The Art of Asking.

So, yeah. I find myself depressed lately. The real cause is, I am sure, my allergies and the enormous amount of pollen the surrounds me. I get that. But still, I feel as though I am in a fog, I forget names, I cannot count, I feel stupid, I feel old and all those things are contributing to my depression. I also have little drive to make things, and I like to make things. 

I’m no longer on any antidepressants, and for that, I am grateful. But damn I wish I could take something, drink something, do something to make me feel if not better, then different. But because it is allergies and the inflammation that they cause, I can only treat the allergies and stay inside and stay clean. (Yeah, stay clean with 3 dogs, 2 cats, and 3 chickens to tend and live with.) I take 2 generic Zyrtec, nasal spray, and a Benadryl every day. Every day no matter the season or how I feel. I also get an allergy shot every week or two. 

So, there’s that. That is how I feel regularly, on a daily basis. And today it’s raining and I like that because it is cooler and the plants need the water, and it’s gray, and so I can stay inside with no explanations. 

It’s been a long time since I have written here but I post in my mind. Which do my 2 readers no good. There are things I would like to write about but cannot because this is too public. I turned 60 a couple of months ago. Fuck me, how can I be so old? My surrogate mother, who is 85, is moving away in a month and I miss her already. I haven’t had sex with my husband in 4 years, but we still make a great couple. 

One good thing is that I have hired a woman to come clean for me. Marie vacuums, dusts, mops, and works magic in the kitchen and every few weeks she cleans the fur that seems to grow in the bathroom. I like having a clean house but I am a terrible housekeeper. So, Marie makes me happy.

I am the head of a non-profit arts organization, and that gives me an outlet for my abilities since I unable to work at a ‘real’ job. I get to write and plan and do my bit for my community. There’s no money for me, but I have a leftist disregard for profit and being a volunteer takes the pressure off.

Ah hell, I cannot seem to write everything I want to convey! (Yet, who cares but me?)  In the end, it’s just the struggle between the meaningless of living versus the actual having to do something in this life. 

I have pictures.

Succulents and high heels. 

Orange geranium that overwintered amazingly well.

Princess on the new afghan I made. She never sat in that chair before this.

Larson. Say no more.