11-03-24

I keep feeling like I’m not getting anything done. Like I’m spinning my wheels. In a way, I am. I’m in the grief, sitting in the alcove, subject to the waves of emotion that crash upon me. But I am also getting things done.

I got dishes done today. A load of laundry. I cleaned my kitchen counter. I practiced my flute and my singing. I took my etrike out twice, once before family zoom and once after. I made it all the way to the post office, which means I can definitely make it into town to get food and necessities if I need to. Faster than walking, and easier than asking for a ride. Though the weather will probably force me to ask for rides. Having the trike is reassuring, even though going down the hill on gravel is a bit nerve-wracking.

I did my posture exercises outside on the porch again in bare feet. Having bare feet and being out in the cold helps me be present in my body. Plus, cold exposure is supposed to be good for chronically cold feet.

During family zoom, I got an answer to a question I’d been mulling over about heat in the winter. I don’t remember what Ambrose and I kept the thermostat at last winter. When we lived in the studio apartment on Mallard, we didn’t even use the furnace. We had space heaters and generally kept them at 80 during the day and 70 or 75 at night. I liked being warm, and we weren’t heating all that much space. But we definitely didn’t keep it at 80 last winter. So I learned that my dad likes to keep it around 74 or 75 during the day and goes down to 68 at night. My brother keeps his house at 65, so I’d better pack layers when I got visit for Christmas. And my aunt has hers down to 62 at night because my uncle sleeps very hot and needs it to be cold.

I’ve been doing 75 during the day and 70 at night. I might try going down to 68 tonight, just see how it goes. But 70 feels pretty cold to me. Maybe that’ll help me get going in the morning – got to get up to turn the heat on for the day.

It’s still hard to get breakfast. Hard to eat in general. It’s not really a new thing that I would have problems fueling myself sufficiently. On one of our early backpacking trips, I remember Ambrose passing me on a steep set of switchbacks that I ended up calling the hill that never ends. He passed me easily, even though I was carrying less weight (on my back and overall). And the magic trick that allowed him to do this? He was eating. After I took a break and ate half a bagel, I was able to finish the hill. Fuel is important.

After my exercises, when I came back inside, I felt weak in my body. Weak and achy. And I wondered why I felt that way. And I’m pretty sure at least part of the answer is that I need to fuel myself more. I mean, I did take a couple of trike rides, and while I used the pedal assist motor, I was still exposed to the elements and pedaling. It makes sense that I’d need to eat.

So I’m going to make some red chile macaroni and cheese, add in some of the beef I cooked last week. I’ll have half for dinner tonight and save the rest for breakfast.

One day at a time. One breath at a time. I will learn how to live in this strange new world I find myself in.