It actually feels like fall, and I’m trying to re-emerge. We’ll call this my therapist-prescribed rest day of sacred creativity - maple spice latte, vegan carrot cake, writing and a good library book (“Moving Mountains: Writing Nature through Illness and Disability”)

It’s a beautiful morning, and I’m finally feeling semi-human again post-Norovirus

Overcoming a mind-body block to finally snatch 45kg/99lbs again. Thanks, parts theory.

A restful morning

A lovely morning cemetery walk and a newly acquired hag stone for Imbolc

Don’t say Olympic weightlifting has no use in the wild, because I just hip muscle snatched my Christmas tree (gotta recycle it).

As seen in Garfield (a neighborhood in Pittsburgh)

New DSM definition of depression just dropped #thecure

The tattoo on my wrist reads 29/11/14, and here I am, a decade later, writing poetry at the bar, hot toddy in hand, previously a rusty nail or two, while the original 1974 Texas Chainsaw Massacre plays in the background, without subtitles.

Early Morning Sourdough Baps

In serendipitous moments, while walking the dog I found a copy of Fiona Apple’s The Idler Wheel on CD, soaking in a puddle on the sidewalk alongside tossed Polaroids and Christmas decorations. I had to rescue it. It’s one of my favorite albums, and now my vinyl copy has a sidewalk CD companion.