rewrite

 Yesterday I posted after months of not posting and it was so weak. Just as I started to write, a friend stopped by. Never happens. Twice a week friends stop by. Once in a while one of them stops by but usually later in the day. Then another friend called. Never happens. I don't focus that well so that much distraction shattered the little focus I had. I'm going to try a rewrite, 

Years ago, I saw Justin Hall on MSNBC talking about personal blogging. He was going around the country at the time trying to convince average people to have a blog and write about their life.

About that time a friend of mine sent me an article about Willa. Willa kept a journal online and a blog separately. I always thought that was so clear. I loved the journal. It was like a letter from an old friend. And she found the coolest things on her blog. 

They both did their own coding. I tried to learn code, but I just wasn't into it. I bought WYSIWYG software and started writing. Not at all sure what I was doing or even why. And I did stop once I started working at EA. 

I think some of the urge to put my life online comes from being lonely. I have made friends online. I may not have met them, but I love them as if I've always known them. 

But blogging is about writing. Which I wish I would do. 

This is a tiny bit better than yesterday, but I need to do this a lot more often. 

TicTok

 Two Years ago, I started posting on TikTok. I had been lurking and wasn't really connecting. I don't know why I jumped in. 

Before that there was Facebook, which is never really completely satisfying. Twitter. Shrug. Instagram, which I used to post pictures of soup. Before all of that was blogging. I loved blogging. Blogging is writing. I sometimes love writing. Heh. 

Blogging was also community. I had a blog roll of other people who I followed. I craved comments. And I built some muscle tone with writing. 

When I started working at EA I stopped writing. Partly because I didn't feel comfortable writing about the job or the people on the job and partly because of the commute, which was long and exhausting. I've tried to get back to some kind of regular writing, but I just don't get it done. 

My posts on TikTok are one to three minutes long. I do think before I post, and I do some editing. There are many ways it reminds me of blogging. There is community. 

But TicTok might get banned. I've been posting on Instagram, but it doesn't have the same feel.

I'm not sure what this urge to post on social media is but I am hooked. 

Resolutions

 I guess I could make a resolution about writing but that hasn't worked. I have a list of reasons about why I don't write. None of them seem solid. I'm just not. 

I don't really make resolutions. 

Which makes me wonder about myself. Do I have any goals? Intentions? Desires? 

There was something about reformatting my book. 

Reading Proust. 

There must be something. 

Ageism

 I started a conversation about agism on TikTok. I'm on old lady TikTok. Which is to say that most of the people who hang out with me are older women. I have a few men and surprisingly a few of them are quite young. Very sincere. But mostly older women. Response to the conversation was moving. Women tend to equate aging with erasure. I understand but I've been on my own and living (more or less) in isolation so I both feel erased from the world and don't notice a difference. 

I am aware of the ways in which I weaponize my own internalized ageism. I say "I'm old" a lot. Usually as a way of explaining some failure of ability. But also, when I'm feeling irreparably damaged. 

The conversation is still going on but I'm tired. Constantly explaining, clarifying. It's been mostly good. I'm also at a loss for a way to continue it. Of the isms it doesn't feel like it gets attention. Last month was disability pride month. I learned a lot. There is an intersection of disability and ageism, obviously. 

This is what I do for fun. 

Sigh

 So that whole I'm going to write every day even if it's bad thing didn't work out. I'm not sure why I stopped. I know I was tired of having nothing to say. I don't remember the first day that I skipped it. And then another day and another day and another day...

My - I'm better - post was premature. I am better. But there are days when things are just bad. And I don't have energy for much of anything. But there are also days when I can get a few things done. 

Mandy helped me rearrange the furniture in my library. I wanted to be able to get to the books. Moving furniture has always been a happy thing for me. I just can't do it myself. There was a lot of dust. We still need to move the books themselves. I've been able to do a little bit of that. I spend so much time just looking at the shelves and feeling happy. 

I recently finished reading Elena Ferrante's - In the Margins. She writes about those red lines on the paper we wrote on in school. I got terrible grades on my handwriting, which will surprise no one who has seen my handwriting. It gets worse every day.  

She says she has two kinds of writing. Compliant and impetuous. Compliant being more like the writing required by the academy. Impetuous being writing that comes from a place she cannot summon or control. She aspires to writing that is strong and her own. I aspire to writing that ... happens. 

Heh. 

 

Better

 This weekend I did some (very small) projects. I cleaned up my files and the bag with all the bags. Really. Small things. 

But I haven't been able to do things since last year. The bare minimum to get through a day is almost too much. There's been a T-shirt on the counter across from the washer and dryer for weeks. Not folded. I just can't. Well. Actually, I folded it today.  

There's been this achy tiredness that keeps me down. It feels like it's in my bones. It's not as bad as it has been. 

My knees still hurt. Standing at the sink trying to clean things up I can feel the pain building. There's almost always something in the sink that I gave up on. 

But. I am better. The shoulder is better. The wrist is better. the stomach is better. And. I was able to put away the shirts that were on the bed today. I'd be happier about it if I trusted it. I'm still cautious. 

Decolonizng

 I've been trying to understand the mechanics of decolonizing in a psychological way.  

There are obvious things like decentralizing whiteness. In my current world that doesn't mean a lot. I'm alone most of the time. Hood River is very white. So, I live in white space on a micro and a macro way. But I've lived and worked in less white space for years. Restaurant kitchens are multi-cultural, generally.

I'm thinking more about the smaller and more subtle things, which are really hard to explain. Mostly because I don't understand them yet. 

Also. Cleaning out my file cabinet. Which is way easier. 

Full

 Just ate a bunch of cherries. Fresh from a tree. Thank you, Jane. 

My stomach is less likely to expel everything I eat but still easily annoyed. Usually in the early part of the evening I think about what ate during the day and it's never much. But my stomach is done for the day. I just never really know how much is enough. But I know to err on the side of less. 

Or else. 

Two of my favorite things are coming in season. Peaches and tomatoes. Last year they were too acidic. This year, I guess we'll see. 

Headache

 Every time I've received a Covid jab I've had headaches. Small. Spikey. And then gone. This last one was the same. Went to bed with a headache and woke up fine. 

Last year I had a concussion. I had concussion related headaches for months. I'd started to think I'd never get rid of them. When I had this last vaccine related headache, I realized that I hadn't had concussion headache for a while. I just didn't notice when they stopped. 

So, my concussion is gone. I guess. 

I think I'm fully vaxed but someone I read is getting them every six months. 

Really? 

It's sort of stunning how little we seem to be sure about after almost three years. 

   

Page

 Facebook has made some changes to the page I created for this page. There's no more connection between that page and Blogger. I'm sure I could figure it out but I'm tired of the changes social media makes without notification or input. The page was never as clean as I wanted it to be. Facebook was always adding crap. I'm going to leave it alone for a while and then (maybe) delete it. I'll just post directly to my page. 

Hard to care. 

I'm trying to write more but I'm still struggling. I can spit out a sixty second TikTok most days, but writing comes from an inner place that is broken. I'm trying to fix it. Or at least prop it up. 

And I'm going to keep trying. 

zzzzzzz

 It's unrealistic to believe I'm going to get to sleep on the Fourth of July. I live too close to where they set off the fireworks. Even when they're over there are more cars on the street and more people. Individual bangs and booms go off for hours. 

I stopped trying and watched TV. 

The whole day felt weird. And today didn't feel much better. 

I hate how the news gets focused on one thing and can't seem to see anything else. 

Oh, but wait. There are endless hearings to dissect.

I need some sleep.    

Fireworks

 I lived in an apartment in SF for a longer than I'd lived anywhere else in my life. On the Forth, the neighbors all met up on the roof. We could see the fireworks from both bridges and on a clear evening (not many of those in SF) we could see the fireworks across the Bay. Sometimes we drank beer or wine. Sometimes someone would bring a snack. It was nice. 

I remember the year I stopped enjoying it. It might have been the fourth after 9/11. The fireworks weren't just pretty abstract colors. They looked and felt like bombs. They weren't different. I was. I stopped going up to watch them. 

I've been alienated from my country since 1968. A bunch of people went to the Democratic convention in Chicago to make sure ending the war was on the platform. They got the shit kicked out of them by the Chicago police and a line was drawn.  

It's hard to feel good about the country. 

I like people getting together for hamburgers and hot dogs. I like small town parades. But I don't go to either. 

I do what I do.  

I read. 

Every Day

There was a ten year old girl sitting in a doctor's office. She was pregnant as a result of child abuse. Ohio's trigger laws had gone into effect. 

Ten year old girl. 

Child abuse. 

Indiana helped her.

Every. Damn. Day. 

Another Day

 A woman on TikTok has been having endometrial problems. Lots of bleeding. Her doctors were planning on an ablation, but they wanted to change the name of the procedure ... so there would be no ... problems. 

Another woman has a form of birth control that she has inserted into her arm. It's the only form of birth control she can use without getting blood clots in her head. Her doctor isn't prescribing it anymore.

Neither of these women were trying to have an abortion. 

Madness. 

The only side effect I've had from any of the (Moderna) vaccines I've had has been mild headaches. 

Shrug.  

Pin Cushion

 I got my second booster today. I'm fully vaxed. I never leave my nest. Only two people come here with any kind of regularity. They are both fully vaxed and wear masks when they are in the world. It seems like I'm safe. 

But I don't really believe in safe. 

I haven't had any rection to the vax before. Knock wood. 

I also got Cortisone in both knees, a brace for what might be carpal tunnel and blood work to see if my liver and pancreas are ok.  

Older. 

What is Going On

 I remember when the capitol was being overrun by a group of mostly white men. I had the TV on, but I wasn't watching. It was background noise. I'd look over every once in a while, and wonder where the DC police were. Or the national guard. 

Yesterday, in Arizonia, law enforcement used tear gas to disperse a group of peaceful abortion rights protesters because they banged on the door of the capitol building and may have vandalized a statue.   

In LA a group of officers in their Darth Vader outfits knocked down the actor who played a part on Full House as a kid during a largely peaceful abortion rights protest. 

It feels very ... disproportionate. 

Or something. 

First Day

 This morning a nurse on TikTok posted about her night in the ER. A woman came in with an ectopic pregnancy. They were in a state where a trigger law had already gone into effect. The doctor was on the phone with his lawyer. The woman's ectopic ruptured. She didn't get treatment for nine hours, while the doctor was on the phone with his lawyer. Her abdomen was filled with blood. 

First day. 

I had an argument with someone about whether they would try to make ectopics illegal. Her position was that it was a lifesaving medical procedure and doctors wouldn't allow it to be blocked. Mine was that this isn't happening in an environment of wisdom. I had already listened to legislators argue that the "babies" in ectopic pregnancies had a right to life. 

 Here we go. 

Flailing

 Rage. 

Grief. 

Concern. 

Somehow, I managed to read a chapter of my book. It was hard to break away from the news. I'm not sure why. It had already happened. 

There were so many people in the streets.

I chose to stay with my feelings today. I could feel my brain filling up with expletive laced bombast. Nothing wrong with that but it felt like flailing. 

Rage.

We had a right taken away by the court. They did a lot of that right after Jim Crow. 

Grief.

I feel violent. 

We have an Abortion Access fund in the Pacific Northwest Fund. I had no idea. It's a problem. If it's not an issue that matters to you it lives in the shadows. I know now.  

Ramble

 This little chunk missing from my knee is annoying. Knees bend so the bandage keeps pulling away. I just redid the whole thing and it looked great. For a few minutes. It hurts a little bit every once in a while, but it's not a big deal. Just annoying. 

The last piece of cake is on the counter. Probably a little dry. I'll eat it later. 

I am 69 years old. But 69 is one of those numbers that makes middle school kids giggle. I'm just going to say I'm 70. I'll be 70 for two years. I feel like I might need that long to accept being 70. 

The hearing is on. It is scathing. 

I got HBO +. Reluctantly. I don't want to pay for more streaming services. But I wanted to see the documentary about the Jane collective. Which was really good. And then I saw the series based on the Elena Ferranti books referred to the Neapolitan Quartet. The HBO series is called: My Brilliant Friend. Movies and TV series made from books (particularly favorite books) are a worry. But this series is amazing. 

I am reading The Love Songs of W.E. Du Bois. There is a young woman in the book and young women in the TV series. I keep getting confused because I'm always worried about someone, but I don't always remember who, or why. 

Heh. 

Blood, Books and Cake

 I had a nice birthday, but it started off a little weird. I was using a reacher (you know those things old people use to pick things up) to pull up my pant leg and somehow (I really don't know how) it snagged my knee and tore out a big piece. There was blood pouring down my leg. I grabbed my Kleenex, which was the only thing close by and tried to compress the area but there was too much blood. I finally got it to slow down and got to the bathroom. I got a paper towel and managed to use it to apply compression and put two bandaids (I only have Hello Kitty bandaids) in a way to stop the bleeding. There was blood everywhere. All over me. All over the floor. 

Sheesh. 

I think I was in a little bit of shock. Mandy was on her way. 

The rest of the day was mellow. Mandy brought lunch. She'd been able to get me the cake I wanted (all I want is a simple chocolate cake but (as I mentioned in an earlier post) Trader Joes thinks chocolate cake is seasonal. I'm not a fan of butter creme and finding cake with fudge icing is (oddly) difficult. But she got me one and brought lunch and a stack of books. Cleaned up the blood. 

Another friend had given me flowers from the farmer's market and a cool wall hanging. Another sent me books. Kristina (of course) Sent five books from a series called object lessons. I'm a big fan of sets. 

So, I'm book rich and cake sated. Recovered from my blood loss. 

Older.