I am halfway through the first page of the first reading for the first class I’ve ever taken in philosophy of mind, and I’m already getting fond.

A friend turned 21! To celebrate, there is party. Outside around the house in the woods.

After a couple months of solitude, that felt like a lot of people. I know most of them – old Waldorf homeschooling cooperative cronies. I still remember everyone as like – 8, 9, 10, 11, 12. It’s been a long time. So weird and lovely to see them grow up.

I helped get a fire going while I was there. Took a while. There is still wood ash in my hair.

There were body paint markers and everybody was doodling all over everybody else. I am doodled.

Some of the guys went out to catch frogs – they would catch them, weigh them, and release them back into the pond. At one point, after dark, the lads came back with a large bucket with several layers of frogs in the bottom. Some of them were bigger than my hands. That was something else.

Got overstimulated, which happens to me at parties even when it’s a good time. Paddled the raft out into the middle of the pond and looked up at the stars. Clear night, good dark sky area. So many suns. I could hear the laughter and the shouts and the Fleetwood Mac blasting out of the speakers, see the fire and the lights on the porch.

There was a frog on the raft with me. We were chillin’.

Went home to sleep because my sister has work tomorrow and I miss my cat but might go back for pancakes in the morning.

Hope it’s a good night.

Today I finished the first draft of a short story. She’s clocking in at about 25,000 words at the moment. Needs polishing or rewriting in places. Must iron out some of the wrinkles, but this draft is done. I think. As Ray Bradbury put it, somewhere – the story has a skin around it.

Might expand and grow and ramble, might whittle down to a slimmer thing. Not sure.

I’ve never done this before.

I’ve tried writing fiction, have been trying since I was maybe five or six years old. It’s just that I don’t often get to find out how the story ends.

Intentionally keeping things minimalist and formulaic. Fewer characters means I have space to get to know each one of them properly. Playing with ancient and familiar patterns, leaning into the oldest tropes, the epitome of tried and true. Shamelessly borrowing things I like from other stories. Keeping the stakes low – no apocalypses – and the universe grounded in smallness. Details are predominantly implicit.

Then turning around and packing in as much spice, color, spirit, & strangeness as is possible for me. Just for fun.

I think I’m getting fond.

“Have I gone mad?”

“I’m afraid so.
You’re entirely Bonkers.
But I will tell you a secret:
All the best people are.”

~ from Tim Burton’s film adaptation of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

Last week there was a fancy dress tea party in the woods at a librarian’s farm. We played croquet. There were pastries and cucumber sandwiches. Good company.

Met the cats, goats, turkey boy, chickens, alpacas, carnivorous plants. Also bones, everywhere.

The homestead offered a hammock in the woods when I was tired. When everyone else was leaving I said the goodbyes and then went back to the clearing before leaving. Just to be still, to be alone for a while. It’s a long drive.

They told me to come out to the farm whenever I needed, crash in the woods for a few days. Not even to visit, just to be in the woods.

Which is why I am currently huddled in a tent in the middle of a thunderstorm. Alone. Perfectly content. I appreciate rain-on-tent sounds and cricket noises.

Fennel has been an excellent host while everyone else is away. There if I need anything. I’ve been mostly keeping to myself.

I have needed to escape to the woods for a long time. I hadn’t realized how badly. Being surrounded by trees and mushrooms and insects and dirt and bones and sometimes campfire smoke is fucking potent medicine.

I am still grieving the loss of the tree at home. This is happening on a physiological level that I only have a little experience with. There’s a physical ache in my chest whenever I think about it.

Nights are long. Emotions bubble and froth the way they usually do, except – louder, clearer, cleaner in the aftermath.

During the day, I have the time and attention span to get some writing done. Not the short story, the paper I’ve been putting off all summer. It flows off the keys and onto the page like it’s been waiting patiently this whole time. I needed that.

There is bread, cheese, peanut butter, honey, and bananas. I leave mugs of water in the sun until the water is warm and then add teabags. I am a genius.

Must try to sleep. Goodnight.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Learn how to ground yourself when you’re upset. Breathe a little.

Go lay down in the shade under a tree. Take off your shoes and go barefoot.

Have yourself a good cry. Make tea.

Grilled cheese sandwich.

Hot soup.

Bread.

If it isn’t working, don’t force it. Let things be what they are.

Talk things out if you gotta, if you can.

Take time away. Take a break.

Listen to music. Stories.

Just listen.

Write.

I’m home.

Took most of the last few days to rest. I’ve been feeling under the weather. My brain is foggy and distracted. I’m so tired.

Bleak social anxiety rumination spirals are keeping me up at night. It’s mentally excruciating. Currently avoiding almost everyone. Feeling out of touch and sad.

I have tools to cope with this and I know it will pass, it’s just uncomfortable and gross right now.

I think there’s a gap in my mental health support system and it’s getting past time to work on repairing it again.

Otherwise – feeding my sourdough starter, baking bread, making soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. I’m taking care of my mother’s garden. There is too much zucchini and I’ve started trying to give some away. Basil, swiss chard, cucumbers, tomatoes, potatoes, strawberries, pears, melons.

I’m trying to distract myself. Taking the dog for walks, cuddling with my cat, listening to music, working on some writing.

I sat down to write a story several weeks ago and now I have a little over 20,000 words. Still isn’t finished yet. I have no idea where it’s coming from or where it’s going, but I think I almost know what it’s trying to say.

I guess 20,000 words is a lot for someone who prefers to write in sporadic bursts of energy and then hit “publish” before I slow down enough to check for typos, or to think twice about whether I want the internet to read about what’s going on inside my head. Maybe it’s growth, or maybe I could have done this a long time ago and was too scared to try. It’s a work in progress but I’m still quietly proud of it, and it’s nice to have something to feel proud of. A friend told me not to give up and that I should keep writing.

We’ll see how it goes.

It is devastatingly human to make mistakes.

I am human, therefore _____.

What should I do when I make a mistake?

Learn what I can. Try not to do the same thing again. Explain why it happened. Make amends where I can. Apologize sincerely, without making it about me. Recognize that another person’s response to that apology is not up to me. And then let it go and move on, because this is all I can do, and ruminating over the past won’t help anybody.

It’s been good to stay somewhere on my own for a while, to cook all my own food and clean up afterwards, take care of the animals, and otherwise just get to read and write and watch the television series adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s Sandman.

My only complaint about the show is that the actor who plays Morpheus shamelessly ripped off the Robert Pattinson as Batman aesthetic. It’s very funny but also incredibly distracting, which detracts somewhat from my ability to suspend disbelief. Otherwise it’s a fun show.

The thing about being the only human in a house for several weeks is that I can talk to myself out loud without worrying about being overheard, sing whenever I feel like singing, make food at strange hours, and subsist almost entirely on peanut butter cookies for two days straight, and nobody is there to ask inconvenient questions.

Hasn’t just been peanut butter cookies. There was also chocolate zucchini cake.

This week I’ve been escaping into the woods in the nearby state parks as much as possible. There have been creeks and gorges and waterfalls. It’s lovely. Walking up and down hills in the woods is one of the best things I am capable of doing for my brain.

~

Here’s the recipe for the soup I made, twice, because the first batch turned out unexpectedly well:

Sauté a chopped onion, more sliced carrots than you think you need, and one chopped bell pepper in olive oil in the bottom of a pot. (Regret peppers later.)

Add two cloves of sliced garlic and cook until soft. Then add cubed potatoes, corn, canned chickpeas, green beans, tomato, and vegetable broth. These were just the vegetables I had on hand at the time.

Simmer until the potatoes are soft when poked with a fork. Add some spinach.

Season with rosemary, parsley – whatever you have that goes together. (You have to sing the Simon & Garfunkel song as you do this or it won’t turn out right.)

Add too much salt.

Serve hot with sourdough toast, if you have some. I feel like any bread would be fine.

Neurotransmitters are out of whack all over again. Thought spiral monsters are out in force. Health and energy levels are plummeting at an alarming rate. Sliding into a sluggish little brain fog freeze response. Feeling vaguely worried about how frozen I am in the face of all the Things that need doing, which doesn’t help.

I know how to get myself through this. I have all the tools. That doesn’t necessarily make me feel much better in this moment.

Acquired milk and peanut butter cookies to make myself feel better.

There’s a ceiling fan in the living room, which is pure sensory bliss when I can slow down enough to feel it.

Water pressure in the shower is awesome.

Made soup, and it’s nourishing.

Drinking tea.

Distracting myself with a good book. I am just settling into the second installment of a series – took me a minute to warm up to a slight change in writing style, but it’s a neat twist, so we’re just about there.

Picked some wildflowers and arranged them somewhat prettily in a glass. Pretty grand. This was the best thing that happened to me today.

The crickets and cicadas are loud, out here.

Making bread tomorrow.