Sleep
Max temp: 22 degrees F
Min temp: 11 degrees F
That's all I want to do--snuggle down in the warmth of my flannel-sheeted bed, nestled among the accepting forms of my cats, and sleep. Perchance to dream. Sweet refuge of sleep.
That's a pretty good sign I am depressed.
I miss the way the group used to be. We never used to invest so much in our every word. It used to be fun and stimulating and wide open. Now it seems most of the people posting are more interested in Trying To Look Good than in actually exploring ideas. And some go even further--not only TTLG but Trying To Make Others Look Bad. And I am just very tired of it all. And very depressed. Because at one point that group mattered to me and now I see it sliding slowly into fannish banality and I can't care any more.
So I am trying to maintain and hold the sadness at arm's length. I have been throwing myself into the world of Tolkien and LOTR, finding Middle Earth an escape. I am just chagrined that it took me so many years to actually read the books that captivated my contemporaries thirty years ago. Better late than never, I suppose, and I can tell myself that I am better able to appreciate the nuances at this age.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Smoothing a blanket over the newly-cleared half of the sofa upstairs, I noticed a pink stain--a small smount of dried liquid--and my heart twisted. Amoxicillin. A spill left as evidence of the fight to save Rosie's life, just a year past. (I haven't washed that blanket in a year? I guess being folded in the laundry basket didn't give it much use but still...)
For years after Kisa died, I kept--unwashed--a jacket that still bore the blurred, muddy imprints of her paws...
Min temp: 11 degrees F
That's all I want to do--snuggle down in the warmth of my flannel-sheeted bed, nestled among the accepting forms of my cats, and sleep. Perchance to dream. Sweet refuge of sleep.
That's a pretty good sign I am depressed.
I miss the way the group used to be. We never used to invest so much in our every word. It used to be fun and stimulating and wide open. Now it seems most of the people posting are more interested in Trying To Look Good than in actually exploring ideas. And some go even further--not only TTLG but Trying To Make Others Look Bad. And I am just very tired of it all. And very depressed. Because at one point that group mattered to me and now I see it sliding slowly into fannish banality and I can't care any more.
So I am trying to maintain and hold the sadness at arm's length. I have been throwing myself into the world of Tolkien and LOTR, finding Middle Earth an escape. I am just chagrined that it took me so many years to actually read the books that captivated my contemporaries thirty years ago. Better late than never, I suppose, and I can tell myself that I am better able to appreciate the nuances at this age.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Smoothing a blanket over the newly-cleared half of the sofa upstairs, I noticed a pink stain--a small smount of dried liquid--and my heart twisted. Amoxicillin. A spill left as evidence of the fight to save Rosie's life, just a year past. (I haven't washed that blanket in a year? I guess being folded in the laundry basket didn't give it much use but still...)
For years after Kisa died, I kept--unwashed--a jacket that still bore the blurred, muddy imprints of her paws...
Comments