I’ve been on staycation and today I spent some time trying to get rid of stuff in my desk drawers. 

While doing that, I discovered some old journals and I realize that I’ve thrown some of them out over the years, but I still have some.

I remember tossing certain ones out because I was full of shame when I reread them a few years ago. 

Not a sordid type of shame (maybe that would be better somehow),but a shame at how little I have emotionally grown over the years, or at least in the ways that matter. (I no longer crush on people or feel crushed as easily, but I still feel like I'm about 10 years inside).

Even so, I wish I had not thrown them away because I need to go back and remember something and I don’t remember it. Most of my writings from 1997-1999 are missing and that is the time period I most needed to consult.

One of my biggest regrets is that I didn’t keep journals in middle and high school. I kept one in college, but lost it decades ago, a loss I still think about sometimes.

I’m not sure what point I’m trying to make except that if you ever doubt your writing, even if you think it’s trash,or worse pathetic, don’t throw it away! You might find yourself regretting it years later when you need to go back and read something from a certain time in your life.

I tried the herb Passion Flower the other night and it relaxed me within an hour, but not as much as I had hoped or read it would. I took one pill a few hours before bed and the second one right before bed.

It is a coincidence, obviously, but both nights I had a recurring dream that visits me every few months. It's never a dream I welcome and I have spent decades trying to rid myself of it. But it seems to destined to stay with me, perhaps because I'm seeking closure I can never get. 

To try and find that closure would be one of the most selfish things I've ever done and I've done a lot of selfish things in my lifetime.  Apologizing can be a good and decent and right thing to do, but in my situation I am pretty sure it could be triggering and just plain wrong. 

It doesn't matter that I was young and had good intentions. Perception is reality and good intentions don't always bring good results.

I am not proud to say that when I broke my wrist more than a year and a half ago, I found the oxy I took for the pain to be one of the few things I ever took that gave me a minute's rest from anxiety and overthinking. But, understandably, there are no refills on oxy and that's as it should be.

Having given wine up back in early January, I miss that comfort as well. But I cannot go back to drinking. I can't and I won't. But it's so hard sometimes.

 

Even though I usually find nostalgia rather suffocating (is going backwards ever truly good? would anyone ever want to relive middle school? were things really that good "back in the day"?) I find myself a little bit wistful as I listen to the playlist that goes with the book I'm currently reading: Disco Witches of Fire Island.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1RiaOVNJBQbgCC8yqcLUpR?flow_ctx=34468287-d2c8-45a8-ad8d-cdab722a5b69%3A1755136129&creation_point=https%3A%2F%2Fopen.spotify.com%2Fplaylist%2F1RiaOVNJBQbgCC8yqcLUpR%3Fsp_cid%3Dfa4b9652fded8aa719288cdef4ed8b61%26device%3Ddesktop

The song choices are fantastic and I look back with a fondness that I am sure is not always worthy of the real events vs. what I choose to remember. 

Some of my memories I'm sure are really as good as I remember

https://open.spotify.com/track/1SwyDb5qUcLjukFqSCRqxy

And those are the mental places I find myself escaping to briefly while the world becomes more of a shitake storm with every day that passes.

But memories aside, for now, I just want to say how much I adore this book so far and how much it makes me want to re-watch American Horror Story: Coven, my favorite season and something that shares a deep appreciation of Stevie Nicks. I hope to return to write more about this fabulous read.

And just because I want to add this song (which also shows up in Disco Witches):  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YEM8TspcCBY

I haven't written in a long time because I have been so preoccupied with my cat. He went through most of July with a very, very strong reaction to a shot called Solensia that he received for his arthritis.

The vet agreed that we need to explore other options for his treatment as the Solensia caused caused him great discomfort. 

He had to see the vet four times throughout July, including one visit to the ER vet. He occupied even more of my mind and heart than he usually does. And since I consider him the love of my life (you can laugh, if you like, it's okay) that's saying something.

Sunday night, in one of his first bouts of super-sized energy in weeks, he chased a mouse throughout my apartment. The mouse got away but mouser that he is, Henry is on souped-up patrol. Except for bathroom and meal breaks he returns to his stake-out spot, with barely a meow for me. I am terrified of mice but glad to see Henry excited about something.

I read that cats get very excited when on the hunt and that their brains react like human brains can to playing video games. Both yesterday morning and today he barely acknowledged me when I kissed him bye before leaving for work. 

I always say a prayer with him and tell him what time I'll be home and he always seems to listen (and know exactly when I'll be home) but ever since Sunday night he's more like "hmm, okay."