Man did I wake up with a headache today, which sucks because I was literally looking forward to waking up and writing this morning over coffee. Going to sleep stone cold sober on a Saturday night to look forward to a lazy Sunday morning feels like the very height of “I am 45 years old,” you know?

Instead I woke up with my left temple and sinuses trying to blast off of my skull at 6am. And then the fire alarm in my room started going off at 6:30am. Hitting the reset button with a broomstick while not being able to find my glasses was fun. Also the fact that it only worked for 30 minutes before it happened again. And then again 30 minutes after.

So, head pain or not, I am the only one (barely) strong enough to wrangle the heavy and giant and unwieldy ladder in from a freezing cold outside and then climb 12 feet in the air to rip my mortal enemy off my ceiling, so that’s what I did. Come to find out it wasn’t plugged in and the battery was not recharging. It has a battery alert tone… which was most assuredly not what it was doing this morning.

Look, I may have SURVIVED this whole ordeal, but my god was it just barely.

Three Motrin, a pot of coffee, and shutting my window all the way next to my bed and the headache has gone away. So fuck it. Lazy Sunday morning commencing, regardless of what time it actually is. I AM TAKING THIS, DAMN YOU!

---

So!

Let’s see. Birdie is off to the breeder’s right now. I actually just begged the lady to board her for a few weeks because I could not handle the sheer sensory overload of constant dog fights and barking and I thought I was going to go mad. The breeder agreed but then Birdie went into heat the next day- so like… corgi PMS is NOT something to be trifled with, turns out. She’ll be out there for 3 weeks for that, so it all works out. Yeah… let’s add fucking a litter of puppies, that’s a solid idea. But also- we’ve paid over 4k for her and stud services… so like. Re-fucking-coup on investment, you know?

This is the LAST shot at breeding her we’re giving this. Also- the poor girl does not get enough attention around here for a herding dog- I am resolved to do better by both Wilson and Birdie this year. The weird emotional stew and neglect those two had to wade through in this house last year… rest assured I don’t blame either of them for not being their best doggie selves right now. Also, Birdie now weighs 33 pounds, which is damn near Rubanesque for a corgi, so it’s time for her to lose 5 pounds too.

It’s been so quiet around here, and hey, turns out Wilson is quick to train and I’m working on his reactivity and he’s responding soooo well already. Quick learner, turns out. So that’s good and also- sorry buddy. You came into the house at a real weird time in all our lives.

We’ll all sort it out.

---

I am up to 89 pages on my grief book now. Fridays I watch a couple of shows with the girls, we eat either Indian food or pizza, and I spend the majority of the evenings writing and drinking herbal tea. Again… this feels very “I am 45 years old.” It’s a bit sad (aren’t most things these days) in a solitary way that I don’t think I’m quite ready for, but what of it. It also has a very “moment in time” feel to it. Will this be like what my Fridays are always like? I don’t think so. But it is what they are like now. I accept it.

And I am SO thankful for these new Fridays, because they are the only thing I’ve found that cures my Friday night witching-hour style anxiety I used to get. I do enjoy them now, I swear, even while I ache for the days when it was our favorite time of the week and we’d spend them outside and barbecuing and sitting under stars around a fire and just enjoying the evenings and each others’ company and a good marriage.

And… here is such a good thing. I mentioned in July how hard Friday nights were to my sister-in law, just in passing. You know what she did? She called me EVERY Friday. For months and months. Sometimes we’d talk for hours and hours. Sometimes I’d reply in texts. Sometimes we’d go out to eat. Sometimes we’d just chat for a few minutes. The commitment to helping, at what was a casual mention of something and not a plea for help, has made me feel very seen and loved and supported.

We are a communal species, and it takes a village to raise more than just children. May I remember and pay it forward and back, you know?

---

This week I was telling my therapist about how I again cannot tell if I am in a funk that needs to be indulged and treated with rest and relaxation or if it’s the “pull yourself up by the bootstraps” and get out there and accomplish stuff and “fake it till you make it” to make it better. I said I had rested for a week, it hadn’t really helped, and so this week I’ve been trying to push through.

She asked me how long I had been going full out, and I said since before the holidays. She asked which holidays? And I went… “Well Christmas and New Years and all the birthdays. Or really… maybe Thanksgiving or Halloween. Or hell, Mom died in September so maybe it was right before that.”

To which she replied on why I thought one single week of rest would be sufficient for 4 solid months of running full out. Touche’, therapist. You win this round.

She also asked if there was a middle ground between rest that looks like doing nothing, and balls to the wall accomplishing things. And this, I’m guessing, is why she makes the big bucks? Because the thought would have NEVER occurred to me. And I swear, I DO take leisurely hot baths daily, and don’t clean all the time, and do ensure I read and take downtime when I need it, also daily. But balance has never been a strength, so I am resolved to work on it more.

And so Rest: needs to be comprised of Being not Doing, and of healthy rest, not indulgent counterproductive lazing. So if I take a walk it’s to just be in nature with the dog and enjoy the stars at night- that would be BEING. And not checking my watch and making sure I get 10,000 steps in a day and what have you- which would be DOING. Stupid perception and how we go about things. That making my bed or cooking can be rest or a chore depending on how I look at things can be so annoying and also fundamental and a good lesson.

I am still and always out here collecting lessons.

---

One thing I am pretty good at usually is sleep. Nighttime is, don’t ask me how, generally the most peaceful time for me. (mid-morning or evening tends to be the hardest). Before bed I write to Lucas, make a list for the next day, read a bit, stay up too late usually, but then fall asleep pretty quickly. I tend to stay asleep until morning now too. (I think that part is because of how much less I’m drinking these days, honestly- as my dopamine isn’t crashing at 3am due to alcohol).

I sleep a little too hard though? I have developed these 3 diagonal lines on my brow bone on my left eye- I THINK from be smooshed against my pillow in one position all night. Like if I got that eyebrow pierced it would look like 1960s heavy pleated drapes or something. I tried a satin pillowcase. I’ve tried sleeping on my other side. I’ve tried facial massage and moisturizers. I looked into face tape… but also. Do. I. CARE? Do I really? Do I?

Will it resolve or become a defining feature? Or does it just fade into the ephemera of existence like most things do? And I never much minded wrinkles as long as they came from smiling… so maybe I add sleeping to that and just roll with it. I shall sleep on it, I guess?

---

With all the Christmas decorations down it was time to reset the living room, and so I hung this painting back up last week- my Ken Harrbaugh painting. I had been admiring it at an estate sale and then Lucas bought it for me as a gift and then signed it on the back.

I had forgotten he had done this.

My life is a lucky one, do you see?

Sometimes I feel that appreciation and luckiness course through me like my very blood and sometimes I say it to myself through gritted teeth. But is is IMPERATIVE to know (she tells herself and the world) I am NOT unlucky to have gone through this loss. I am lucky to have had this love and life to begin with! And I knew how lucky I was to have it while I was in it and it was happening. Seriously thank goodness. How lucky.

Somehow I was deserving of that kind of love in this life, and so what am I going to do about it- fall apart now? If I was deserving of that then, I am still today as I, somehow, am still the same person.

Somehow, this all tells me that there are good days out there, blank pages to fill, things for me to do, and existence to just… be present for. So I’m shaking off my funk over here. And sometimes things make me happy again.

How lucky.