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juushikaThe house smells of smoke today. Some of the neighbors must be burning yard waste. To my surprise, it's quite lovely.
Despite a trend of continued improvement, I've been all over the map lately. I had a night of horrible sleep, Devon and I both did—but the difference is that when he sleeps poorly, Devon comes home and takes a nap as any reasonable person would; when I sleep poorly, I develop a grudge against sleep, I avoid it, and things get much worse before I finally collapse, and sleep again, and they can get better. (ETA because I forgot to mention: I've also been frequently shaky, which makes me think I haven't been getting enough protein—I always need more than most people, but these days I feel like I can never get enough.) I've been feeling—ah, well, exhausted, sometimes in the literal sense, but more in a cumulative sense: I want to be out of this rut, already; I want to disappear until I am. There is so much that I should be giving to others, but I just don't have it in me right now. I feel guilty about that; I feel that if I can't give I shouldn't take. Ironically, this means that I've been a bit more engaged with the "real" world—so much of my social interaction is online that for me, introversion and escapism can actually mean avoiding the internet.
It's not all bad, though. I tried the cocoa cappuccinos at Starbucks and I think I'm developing a preference for them—the foam isn't as travel-mug friendly, but the texture is delightful (and soy holds foam very well, so the texture is maintained through the whole cup). This seems small, I know, but: Devon and I went out to dinner at a local Thai restaurant (ever since![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
century_eyes introduced me to truly remarkable Thai outside of Seattle, I've been in search of somewhere to scratch the itch for more of the same) and then we walked a couple of blocks to the local used bookstore (where I actually found something, which is a pleasant change) and then we went across the corner to Starbucks where I tried a cocoa cappuccino (and the barista recognized me and asked if I wanted my mocha, and then we talked about John Ajvide Lindqvist, and it's so cute when strangers try to give me book recommendations!), and then we walked back to the car through the cool fresh air of a spring day turning to evening. It was a marvelous day. It is small, it is all small, but it can be wonderful.
I got sufficient sleep yesterday, and though my day was hit and miss I noticed that as we were starting to get ready for bed, I didn't want to—and not for my usual reasons, not because I was afraid to try to sleep, but because I was feeling remarkably content. Content is remarkable, right now; I didn't want to sleep through the moment. So we put on Practical Magic and watched that instead, and it was perfect—perfect for sustaining the mood, the moment. (Except that that sort of story inspires a sort of regret in me—it's the sort of thing that I aspired to as an adolescent, doing magic in my bedroom and sneaking out the window at night, and can't believe in now, because all my best attempts at faith have never lead to belief. I have a mixed admiration and condescension for people that do believe—in magic, in the divine, in much of anything—because I see them as my adolescent self: hopeful but ultimately deluded, immature, but I envy them for finding the belief that eluded me. I want to carry Tiger's Eye and know the natures of the moon—to do so, and believe it means something, even if I can't blow a candle into flame. Yes. It's silly, it's longing and regret and a bit of bitterness, and it taints things).
But this beautiful spring, and the smell of smoke in the air, and a good book to read, reminds me that ... that I can still liveblog the weather with over-eloquence and mythical allusions: I have my own bits of wonder, even if they're ultimately mundane.
I make no point by all of this. I've been avoiding almost everything, lately. I'm sometimes not doing too good, and it's frustrating that that's still the case. But in bits and pieces, things are okay. That's the usual, I suppose. But sometimes it feels worth writing down.
Despite a trend of continued improvement, I've been all over the map lately. I had a night of horrible sleep, Devon and I both did—but the difference is that when he sleeps poorly, Devon comes home and takes a nap as any reasonable person would; when I sleep poorly, I develop a grudge against sleep, I avoid it, and things get much worse before I finally collapse, and sleep again, and they can get better. (ETA because I forgot to mention: I've also been frequently shaky, which makes me think I haven't been getting enough protein—I always need more than most people, but these days I feel like I can never get enough.) I've been feeling—ah, well, exhausted, sometimes in the literal sense, but more in a cumulative sense: I want to be out of this rut, already; I want to disappear until I am. There is so much that I should be giving to others, but I just don't have it in me right now. I feel guilty about that; I feel that if I can't give I shouldn't take. Ironically, this means that I've been a bit more engaged with the "real" world—so much of my social interaction is online that for me, introversion and escapism can actually mean avoiding the internet.
It's not all bad, though. I tried the cocoa cappuccinos at Starbucks and I think I'm developing a preference for them—the foam isn't as travel-mug friendly, but the texture is delightful (and soy holds foam very well, so the texture is maintained through the whole cup). This seems small, I know, but: Devon and I went out to dinner at a local Thai restaurant (ever since
century_eyes introduced me to truly remarkable Thai outside of Seattle, I've been in search of somewhere to scratch the itch for more of the same) and then we walked a couple of blocks to the local used bookstore (where I actually found something, which is a pleasant change) and then we went across the corner to Starbucks where I tried a cocoa cappuccino (and the barista recognized me and asked if I wanted my mocha, and then we talked about John Ajvide Lindqvist, and it's so cute when strangers try to give me book recommendations!), and then we walked back to the car through the cool fresh air of a spring day turning to evening. It was a marvelous day. It is small, it is all small, but it can be wonderful.I got sufficient sleep yesterday, and though my day was hit and miss I noticed that as we were starting to get ready for bed, I didn't want to—and not for my usual reasons, not because I was afraid to try to sleep, but because I was feeling remarkably content. Content is remarkable, right now; I didn't want to sleep through the moment. So we put on Practical Magic and watched that instead, and it was perfect—perfect for sustaining the mood, the moment. (Except that that sort of story inspires a sort of regret in me—it's the sort of thing that I aspired to as an adolescent, doing magic in my bedroom and sneaking out the window at night, and can't believe in now, because all my best attempts at faith have never lead to belief. I have a mixed admiration and condescension for people that do believe—in magic, in the divine, in much of anything—because I see them as my adolescent self: hopeful but ultimately deluded, immature, but I envy them for finding the belief that eluded me. I want to carry Tiger's Eye and know the natures of the moon—to do so, and believe it means something, even if I can't blow a candle into flame. Yes. It's silly, it's longing and regret and a bit of bitterness, and it taints things).
But this beautiful spring, and the smell of smoke in the air, and a good book to read, reminds me that ... that I can still liveblog the weather with over-eloquence and mythical allusions: I have my own bits of wonder, even if they're ultimately mundane.
I make no point by all of this. I've been avoiding almost everything, lately. I'm sometimes not doing too good, and it's frustrating that that's still the case. But in bits and pieces, things are okay. That's the usual, I suppose. But sometimes it feels worth writing down.
