Playing Catch-Up

 I intended to write an end of year post. I didn't because it was Skamper's Last Day. He joined the gang in Aslan's County New Year's Eve. Those wing markings in his fur, I'm certain, are more than markings now. He flies in the Light. 

Skuttle followed her brother March 18. Lung cancer. That silly little rock never made a peep about it until she started coughing about two weeks before the end. Saying au revoir was really hard. I'd never prepared to lose her. She seemed likely to live forever. She's with Simon, now. My main hope is that they wait for me to join them. If my theory that we all arrive in Heaven at the same time is true, I'm already there running further up and further in. 

My two oldest friends have moved on to their next lives. I'm trying to do the same down here. 

With only Clover and Blackberry in the house, I'm once again hoping we can reconcile, but I'm settling for détente. The girls rotate every 24 hours so that each gets to spend time in the entire house every day and gets to be with me in different settings. They've done remarkably well with the transition after 10 days. Building the predator part of a cat helps relax the prey fears, according to Jackson Galaxy, and increase confidence in new situations. That's my goal with all wards, now. Build confidence. 

I started drinking coffee. Light roast. And brewed cacao from a company called Crio Brue. It's bitter but I realized it's supposed to be bitter. That's what makes it good for me. A lot of terrible things are good for me. 

I'm attending a Lutheran church. I find the liturgical aspects soothing, and it's small enough that I can learn people's names and hopefully find a useful place that binds me to the community. It's funny how much I want community yet shy away from it when offered. Not my best feature. 

In keeping with Life After Menopause Philosophy, I joined a gym. I've gone twice a week since January and my top arm weight is 15 lbs, up from 5. My goal is to improve my ability to garden well. I practice squats, dead lifts, bicep and tricep moves with free weights. I found a machine that lets me do inverse squats (?) to help with leg strength for digging. It's working. I've gone from 90 minutes a weekend in The Swamp to 8 or more hours per weekend. 

I am planting a food forest. Anne of All Trades inspired me in fighting bermuda. Took her 5 years but she eradicated it from her Tennessee zone 6 garden, so I believe it is possible. I have nothing better to do. 

I haven't written since 2017. I'm not sure I will ever write again. Maybe. Maybe this is another kind of start. I have those 47 years to fill. 

Keep the faith. 

The Struggle

 The menopause journey continues its ups and downs. Mood swings, hot flashes, night sweats, worse insomnia, racing heart, frozen shoulder - left side, naturally - and belly fat that doubled overnight and remains. I've embraced the reality of exercise and lifting heavy shit - quoth Stacy Sims - although I don't have a lot of endurance unless I'm working in the Swamp. 

Exercise does improve my next day, even if it doesn't always lift my mood the same day. Earlier this month, I discovered eating processed sugar, like Halloween candy, gives me a terrible headache within 5 minutes. This is good news. I've not been able to shake that kind of sugar by willpower alone. The headaches don't respond to ibuprofen. I don't want them, so I appear to be done with candy. 

I'm experimenting with supplements to combat all these symptoms. I'm no longer afraid of HRT, but I don't think I can afford it. Even vaginal estrogen is like $500 every 90 days. The medical industrial complex wants unhealthy women. They're easier to exploit. 

I have many days where I'm fine. Earlier this week, I took a vacation day and spent 8 hours in the Swamp planting, transplanting, mulching, raking, pruning and chipping. I felt completely fine the next day. No new aches. 

It rained for the first time in a month yesterday - which is why I took that lovely weather day off to plant. The rain has stopped for the moment so I went outside to get my exercise in. 

I'm exhausted after an hour. Maybe two. I have no energy. No desire to move bricks or rake leaves or prepare the newest pile of stuff to be chipped next weekend. I know the feeling will pass. I have come a long way in my depression journey and I now have lots of coping mechanisms for dealing with this, not least of which is knowing that much of it comes from menopause and the removal of estrogen from my body. 

I just wish my body wasn't part of the problems in my life. I wish the Swamp looked like I'd done something to it for 10 hours this week. I wish a load of mulch would arrive tomorrow and give me some heavy shit to lift. 

Blessed are you Eternal Spirit who has given us life, sustained us and allowed us to arrive at this moment. 

What Am I Missing?

 My entire adult life has resulted from an extreme lack of purpose. I have no idea what I want to do, or what I'm meant to do, or what I should be doing in the meantime. I have bursts of interest that last about two weeks and peeter out. I can mimic just about any skill the first time I try it, but I am never able to replicate it. 

So I should have a vlog like Dirty Jobs for crafters? Sounds exhausting. 

Every day I fail to live up to my potential. I am over-qualified for life, yet I have no passion for anything, not even killing myself to get off this hamster wheel. 

The generic "glorify God" does not inspire me. "Random acts of kindness" do not help me sleep through the night. I haven't felt the urge to resolve anything in 22 years. 

I just keep wishing it was over. Or that I could find something to do that made me feel like I was doing something worth doing for the last 47 years of my life. But nothing presents itself and I continue to wake up earlier and earlier (before 2 AM this morning) dissatisfied with everything, myself most of all. I don't even get eight hours of unconsciousness to break the tedium that is my thought process. 

The night sweats are returning. The Provitalize probiotic may not be the reason I had a good three weeks. That could have been some leftover estrogen squeezed out of my dying ovaries. 

HRT is definitely on the table. I've spent the last ten years fighting hormones in peri-menopause. I can't spend the next thirty fighting all the things that come from no hormones. 

I do wish it was over. I hate the way my life is now. I hate what's coming. I hate how completely I've failed to do anything useful with the past 50 years. I hate how one year after determining to make changes I still have no good plans for how to spend the next 50 years. I hate how resigned I am to living badly and alone. I wish I could sleep. 

I hope someone out there is happy. Someone other than Satan, anyway. 

Keep the faith. 

I Can't Pray for That

 I recently heard an interview that resonated with me with Joe Dispenza on Diary of a CEO podcast. Since my recovery journey began Dec 16, 2019 and re-energized in 2023, I've focused on positive thinking instead of negative thinking. Daily gratitude. Recognizing and redirecting dark thoughts. Using my mind to help the situation instead of making it worse. 

I've enjoyed some success. Most of the time, I'm enjoying the moments. Part of it is because I punish bad thinking with exercise. Quite effective. 

I bought Breaking the Habit of Being Yourself because that's exactly what I've been trying to do for five years. The first chapter is about quantum physics. Random number theory: I just read In My Time of Dying by Sebastian Junger where he talks about quantum physics as a possible explanation for seeing his dead father while he was near death himself. 

So far, the chapter for me has more in common with the New Testament than science. Renewing the mind. The power of prayer. Transformation on a subatomic level. Substitutionary restitution (I'm getting that wrong, but menopause brain won't give me the correct phrase). 

One sentence: How many times have you tried to create something, thinking in your mind the end result was possible but feeling in your heart it wasn't? 

That's my prayer life for a while now. I know all things are possible, but I feel that some things are not good, even if they seem good in the short term. Maybe this is spiritual maturity. Maybe it's cowardice. Maybe it's lack of faith. 

I no longer know what is good and what isn't result-wise. That - I think - is wisdom. I know when I want to complain, I should not complain because I don't know what's coming. 

Dispenza may be full of it (some online detractors certainly think so) but he's making a lot of sense in chapter one. We'll see how it goes. 

Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who mercifully restores my soul within me. Great is Your faithfulness. 

A Moment In Time

 I planned on writing a number of things, and I may still, but I paused and read some of the things I wrote 9 months ago. That was good. I'm trying to stay away from good and bad as descriptors. I ascribe too much meaning to them. I'm no longer entirely convinced life has any meaning at all except what I give it. 

2024 has been an up and down year. 

On the up side, I've stopped wishing for death every day. Many days I haven't thought about dying at all. I no longer think of Dad every day. When I start to think dark thoughts, I exercise. In fact, I've learned some kind of exercise - walking, weight-lifting, jumping up and down 40 times in a row - may not help in the moment, but absolutely helps my mood the next day. 

I've learned about perimenopause and menopause, and that the vast majority of my physical and mental issues in the last 10 years can be directly tied to that time of chaos, including depression, anxiety, vertigo, heart palpitations, joint pain, brain fog, and bipolar mimicry. Frozen shoulder was the final tip-off, followed quickly by night sweats that disturb my sleep every 1 out of 5 nights. Thanks to Dr. Peter Attia, Dr. Mary Claire Haver and the Menoposse, to name a few, I'm more intent than ever on improving my physical fitness and nutrition. There is a real chance I will also begin HRT, since most of what we "know" about that topic is bogus. 

On the down side, I am unable to find a social outlet. I've given up on church. The art class was a bust. I have one active friend who no longer lives near me. I am increasingly on the outs with my family. And even my newest cats, Clover and Blackberry, who lived together in peace for 6 years until they moved in with me, have now tried to kill each other for the last 9 months. My open house is divided into two portions with a demilitarized zone and seems likely to remain that way for the next 12 years or so. 

This cat failure, as always, will be my ultimate undoing. It is the final proof that I have no appreciable skills and no authority to speak on any topic ever again except my own fallibility. 

This is for the best. I have no one to talk to anyway. Skamper is finally really dying of cancer and Skuttle's dementia is progressing nicely. 

None of these things matter. This is a moment in time, and change is constant. I can't make cats get along. I can't make humans like me. I can't make my body stop attacking me. I can't make a loaf of simple sourdough bread. I can't even waste my days in bed because I can't sleep and lying down hurts my back. 

This has been a down week. At some point, it will shift back into up. Until then, I will focus on gratitude and exercise. 

Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who mercifully restores my soul within me. Great is Your faithfulness.