I woke up with a start as I tend to do these days. (That’s an odd phrase. Is it short for startled? And does startle have anything to do with start as in to begin? I’ll investigate later.)
I was on the futon couch in my office which is where I go when I can’t sleep. No need for my tossing and turning to keep up Michael. It’s comfortable. No complaints about the accommodations.
I stayed there for awhile. Skimmed a lengthy, depressing review of a new book about the history of psychiatry. So I didn’t have a lot of pep in my step as I shuffled to the kitchen to grab some coffee. (Michael kindly makes a decaf batch for me. I can’t do caffeine in the morning due to a very helpful medication adjustment…. by my psychiatrist. The trade off is worth it for now. I am very fortunate.)
But that doesn’t mean my heart isn’t heavy (another phrase to investigate). I sat on the back porch, nursing the coffee, plowing through word games (free cell has been dethroned, for now), my journal at my elbow.
I had planned to spend time writing some things that need to be written that I knew would bring up emotions and distress.
But instead I decided to tackle some outdoors chores while listening to a space fiction podcast.
I have not spent much time in the garden since the bulbs and roses faded. I missed the window for planting colorful annuals. So right now, it’s all about shape, height, and nuanced differences between shades of green. It’s also been hot and dry. Good for my spirits but not the plants. But most of the perrenials are hanging on. I am calling this a season of observation.
I mended a pocket hose (kinda tricky and I am kinda proud) and cut the stickers around the apple tree. I cleaned up a cluttered area by the gangway door and did some weeding,
I had on a hat and some sun screen but was showing a lot of skin. I don’t mean that in a salacious way. It’s just so wonderful to not be cold. To not shrink away from the air. To not wonder where I left my sweater. To be completely comfortable. What a gift.