Chai A Day

- The Wild Swans at Coole

This has been a bustling twentyfour hours for animals for me. It started last night, when there came a strange sound from the back yard - an unearthly shriek that came in short, uneven bursts. It was startling and loud, as I had both my windows open to bring in the fresh cool autumn air. We looked but didn't see anything, until I stepped outside and a fox came trotting into the pool of light. Redish grey, it paused and looked at me - eyes shining in the darkness. A second pair shined from outside the light, and a third form moved just out of light's reach. I remembered then, the stories about the sounds foxes make. What does the fox say indeed. if the three of foxes was a card, what would the meaning be?

Then today, it's Michaelmas - some things are too ingrained. We took a drive up to Savannah Portage State Park. On the way there I saw a bald eagle. It launched from its perch and swooped low over the moving cars, black and white, too fast for my camera. At the park we were greeted by a lone deer, who grazed casually by the road, her ears neatly fringed with black. A little ways on we stay two more, and later on saw two more - one obviously nearly still a fawn. We visited Loon Lake first, and say the splashes made by the trout, and trees hewn by beavers, and saw a lanky red squirrel. Then we went over to Wolf Lake, where I saw another bald eagle, swooping across the lake, and another little red squirrel posed for pictures. We saw too, at a distance, the gleaming swans swimming on the lake. Then I hiked out to the overlook for the continental divide, where the water breaks west to the Mississippi river, and east to Lake Superior. Away from people, dodging muddy ruts, surrounded by trees - I was almost home, almost a certain kind of peace. Saw a camping shelter that had been hit hard by the storms last year and still lay in partial ruins like a witch's hut, and saw the swans in flight over the lake from a distance. A chipmunk crossed our trail on the way back to the car.

Mayb is hilarious ill equipped to deal with being in nature, for all of her boasting. Talked with mom about what it's like to have severe, all the time depression - not entirely sure if she gets it, but she's trying to. She's had it in short bouts, and for her it's something that ends and never gets that severe to begin with. I get the sense she'd rather I be diabetic because it's easier for her to understand and solve, and maybe some of my problems are insulin resistance - goodness knows I tick a lot of other boxes for PCOS, and that's one. I have an appointment for November and I hope I survive. I haven't been sleeping great recently because of my back hurting, which has been getting in the way of riding in the car too, and I deeply suspect one of my front teeth is infected. Meanwhile, every other aspect of my life seems to be falling down around our ears. I feel so trapped because I feel like I could do something, I could fight this downward slide, if I just... could.

depression is lungs full of black sludge. it's moving, thinking, feeling, through that sludge. it's a dark and loud room, and a world where colors don't seem real and who am I? am the i really who I think I am, or is this it? is this all there really is, nothing more? just emptiness and pain, for decades and decades until i die? depression is a voice that speaks lies without purpose.

We had pizza for dinner. Might go to the library book sale tomorrow, though it's so... deflating. Defeating. I always feel worse after going, and come away with no books. It was so windy tonight, and the stars so clear. I saw Orion two nights back, though it's so hard to spot among the myriad stars. Winter is coming, and I miss... part of me still lives in my last real NaNo, the world of stars and snow and swirling patterns.  I miss NaNoWriMo. I didn't actually do it last year, and the vacancy aches. I'll try again, but it's not the same alone. The loneliness is the worst of it.

music rec : the album Song Spells, No.1: Cedarsmoke by Sea Wolf.

What kind of life is it, I wonder, to mark time by how long one's survived. Another year, half a year, another day - let's see if we can break the record, survive one just - just one more. Survival... isn't living. It's surviving. It rings us dry, and fills our hours.

I keep dreaming of dry-warm summer afternoons, stretching in the sun like a cat upon a quilt and a book balanced before my eyes. Yellowed library books, their plastic covers brittle and cracking, and sunsets stained red by wildfire smoke. Wind howling down from the mountains, the smell of fireweed and the bitter taste of currants on my lips, read smeared across my face. Frost on the windows, smoky tea and warm oatmeal with buttered sourdough toast. White cloud skies, blankets, and cozy dogs. Fat fluffy snowflakes drifting down outside the mexican restaurant's wide windows. Fresh tacos, and words written.

I am told I'm looking for a quick fix, but I don't think I am? I want a flotation device - something to hold on to, to pull my head above water so I can breath. I think I could make it back to shore on my own, if I had that. I've made it so far on my own. Aren't they the ones, looking for a quick fix? Just take this vitamin, do this exercise, suck it up and stop wallowing in self pity and everything will be alright again? I got you a smoothie this week, why are you sad, lonely, angry? I hate the thing you love, so let's do the thing I love and you hate.

So no, I'll stay home and try to find a reason to tick another day off the calendar. Maybe someday I'll live again. Maybe this is all there is, day after day. Isn't the mystery exciting? But I don't need to harm myself with toxic company in the meantime.

Food is weird. I don't feel hungry, which... isn't exactly right. More like I just don't feel like eating. There's nothing I want to eat, even though food tastes good - put some in front of me and I'll eat it all. Gorge it down, as if I've been starving this whole time. I don't know what's hunger, and what's emotion eating - bored eating, comfort eating. Emotional eating is awful because it works. For a moment the emptiness goes away. But there's no pleasure in it anymore. Sandbags against a tsunami.

I should answer my messages. Just thinking about them is... a certain kind of exhaustion. It's the... knowledge that it isn't a one off message, but a conversation? I'm thinking of internet free weekends. I'm tired of missing out, of seeing everyone have fun at conventions. I'm tired of being too poor, too tired to do things. And most of all I'm tired of hearing how I've been missed. The line between missed and missed out is thin, and it just hurts to hear over and over how I'm loved and appreciated and oh how good it would be if I was someplace else. Isn't that just the poison?

I hate 4th weekend. I hate the loud, obnoxious music and yelling and the constant smell of smoke and random bangs and crashes. I hate the whining about wanting to sit by a fire next to the lake. I don't understand the appeal of just looking at a lake - it's boring, and mosquito-y. Fire smoke gives me migraines, and panic attacks and nightmares. It clings to my clothes so terribly that they have to go directly into the wash, so I couldn't wear anything that I might want to wear again soon. Maybe if things had been handled differently I wouldn't have this problem, but maybe not. I don't know.

Last night I dreamed of wind. Strong winds that rock the mountains, but not harsh winds. Early autumn winds, the ones that strip the leaves from the trees. There was no plot or story, no images or people. Just wind and a... absence of homesickness. I felt at home, with the wind. There wasn't really any thought ether, just wind and home.

I did have a fan running, and it was a bit breezy outside, but that's not quite the same thing. I think... I think I miss the familiar rhythm of the seasons - snow, cold, melt, green, rain, wind, snow. It's been 'hot' for so long that I'm ready for the wind and rain. Summer lasts too long here, autumn doesn't last long enough.

My energy ebbs and flows. I'm so tired today. I function, mostly, but there's no gas in the tank. No go.

Halloween is crawling to an end and NaNo is looming ahead and I have no words for how tired I am. I am just exhausted and have been all day - got plenty of sleep, eating as well as i ever do, etc. Just... tired. And disappointed in myself because I had nothing in me to enjoy Halloween, my favoritest holiday.

It’s lonely here. My mom asked if I’d be available to hand out candy, like she doesn’t know that I know absolutely no one here and have no where to go. NaNo is going to be lonely too, because the local group sucks. Everyone is still there on the internet, but I miss being able to go places and just existing around other people.

I feel like the answer to 'whats up with you lately' has been nothing but a pity party for awhile now. I hate sounding like a pity party. I just want to enjoy stuff again.