A note for the end times.

 If the internet goes dark and the mail stops being delivered, try plugging in your land line. I'll call. I'll call twice a day when I can find a similar device. Hold the tin can up to your ear and I'll hold up mine and we'll try to hear each other from other sides of the world. Pull out the telegraph machine. stop. I'll send word somehow. stop. Maybe we can use morse code or find a network of working ham radios.  Be sure to stay safe and plant the seeds you need to keep full. I'll bring squirrels and buffalo from the Oregon Trail.  Travel at night, keep your water sanitized. The end times are not where I thought we'd spend our time but somehow we'll find a way to spend it together. Always hope for the best but stay alert. If the internet goes dark we'll have to teach the children how to use paper maps and compasses. Always face to the West. Head for the sunset. Don't let the bastards grind you down. 

A strange year to be sure

 

After nearly a year of strikes, I find my life is in another odd place I don't feel that I fully belong. I look back on my old life with such longing knowing that it is gone and all I have is now and whatever is still to come. It's strange to be floating around though, not sure what is missing, what I'm truly longing for. Somedays I'm so content and others I'm lost. Doing the things I thought I should in life haven't paid off and it really kills ambition for most things. 

Almost spring.

 Not quite spring, but the beginnings. Bulges of buds are starting, bulbs have sprung from the ground, not quite comfortable in my coat but not ready to go without it. But I am depressed. The world seems hell bent on destruction and unkindness. I am lonely but don't want to talk to people. I hope the spring brings a better outlook. I take these excursions and often talking with trees and shrubs is more helpful than you would think, but today I feel like going back to bed. 

NYC

 

Nature tends towards the complicated.

 

August is all about cleaning

 Remove the rubble, make room for the good. Breathe. Repeat

If I'm not paying attention on Zoom...

 It's because I'm busy taking screenshots of your cat. 

That is all.

2nd Dose Side Effect Log

 2pm Friday; 2nd Dose. 

Shot didn't hurt at all. 

Waited my 15 min; All good, went home

6pm Friday

Arm pain; 2

Hot compress, Advil and water administered

11pm; slight rash at injection site

Arm pain 3

temp 97.5

9:30 am Saturday; Woke up feeling normal, 

Arm pain 5; heat compress and Advil again

11am Saturday

Arm pain 4, rash fading already, otherwise feeling good, went out for a long walk

9pm Saturday

Damn! I got exhausted by what should not have been an exhausting walk. 

Arm pain; 2

12am Sunday

tired (but not asleep... sigh)

Arm pain 3

Fever! 100.2

10am Sunday

arm tender to the touch but no pain without poking it

Temperature; back to 96.9 

Feeling fine! 

Happiness isn't always picture perfect.

 Currently I have too much paper I'm hauling around. I recently moved apartments. Every time you move things you remember the literal and the figurative weight of it all. So I'm looking through boxes of physical photographs I have kept. I'm digitizing most of them, keeping some, and getting rid of the ones that lack sentimental value.

 These particular blurry photos are difficult to part with. I think I'll keep Shamu. I know that in recent times Sea World has come under scrutiny, but for me Sea World was an incredibly happy memory. Even as a child I have had so few days of true happiness that these hold the rarest impression of such a thing.

I was obsessed with whales. Where other girls would spend hours drawing horses and unicorns, I would be sketching orcas, dolphins, blue whales (and sharks too). I was a deeply serious kid for the most part. I usually only had one or two friends (except for at summer camp when suddenly I had many). These unfocused, poorly composed snaps I took with my little 110 film camera still hold magic for me and I need them to be visible, even to this sad abandoned side of the internet. At least I know they're out there, they could be found. 

No caption today

 

Pups and pics

 I love finding old photos of people with their pets. Well-loved dogs and dignified cats of the past make the people seem somehow more real to me. More than babies and Christmas dinners, I love seeing affections, quirks, jokes. I love seeing people climbing trees, playing in water. So often these old images feel so distant that the stories of the people in them might as well be in a textbook. This is a photo of my Grandmother being held by her father. She was a first child after he returned from serving as a medic in World War I. Grandma looks at the loving family dog who appears nearly natural standing on its hind legs. I wonder who was holding the camera. Probably my great-grandmother. I hope that the pup got head scratches and treats after the photo shoot. 

Pergatory

THINGS TO DO IN THE BELLY OF THE WHALE

by Dan Albergotti

Measure the walls. Count the ribs. Notch the long days.
Look up for blue sky through the spout. Make small fires
with the broken hulls of fishing boats. Practice smoke signals.

Call old friends, and listen for echoes of distant voices.
Organize your calendar. Dream of the beach. Look each way
for the dim glow of light. Work on your reports. Review
each of your life’s ten million choices. Endure moments
of self-loathing. Find the evidence of those before you.

Destroy it. Try to be very quiet, and listen for the sound
of gears and moving water. Listen for the sound of your heart.

Be thankful that you are here, swallowed with all hope,
where you can rest and wait. Be nostalgic. Think of all
the things you did and could have done. Remember
treading water in the center of the still night sea, your toes
pointing again and again down, down into the black depths.