I've sort of lost track of the 9 days since the last post. The PTSD is strong this year. Actually, I try not to use that term, out of respect for people (like veterans) who seriously have to deal with this syndrome. But I'm having problems escaping 2020, especially at night, and I tend to zone out at times. I'm back on my antidepressants again, and that helps. I think it's worse this year because it's the 5 year anniversary, and somehow that seems significant. Possibly because I remember after I came home, and was crying and wondering how long I could live out here by myself and be able to maintain everything, and thinking it would be maybe 5 years. Well, here I am, still going strong.
I've taken care of a few things - like I finally got my crown in; that's been such a hassle but it's done.
At the end of January I got a letter from my insurance company saying that I needed a new roof - I was going to need to call the insurance company and then contact a roofer. This was when I was feeling really down, right after Bob's birthday and I was struggling. I set the letter aside, then finally reread it and it's no rush - I have until November. I decided to give myself a few day's grace. Fortunately, I mentioned to Gill and she said she had been happy with the guy who did their roof. So I've called him, and gotten my estimate, and my roof gets replaced on Monday. And it turns out - small world - his niece works at the museum.
I've been thinking a lot about Neil Gaimen - almost a mourning period. Having to make the mental adjustment of separating the art from the artist. Nine women have spoken of being abused, but what I'm noticing is what's not being said. Usually writers develop a close relationship with their agents, editors, and publishers - none of them have publicly defended him. He was friends with Terry Pratchett for 30 years, and one of the last people who could lift Pratchett out of his Alzheimer's fog. He was working with Pratchett's daughter and assistant on a project; they haven't defended him and have removed him from the project. His adult children have been silent. So - sigh - I think it's true, and until one woman spoke up, everyone has just been looking in the other direction
But should he be cancelled? His work is still as valid and meaningful as ever. I read his book "Instructions." What to do if you find yourself in a fairy tale. "You may find a creature. If it is hungry, feed it. If it is dirty, clean it. If it is hurt, if you can, try to ease it's pain."
Does it really matter who wrote those words? It's complicated.
In the meanwhile, my country is going to hell. Tricky thing to ignore, but you can't scream all the time. You carry on as well as possible. And, for me, that means usually having my nose in a book, which I've done my whole life.
This makes me think of "a place for reading." At work last week, someone who was downsizing brought in some books, up for grabs. One of my co-workers said she wasn't much into reading. I commented that I was a complete bookworm, and her response was "well, if I had places to read like you do, I might read more too."
I had never thought about that, or realized that I talked about it. But I do have my reading spots. My chairs and table on the back deck, where I have to keep a stack of peanuts handy for the squirrel who knows I'm an easy mark. My swing in the front yard. And lately, my spot by the stream. Places where I can just get into the Zen of reading. Except for reading in bed, I realize that I prefer to read outside, or at least away (I love reading in coffee shops, if I could ever find a proper one with comfy chairs). I think there are too many distractions indoors, mostly of the "I should really put this book down and clean that" variety.
Reading, in general, is something that I must do. I was talking to Jeff, and he said something about taking a break before starting the next book. I'm not certain how I could go to bed without reading a bit, and I certainly couldn't have an afternoon coffee break. If I've plowed through a difficult book, then I'll do some fluff reading (for example, "100 Years of Solitude" was followed by "The Wind In The Willows"). But my mind always needs a place to wander.
And wandering is what I seem to be doing now, so I'll sign off and go read.
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