"Josephine glanced at her while continuously stirring the contents of the frying pan."

- The Name of the Rose Water Spritzer, pg. 85

I'm too tired to write by hand, so above was all I had in my physical journal but my mind isn't as tired as my body, so I can type. Thinking about what Lindsey said about feeling a divine connection but needing to take medication in order to connect with the people she loves most re: mania. It's really beautiful. Amphetamines feel that way too, but the opposite; me needing to limit their use in order to remain grounded enough to interact with the world around me. So I can glance at my loved ones while cooking them meals.

Lines and spirals. Purple for sure. No story but it was my 2nd day of work. I like it. I hate the traffic but it seems to only be bad on my way home.

I want to remember Willow's first walk with her harness and how cute she was, vulnerable.

In this moment, this one exactly. I think I'm okay. My health weighs on me, even more so because I can't track my cycle to find out if any sort of relief is coming. Is it PMDD or is this my new normal? I'm worried I'm eating too much. I'm really worried about starting the job tomorrow. I hope it works out. I hope I like it. I didn't like Sabino, I hope this is different. I hope my Dr. sends in my prescriptions first thing.

Journaling and walking. Both profoundly useful when done daily. Both leading to clarity. Walking had more, but differnt, benefits I think. Realizing the strength I felt in my body at random moments. Also loving my body seeing it as beautiful, noticing my motivation dip and peak, dip and peak throughout the walk. The creativity that would hit me. Always feeling like I had a weapon/a choice against boredom. A true hobby I loved. Taking stimulants stopped it. It felt unproductive all of a sudden. Journalling is easier for me to start than walking. But also falls victim to stimulants, primarily their abuse. Which I think because both are sacred rituals and those are all an enemy to be destroyed when stimulants become ruler of my internal world.

1. Bird coming out of the vet. 2. Bird looking behind to make sure I was coming up the stairs with him. 3. Bird resting on the couch. 4. My açaí bowl with cardamon almond butter. 5. Andrew at trivia. 6. Andrew in bed next to me, his back. 7. Woman at bus stop with trader joes reusable bag. 8. Back of retirement home, the black streaks on the concrete walls. 9. Parker's shirt with the frizy brax creature that I like. 10. pretzel bites with cheese and mustard in a black cast iron dish.

I'd write about my maternal line, how it relates to me, society. I'd write music, I'd write poetry. I'd write about addiction mostly. How we love those who previously used (heroes, brave, strong) and hate those currently using as if it isn't heroic, brave, and strong to simply exist and do what's needed to continue finding the will to live, survive, and experience pleasure as a dire life affirming drive to remain as a corporeal object. I'd write about sex and my confusion around it. My shame around not wanting it and how much I want to want to want it. How it feels like it would save me. How I feel cheated out of a fundamental human experience. How I feel disconnected from humanity itself. I wonder if I had the gift of sexual desire if I'd be delivered from my endless search for that life affirming pleasure. I wonder about the relief I'd feel if part of my social role as a romantic partner didn't include sex and how I secretly hope that by being released from that expectation might then make me desire it but afraid to admit it likely wouldn't.