Churning

 I was awake early (for me). I did not want to be. I did my-lay-with-my-eyes-closed thing. Finally gave up and ate a cardamon roll. 

Did my TikTok.

Tried to do the Wordl. I'm not having fun anymore. There are days that I don't even try. The thing that bugs me is how often the word is the same as five or six others but for one letter.

I'm feeling better most of the time. It's just bleepin weird how the badness swarms me. 

All through these drifting days my brain is churning. Not in a productive way. Just churning.

I continue to believe that the act of writing is worth the effort even when not much comes from it. 

  

Finished a Book

 I wanted to finish a book. Eleanor Oliphant is completely fine, to be exact. So, I sat in a chair and read the dang book. There wasn't much left. It's just hard to read when your eyes are closed because you feel bad. I didn't feel great when started but I was OK by the time I finished. It's a good read. I didn't think I was going to like it at first. Eleanor isn't likable. The more you learn about her the more you want to know. I've been reading slowly because I'm either sick or distracted. 

Being at a loss for anything useful to say about current events is a problem for someone who is trying to write ... every day. 

I had a memory of my Poppop coming to school to pick me up on the day JFK was shot. I can't imagine him picking me up at the school in Texas. He would have tried.

I remember how increasingly violent things felt at that time. Assassinations. Riots. A war on the nightly news. It did not feel like things feel today. Which may just be another sign of my age. 

Sigh

 This is one of those days. It seems wrong to not talk about the ... news. 

All words feel hollow. 

It's Wednesday. Which means Mandy and Ramona were here for breakfast. Good to have company. 

Sigh.

Better-ish

 I keep thinking I'm better and then ... I'm not. I guess maybe I am a little better, but I get taken down by waves of badness. I spend an inordinate amount of time lying about with my eyes closed. Not sleeping, although I do a fair amount of that too. I just need to be quiet. 

Last year, around Memorial Day, I realized that I didn't remember where my Grandparents were buried. I remember going to gravesites with my grandmother on Memorial Day. I think that used to be more of a thing. 

I went on Google and found them. I discovered that Poppop has a stone, but Grandmom does not. I can't imagine why. I reached out to the manager of the graveyard in email to see if he knew a florist in the area who would take flowers to the graves. I received a terse reply offering really pricy maintenance but no way to just place flowers. I struggled with this for a while. 

It's ironic because I don't intend to be buried. There's a thing you can do now. They make compost out of your body. It's one of the best things to do with your body after you die in terms of the ecology. That's what I want to do. 

But I'm still upset about my grandmother not having a stone. 

Unwell

 I didn't post yesterday. I didn't feel well all morning and into the afternoon. By the time I started feeling better, I was emotionally drained. Today is better. Sort of. My back was trying to spasm all morning. And my digestive system was cranky. I usually feel better in the afternoon although sometimes I relapse around three. Why? I have no idea. 

I would like to sleep through it all, but my brain will not stop the chatter. 

I spent about a minute trying to push myself to post yesterday. All of this posting is me trying to spark my writing muscle. I don't feel like pushing myself or shaming myself is useful. Feeling this bad is draining. 

Wednesday

 Wednesday morning. Mandy and Ramona and breakfast. 

I like things like this. 

Rituals. 

Ramona begs for bacon with her eyes. She is my Wednesday dog. 

There's a new food truck in town. A young woman who is making food from different parts of Italy. It's extremely good! I am eating stewed vegetables and catching up on news. 

Probably need a nap.  

Two Shows

 The other night I watched the Ava DuVernay Netflix series about Colin Kaepernick. I watched it accidently. I thought it was a story about a Black teen being raised by White parents. It was. I just didn't know it was Kaepernick. It's really good. 

It showed his struggle to be recognized as a quarter back and the influence of race. He gets braids and his coach makes him cut them off. His mother had been supportive enough to find him a professional to do the braids, but when the coach said to cut them off, she said he looked like a thug. The show steps back from those moments to talk about things like using the word thug and what his hair meant to him. It's clear that his parents love him but have no idea how to raise a Black child. 

Last night I watched American Son with Kerry Washington. It's about the mother of a biracial son who hasn't come home, and she is worried. She's in a police station trying to get information. The racism and sexism with which she is treated creates so much tension. And then her White husband (also an FBI agent) arrives and the information flows. Even he gets caught up in the maelstrom created by race. The ending is shattering. 

I'm not sure how Black people tolerate White people.