Rage in the Machine

Herself speaks.

Sometimes a migraine persists in an undercurrent, like a just-healed wintertime crack in the tip of a finger that threatens to open up again. This is one of those lingering times. I am inexplicably angry, and everything is Very Loud, and the amount of energy required to overcome inertia seems to be far, far more than usual.

Despite this Black Cloud of Headache/Anger, it was a lovely day outside. So I took elderly three-toothed dog for a slow amble around the block, allowing him to sniff every blade of grass he desired at his leisure. It was soothing to be outside in the waning afternoon light.

I have a tremendous longing to be outside, away, with tent and camp chair, simple stove and simple needs. It is almost a visceral desire, to be among trees and under the sky. I shall keep the kernel of this idea warm inside my heart, for it shall be the Happy Place to which I return when the outside world is unduly pressing.

I will see you there.

Walkies. 

Good Places To Be

Wouldn't it be nice. 

Fatigued

Slightly Questionable Canine Clothing

PB&J

Herself speaks.

I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner tonight. With a yogurt-in-a-tube on the side. Plus two chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Ah, the ideal childhood meal.
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I have found myself contemplating aspects of my youth lately: the foods of yore; the yard in which I played; my favorite toys. There is an evanescent, overarching emotion in the reminiscing that defies simple explanation. Perhaps it is a desire to have no obligations other than to try hard in school and to practice the piano. Wouldn't that be marvelous? I would enjoy that.

Perhaps even more, though, there is a primordial longing to be nurtured. Someone fix me something to eat, send me upstairs to take a bath, pick out a stuffed animal, tuck me into bed. Please. I am tired and overstimulated and need quiet and rest. That would be lovely, indeed.

It is hard to accept that as an adult, that particular longing for nurturing will no longer be fulfilled. I remind myself, I do not want what I cannot have. No sense in wishing for what cannot be.

And I make my own peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The best I can do, all things considered, is to try to nurture myself.

This wooden teaset-in-an-apple, which reminds me of childhood,

was found here: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/343469909061103339/

Closeness

Herself speaks.

Both of the small dogs have seemed to require more up-close-and-personal attention the past few days. Perhaps the comings and goings of the holiday season have affected them in a similar manner as they have affected me -- there is a distinct need for the quiet solace of one's favorite people. It is a difficulty made more pronounced by the occasional unavailability -- whether because of time constraints, distance, or their own personal needs -- of those who are most comforting. Alas. Such it is.

Fortunately for the small dogs, I am available. Rest easy, small dogs. It will be all right.

Leaves

Herself speaks.

The weather was beautiful yesterday, and I took advantage of it by raking leaves in the back yard for a couple of hours. It was thoroughly enjoyable. The smell of the leaves reminds me so much of childhood: every fall, there were giant piles of leaves into which we would fling ourselves from off of the swingset. Swing, swing, higher and higher, until finally *release* and arc and fall into the leaf pile. The leaves were earthen-scented, vaguely damp (with the occasional slug -- shudder) yet oftentimes still crunchy. Maple, oak, chestnut. Leaves, leaves.

The leaves here in the southwest lack that damp earthen-ness of those in the northeast. They are, nevertheless, quite satisfactory. They gather up against rock walls and in the dense desert shrubbery. They crunch underfoot. (A few autumns ago before Cherished Friend moved to his own northern corner of the desert, there would occasionally be an opportunity to shuffle through the leaves on the walking path we would take. I always liked to do so.). Leaves, leaves.

The leaves of autumn are bittersweet. Still, they are lovely.

Tiny Dog is intimidated by the leaf pile.