to make my life something more independent, more in line with the joy and the contentment I have and want more of. fuck ‘work in the schools’. swear to god, i hear that one more time and i will buy a gun.
  • i’m sinking into a deep melancholy that I feel in my chest, losing one of my best supports and loves is an unbalancing force, and I am aware, and so I am doing my best to reach out and gather new supports, and use the ones I have. hello sister. nods.
  • i’m fine. its january. things percolate. i have a working coffee maker, and vitamins. i’ll make it.

love love,

me.

structure with floral design and lights
Yeah, this is NOT how I’m feeling. Photo by Scott Webb on Pexels.com
Humanity

nono? again?

I’m mulling over making the attempt to write every day that many make in this month of november. the original thrust was for people to try and write a novel in a month, NANOMOPO? NANOWO? to push themselves to write every day until a body of work appeared.

i can, sincerely and without question, guarantee you that i am not producing a novel.

i’m just mulling over writing daily, here, in a public way. Let me know what you think. ok?

in other news, the car is ‘pretty much’ fixed. my mom helped me pay for it, and i know that is what family is for. and i still have embarrassment anyways, and somehow making sure that it isn’t a secret makes me feel better.

(for the life of me i will never ever be able to keep a secret about myself. for others? til death. but myself? never ever. Is this a flaw? a strength? a quirk? idgaf. yes, that.)

and i’ve taken one day off each week to just do household things like bathe myself in hot water slowly, and wash my own clothes, not just theirs, maybe clean up the front porch of summer items. a slow and easy day, and if i end up watching tv i will be sad but only a little. anything goes. its rest time, for me. no kids, and any worries that come up, i solve by washing dishes. today i washed two windows, in preparation for the winterizing plastic that is going up. and, i wrote, here, publicly.

days of rest are unpaid, yes, but they do pay dividends.

my inner hellacious bitch voice is muted by the green of leaves still holding on out there. there has been no hard frost here yet and the anne of green gables beauty is all over the place. october’s crisp apple crunch.

sigh.

november is about missing things. people who are gone, lives we thought we’d have. there is something in this northeastern light that brings us all into this melancholy, all of us, i’m convinced.

there is a reason it begins with day of the dead.

i love you. do.

-lovelove

red apple lot in wooden crates
Photo by Maria Lindsey Content Creator on Pexels.com