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thanateI had heard the rhyme about oak trees (300 years to grow; 300 years to thrive; 300 years to die; 900 years alive) before, but I was recently introduced to The Lost Words: Spell Songs, and their second album has a tune for it which has been playing in my head.
It translates nicely to human terms at a century to a decade, and I am contemplating getting nearly half-way thru my "thrive" years in the middle of the worst storm of grauwulf's mental health yet. Climate change has taken out a lot of 400+ year oaks too, tho. (The few that haven't already been logged, anyway.) Both my grandmothers made it past 90; my mother is 30 years older than I am and still pretty solid. Meanwhile, I got my psychologist to increase my antidepressant dosage temporarily (during a moment it looked like things were being *solved*) which is probably good, given that the last month of my life has unexpectedly brought me a soap-opera of epic proportions in which I, the flakey artist type, am still by far the sanest one despite dousing grauwulf with the contents of two different beverage containers yesterday. (It has been a *very long* month. Or two. Or decade plus...)
(Things I can disrecommend from experience now include having one's spouse attempt his first polyamorous relationship-- about which he is still inclined to be excessively guilty, but that's most likely due to early imprinting on his mother's terrible relationship decisions-- with someone he met in detox (his first, her fifth) where she kept picking fights with the staff. Especially one who also has a sometime-crazy stalker husband for bonus points. I cannot imagine that I would have recommended this in the first place, but I was not consulted on this front. I still think having a *stable, well-defined* second relationship w/ someone who's more excited about sex than I am would be good for grauwulf, but this is not what we're dealing with.)
I have been practicing my inner Cordelia and trying to figure out where all the nonsense is coming from, but it appears to be the end of my second year of "Patience and Persistence" right on schedule as my patience has rather run out. I'm considering the fortune-cookie fortune I tucked into the case for my computer: "Avoid compulsively making things worse," although I suppose choosing a goal for myself ought properly to be something I don't mostly want to encourage in other people. My to-do list today included three counts of "Make something better," which seems like a more useful formulation to apply to myself.
Things I am presently trying to make better include having an actual attic for storing things (fabric) I don't want to languish in the mildewy basement-- a project complicated by having to reattach the fiberglass insulation that slumped off the bottom of the roof when it leaked seven or eight years ago. (progress has been made, but there's a lot more to do, plus suiting up for working w/ fiberglass makes things slow.) I have theoretically engaged a writing tutor to try to get the Megatherium through the ADHD-exacerbated pandemic learning gap which hit right as she was beginning to gain some steam on getting words from brain to paper. At some point I would like another cat (or a pair of cats??) for my mental health not only because cats are good to have on that front, but also because the *house is full of mice.*
I am just too tired right now to add writing to the actual list. Because brain to paper is hard, and I keep trying to start things that require too much world-building. Clay is easier, since if I haven't got a plan I can just muck about and squish anything that doesn't work out. It's also in a dedicated not-my-house space. Other than that, we're back to the future being less predictable than ever. (Not that it ever really was, of course, but it used to feel that way.)
It translates nicely to human terms at a century to a decade, and I am contemplating getting nearly half-way thru my "thrive" years in the middle of the worst storm of grauwulf's mental health yet. Climate change has taken out a lot of 400+ year oaks too, tho. (The few that haven't already been logged, anyway.) Both my grandmothers made it past 90; my mother is 30 years older than I am and still pretty solid. Meanwhile, I got my psychologist to increase my antidepressant dosage temporarily (during a moment it looked like things were being *solved*) which is probably good, given that the last month of my life has unexpectedly brought me a soap-opera of epic proportions in which I, the flakey artist type, am still by far the sanest one despite dousing grauwulf with the contents of two different beverage containers yesterday. (It has been a *very long* month. Or two. Or decade plus...)
(Things I can disrecommend from experience now include having one's spouse attempt his first polyamorous relationship-- about which he is still inclined to be excessively guilty, but that's most likely due to early imprinting on his mother's terrible relationship decisions-- with someone he met in detox (his first, her fifth) where she kept picking fights with the staff. Especially one who also has a sometime-crazy stalker husband for bonus points. I cannot imagine that I would have recommended this in the first place, but I was not consulted on this front. I still think having a *stable, well-defined* second relationship w/ someone who's more excited about sex than I am would be good for grauwulf, but this is not what we're dealing with.)
I have been practicing my inner Cordelia and trying to figure out where all the nonsense is coming from, but it appears to be the end of my second year of "Patience and Persistence" right on schedule as my patience has rather run out. I'm considering the fortune-cookie fortune I tucked into the case for my computer: "Avoid compulsively making things worse," although I suppose choosing a goal for myself ought properly to be something I don't mostly want to encourage in other people. My to-do list today included three counts of "Make something better," which seems like a more useful formulation to apply to myself.
Things I am presently trying to make better include having an actual attic for storing things (fabric) I don't want to languish in the mildewy basement-- a project complicated by having to reattach the fiberglass insulation that slumped off the bottom of the roof when it leaked seven or eight years ago. (progress has been made, but there's a lot more to do, plus suiting up for working w/ fiberglass makes things slow.) I have theoretically engaged a writing tutor to try to get the Megatherium through the ADHD-exacerbated pandemic learning gap which hit right as she was beginning to gain some steam on getting words from brain to paper. At some point I would like another cat (or a pair of cats??) for my mental health not only because cats are good to have on that front, but also because the *house is full of mice.*
I am just too tired right now to add writing to the actual list. Because brain to paper is hard, and I keep trying to start things that require too much world-building. Clay is easier, since if I haven't got a plan I can just muck about and squish anything that doesn't work out. It's also in a dedicated not-my-house space. Other than that, we're back to the future being less predictable than ever. (Not that it ever really was, of course, but it used to feel that way.)