something queer going on

Still absolutely loving the little Finch self care app, but one downside is that I have not been journaling much at all.

It got me off my social media and youtube addiction, but it has also taken my attention away from here, and I don't love that. I will figure out a way to come back. I think maybe eventually the novelty will wear off and it won't captivate me quite so much. One issue is that it asks for "reflections" and other journal-like prompts, but they are only a couple of sentences and not stored anywhere, so it really just evaporates into space and I can't learn from myself that way, the way I can here. Here I can see my thoughts and review them and look at them from a distance and it helps *so much* in processing the often unhealthy ways I view and internally express what I am feeling or struggling with. I need to get back here.

That said, I put on my app a goal of at least doing a 3 thing per day gratitude practice, here, so I will try that, starting tonight (separate entries for daily gratitude list).

...

Today I was able to do some chores in the morning, hash out some issues with Josh surrounding the house that it looks as if we may purchase together (EEP), and took a nice long hard bike ride in the last of the sunny beautiful early fall days before the rain starts in earnest, tomorrow. I will hopefully pivot to housework and baking, lol.

During the bike ride I picked up a glass vase out of a free pile, while starting the (audio) book All The Way To The River by Elizabeth Gilbert. Though I've watched a few of her TED talks, I haven't read any of her books since Eat Pray Love, but despite the fact that her concept of "souls" and "god" does not resonate with me at all and seems childish and cliche and shallow, she is charming and disarmingly honest, her love is real, she is as true to herself as she knows how to be, and that's all that really matters.

I am noticing a theme of following along with people my age, and what happens when we hit our 50s. I actually loved that Jennifer Grey wrote her memoir in her early 60s, and I want to keep an eye out for more books from women of that age, as I resonate with them more than women my own age, who seem to be lagging behind a little, mostly because most of them still have parents, haven't even been without their grandparents for very long, and haven't lost several close friends to cancer, as I have. I feel closer in spirit to 70 year olds than 50 year olds. This is not an exaggeration. I know several 70 year olds and they are just further along in life, in so many ways, that I was forced to be, way too young. Not in every way. Of course there is tons I still have to learn, I am not 70. I am not confident I will reach that age.

Anyway.

After the vase pickup I went to the farmers market for the last ten minutes, was able to get delicious brewed coffee and picked up some veggies and an inexpensive bundle of sunflowers that fit perfectly in the vase I found. Josh met me at a nearby coffee shop and we discussed/resolved more house stuff and I'm terrified but feeling a bit better about it. I still need to finish the home buyers education modules I downloaded, I am going to try to work on those in the morning. I am too tired, tonight. It's stressful but important. I want to understand the closing process better before I actually move forward.

Got a big hug from Ian at the market. I should have messaged Karissa. I will reach out tomorrow.

I didn't journal about Jasmine thinking she lost our mutual friend's cat, and then the cat turning back up magically (I suspect she may have never left and was just hiding).

I have not journaled about the festival, or the vampire ball, or the second trip to Timberline, yet. I want to write about these things, I do. But right now, I want to read my friends page and listen to my new weird quirky river book.

Going to sip this sweet gentle cup of chamomile tea and turn in early, I think. Been really enjoying the red light mask Tyler gave me. I need more mushroom hunting with that guy.

..

trimmed Avalanche's claws while she was sleeping. It's the best time to do it, sometimes she barely wakes up to protest. I had to treat her for fleas last week, after several days of suspecting I might need to - but I brushed her with a flea comb every day and never found any signs, until one day I saw flea dirt on her chin (I think the flea was also there but by the time I grabbed her to look it ran off and only the dirt was left, but it was unmistakable. But after I treated her, I checked and checked and checked multiple times a day for dead fleas or more dirt and found not a single molecule of evidence of anything. So maybe I really did catch it before they had a chance to reproduce, and there was really only one? Fortunately she tolerated the medication (pesticide) just fine and now I know she's good for a while.

...

I cried and cried and cried over my mom this morning. This happens a lot. Most days lately I don't cry as much, but today it was half an hour of soft sobbing. I don't know what to do, this sadness haunts me constantly. I need to find a healthier way to process it. Maybe I can do some research on how to process unresolved grief. I am so sad about how she died, it was a traumatic process to witness at such close proximity, for so many slow, long, painful years. I am so sad about how I treated her when I was younger, how she treated me, how it was never really anyone's fault, how I know she was doing the best she could with the tools she was given, and so was I. But it wasn't good. Except for the parts that were wonderful. It's just all so heartbreaking and gutwrenching. I get overwhelmed and paralyzed by all of it, regularly. My dad's death is even sadder in many ways, and my grandparents both also died so painfully and miserably, long before dad died, which was 25 years ago now, it's all just too awful to bear. They were all so wonderful in their ways. They seemed powerful and magical to me as a small child. (Well, I never met my dad's parents, but I remember my mom's.) They seemed like everything. To have seen all of them reduced to ash and forgotten is just... untenably sad.

...

I showed Josh the 90s movie The Birdcage last night. He asked me why Robin Williams was depressed. He looked so worried. He's seen me so sad for so long, it scares him sometimes. I don't have any way to reassure him, because it feels scary to me too, how sad I get. I do think the app is helping. I think if I can get through menopause, and get more stable, after that I will be in better shape, emotionally. We'll see I guess.