UNRESTED

Oh sigh.
Having a hard time with Janet today, although I have, at least, managed to, relatively, keep my temper. I know. I know. I know. It is my attitude that needs to change, my patience that needs to increase. My sense of timing and schedule that need to be adjusted to accommodate her.

Yes, well. Some of that is more easily accomplished when I don't stay up to piddle around with Prime Suspect. I'm on the last episodes now, so if I don't get hooked on something else.

All right now. Off to Trader Joe's and take Janet to get her eyes examined.

Boysenberries a-cumin'.

Well, that was the 11th and now we are on to the 19th.

Things have evened out a bit in Janetworld. I am not sure if it is due to a change in her medications but she is somewhat more participatory, actually helping me work on the patio cleaning today, and slightly less wifty and needy.

It is already hot here. The nasturtiums are on the wane, at least in the sunniest parts of the garden. Other things are wilty, also. The heat also makes it unpleasant to work in the yard after about 10:00 or 11:00, which  does not give me a lot of time if I am struggling with insomnia.

Wow. Last night was a doozy nightmare, the root of which I have not deciphered, nor perhaps will I. It had to do with fundamentalist Christians busy with polygamy and child abuse in a tunnel somewhere underneath my bed. A wife or two tried to convince me to keep my mouth shut. Throughout the dream I tried to wake up or speak or scream. Undaunted by their threats, I tried to go public or expose them, when they grabbed my mother. I continued to struggle to make noise. They bonked her on the head with a big rock in an attempt to kill her. At that point, I was able to scream, not in the dream, but in actuality. I did wake up somewhat, and I woke up my mother as well.

After that, I slept fitfully, falling back into nightmarish, but vague dreams. I managed to surface enough to get up, go outside, look for cats. Emmylou and Vera enjoy their nights in the yard. Vera is able to traverse the fence to visit others; Emmylou waits to get out the front window.

The nightmare cast a pall over the day, combined with a sense of being unrested. There are things to do, to get accomplished, a challenge on a good day. I focussed on whatever progress I could make in getting the front beds planted and the backyard organized.

As we are having a salon on Saturday, we are trying to host it outside, even if all the cleanup is yet to be accomplished. The pool table that has sat actually moldering and taking space was dismantled and taken to the dump yesterday. Janet and I swept and cleaned where it had been. A significant portion of Carl material was found, much of it destroyed by mildew and mold. (By the way, those fans of you out there, perhaps you might enlighten me as to how many copies of the LOTR trilogy a basic fan needs. I do believe Carl had three or four, mostly ruined.)

I will not go so far as to say life is great. I am staying productive, barely. I see the possibilities of depression, but have staid mostly out of that bog. Having perspective is difficult and sometimes frightening. I feel stupid and vacant and disorganized and useless.

I had to remind myself that many of these tasks are a process and that I needed to detach from an immediate outcome. That every moldy book I threw away was making progress. I want it to be a purgative event, but then I would likely be getting in the way of any helpers.  So, I take my progress and tiredness with a grain of salt and try to get to bed earlier.

Also, I got new glasses! I can see!