eerie calm

It is deeply moist and luxurious right now. Another heat dome has arrived, and we’ll be in heat indices of around 110F for the next few days. I prepared by having my glorious bonus son haul the window rattlers up from the basement, so indoors, we are living in 80F.

A couple of evenings ago, a morose dissatisfaction overcame me, and I felt exhausted and pointless. Overwhelmed by even the littlest things. No pleasure or joy to be found even in previously cherished beherenow moments.

This morning, I awoke to a similar cloud hanging overhead, the sourpuss looming around every door. I went through the motions and got the day started. Sat for a bit too long out in the gazebo, breathing and soaking in the early-morning humidity, with pungent grass and fallow strains surfing leisurely on the mild breezes.

In the shower, I begrudgingly washed my body, cranky about the soap holder dropping and the bathtub that never seems to fully unclog, no matter how many bottles of pipe cleaner I throw at it. Purple streams from my shampoo streaking down my body, staining the basin, producing a murky mauve soup at my feet.

I took my goofballs, which I have increased yet again in an attempt to level things out, and which have delivered me into a sense of eerie calm. The first few days of adjustment, there is always a bit of a manic reaction, and things feel !!!amazing!!!!! and I am !!!powerfull!!! and I can basically do anything. Fuck, I even wanted to clean and organize my dank lil basement.

But, eventually, it levels out, and then I am just chill. It feels a tad incongruous to be living through a time in which the external global order is in such extreme flux, people are dying for no real reason except selfishness and greed, heat domes come knocking at our doors more often than not each summer, and yet I am just …. here. Cuddling my puppies, making myself decadent feasts, reading in my hammock. There is an element of disconnection that is both vaguely disturbing and 100% appreciated.

It feels good not to be on a roller coaster.

I spent last Saturday with my bonus son, and he is so fun. He and Zozo are gifts I would never have experienced had I not been on my own personal journey of exploration and growth. The detour of my short-lived marriage yielded far more than just pain, sadness, and inner excavations into my lack of self-love; being part of their lives is a blast. The discovery, the wonder.

He is driving now, and he drove us the 35 miles back to his house after we spent the day together. It was the longest drive he had done thus far, and it was surprisingly free of any fear or anxiety. I definitely feel like the goofballs came in the clutch in that situation, but it was lovely to share tips and tricks for driving, things I had learned over the years. It reminded me of my father’s kindness, who would come home from work and take the passenger seat, napping while I drove us all around the county and back. Practicing, practicing, practicing. It is likely the best and most impactful thing he gave me in this life. It is the one highly positive thing I relate specifically to him, which continues to influence my life decades later. So, I suppose I should be grateful for that single shining moment.

So there is this eerie calm, and this element of sadness, and a few tinges of bittersweetness crisping up the edges. It used to be easier to connect with my biochemical fluctuations when I would bleed as part of them, but now that I don’t, I occasionally have these bouts and then look at the calendar, realize what day it is, and everything falls into place.

Previously incapacitated by these feelings of meaninglessness, I now have only a minor blip of dissatisfaction, and I can’t say I’m mad at the change. One of my nearest and dearests tells me that these goofballs are just brain vitamins, and I know that she’s right. Lubricating the synapses, balancing the chemical flow, keeping everything running smoothly.

Kindly.

Calmly.