𓅯｡𖦹° 𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃 say hello ⋰⋰⋰ http://www.yourworldoftext.com/~rhizomehaunt/ I archive these logs monthly ♡ ⋰⋰⋰ https://www.are.na/han-olliver/channels 𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃 7.20.26 what would it be like to let things go instead of creating new systems to add structure into my life? and where does the resistance to that drop come from? I think of how I would spend summer afternoons laying in the grass under the enormous maple tree that shaded my grandparents home, catching and releasing whirlybirds. sometimes they would spin in great spirals, other times float lazily, almost absently, on a near nonexistent wind. it was a joy to find a perfect green one, just as it was to feel the texture of one browned and cracked and dried of color. how many did my sister and I throw? how many more did we twirl between our hands, spinning the stem from index to thumb and watching the red tipped seed pod fly in our fingers. this morning on the deck, the air finally clear enough to breath safely, I closed my eyes to the sun and watched a red super 8 film of grain and heat exult across my sight. 7.19.26 yesterday f said, "wow, you're very thorough," to me as I scrubbed out their fridge and I felt seen and appreciated in the specific way I always crave. I'm in bed now from overextending this weekend—the pop-up, helping f with their move, a walk in the heat, some pilates this morning—and in the buffer I usually keep between myself and pain. when it overtakes me like this, there is nothing to do but soften into the brightest part. I find new muscles to relax, I find new spaciousness inside the abyss even as it threatens to swallow me. there is sometimes a point past definition when I drift beyond the event horizon and enter into sensation alone, I accept sensation as nothing more than what is happening in my body. I am alive to feel this, I am able to sink into this, I am here in resonance. it is neither good nor bad. it is merely the sensation of pain; I accept that my body sings at this frequency. it is like giving myself to the nectarine this afternoon that was hidden away in my fridge but perfectly ripe—an unexpected sweetness after the first cold bite. how lucky to feel all of it. I think about how porosity can be an affirmation of life. when the pain is the only note I look to the tree outside my window and ask her to take it, to hold it with me. I ask the birds, I ask each leaf. sometimes there is sky between the trees. I will not escape suffering by avoiding it like I am trying to outrun my own shadow. sometimes pain is a portal and other times it is just sensation in the body. sometimes the brightness is the brightness we return to. 7.14.26 remembered, right before bed, one afternoon in the fall when I had just started college—we were walking in upper queen anne after a particularly sodden morning, only the rain had stopped and settled around us in a soft mist that the low sun cut through occasionally, burning the red leaves as it did so. we kicked the leaves gathered in great piles at the edge of the road; the wind had come with the rain and so the sidewalks were covered with leaves, you could not move without dislodging a brilliant orange leaf with an underside of soggy brown rot. I walked with friends and we must have been coming or going to a coffee shop to study. the neighborhood was still new to me then and I could not remember the streets later, though I must have passed the same corner a hundred times the many years I lived in seattle. even the familiar skyline over the canal—ships and water and houses hidden in hills of trees—was a stranger then. how lucky to remember, even if opaquely, what a place looks like before you know it. it was cold enough we wore scarves and woolen tights and heavy jeans. the light was warm and and clear; it was one of those late afternoons when you stumble into something hidden which is then rapturously, decisively revealed in how clearly everything—light, trees, the people beside you, air, streets, the houses with lamps lit in their windows—is fully itself. I remember thinking that I had arrived, even if at what, I could not say until later, was my life. is my life, as the feeling from that october day is part of me like scar tissue and the freckles I inherited from my mother. what remains is as present as the touch of a hand. my old refrain: nothing is lost. 7.13.26 the trap of believing form will save you— 7.11.26 while brushing our teeth, laughed in the bathroom with j so hard about how many points i won with her parents by offering to pay for the three dollar parking—and then how many times they thanked me for it, reverently almost, as if i had just casually shelled out fifty bucks, when in the perfect punch line to the joke, j was the one who actually paid for it—that we both almost peed our pants. sometimes you feel such happiness you recognize it as it’s happening. 7.10.26 blueberries in my overnight chia seed and rolled oat pudding; coffee in the mugs we picked up from a stranger when we first moved here; begonia on speakers. it's funny how even rearranging books on my desk or stacking a few papers changes the energy, brings it into focus. i was overzealous and have sixteen books to pick up from the library; i might ask if j's parents want to drop by this weekend so i don't sublux my shoulder bringing them home in a tote. i put together a twin cities trivia question for j's family's trivia chat and felt emotional looking over history and photos from the place i grew up. as many things do, it brought me back to my grandpa and family, to the green light of childhood, and the summer dusk that felt like certainty all would continue, be alright. the sidewalks are clotted with boysenberry stains i weave through when walking to the lake. everything is so ripe, you could believe it was all for you, and you would be right. 7.8.26 I want to start collecting my phone paintings from life in zines. ⋰ working late, so begins wedding season. discomfort in my body; garlic in hummus betrayed me. i’m thirty (etc). zuzu is sleeping on my bed with one foot in the air. i am about to drink another waterloo like a heathen. j is still making dinner and it’s a warm sound. the harried energy caught me at last though i ran as fast as i could. ⋰ #1f33d4 #ddccaf #e19442 #bbe5f7 #c7ad9f ✴︎ psyllium husk water tastes like drinking cups of lake water, replete with sand. ✴︎ my pcp sent an rx through for adhd meds—i'm furious at how far-reaching and indiscriminate the effects are, and how immediate the relief, as i've spent five years trying to muscle through concrete without this support. ✴︎ most immediate change with medication, beyond even the ability to focus and task switch, is how much quieter my ocd and anxiety is, how my depression—which as of the last few months has seen me nonverbal and in tears by 5pm most nights—seems to have lifted overnight, and how my mood feels less tumultuous and more amenable to shifts and releases. ✴︎ i've stayed up until 2 or 3am painting several nights this week; i'm currently working on a noir poster that's been occupying my free time and then one night i got caught up painting my desk from life on my phone (heavypaint, i love you). as a result my sleep habits, already in decline from my six month stint of reading the wheel of time until 2 or 3 or even 4am, have redoubled their efforts to ruin my desire to be a morning person again. if only i could fall asleep with more ease, perhaps that's my next occupation. ✴︎ dentist's offices, as a rule, shouldn't be rude to you when rescheduling, especially if your reason is because you cannot afford it. and yet! ✴︎ dutifully eating my overnight oat chia seed pudding with blueberries. gruel summer. also the summer of fiber. ✴︎ woke to sunlight through the curtains, after days of rain and cloud. ✴︎ we're seeing j's parents and sister this weekend. i feel apprehensive and aware of how the presence of one set of parents will further delimit the absence of another. i miss my mom but it's more memory than anything. ✴︎ cod liver oil remains as unlovely as ever but I think my cat liked the smell of it on me. ✴︎ i haven't read much this week which always leaves me itchy. i can't get into "the traitor baru cormorant" though i am enjoying it—my brain feels fractal and evasive, my focus engaged upon other things. perhaps mansfield park or cranford will save me. ✴︎ current questions occupying my thoughts: how to ask for help when i need it? how to accept my limits? how to sleep? how to be okay with discomfort (ongoing)? how to eat breakfast again? how to share without requiring response or envisioning and fixating on a specific reception? how to be in time well? ✴︎ strawberries, cherries, and an angel's kiss in spring— 7.3.26 #83b770 #e07069 #b75a78 #aa725e #6c534e #e9e1e1 phlebotomist today kept telling me what a good job I did and how proud of me she was (got a good grade in getting my blood drawn, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve, etc.) ⋰⋰⋰ hi honey ⋰⋰⋰ oh you’re here ⋰⋰⋰ you mentioned you wanted me here today so I came ⋰⋰⋰ i had six and a half hours of jumpy leg last night ⋰⋰⋰ well you look fantastic ⋰⋰⋰ what’s wrong with your leg ⋰⋰⋰ it hurts here and all the way up to here ⋰⋰⋰ yeah every time i talk to you you’ve been on a walk ⋰⋰⋰ you're going on a walk? ⋰⋰⋰ no you’ve been on a walk ⋰⋰⋰ he’s working on the car he took in the bolts ⋰⋰⋰ yeah the bolts ⋰⋰⋰ yeah and they can’t be replaced so he has to go all around the country or the world to replace them ⋰⋰⋰ oh ⋰⋰⋰ yeah aluminum bolts — overheard conversation between an older woman, presumably her daughter (who had arrived before her and was sitting in a chair in the waiting room), and either her brother or some other familial relation who'd brought their mother to her appointment. I don't know why it intrigued me but it did; I love listening to the way people break in upon each others language, and how conversation becomes anecdotal and gestural as it lurches off from questions into associative play. I took the bus home and painted a man leaning into his hand near the front of the bus on my phone. my time in the world is so limited by illness and fatigue, reminded to pay attention when I can. on the walk home from the coffee shop my bus dropped me off at, I couldn't believe how much the world was in bloom! I remember going to pick up sourdough in february and feeling again how grim and grey and small the streets were, and how the bare branches of trees pockmarked the sour milk sky. It seemed there'd never be an end to winter, and yet today I saw flowers that two weeks ago hadn't even blossomed. ₊⊹₊⊹₊⊹₊⊹₊⊹ 7.2.26 ✴︎ as j and I say, feeling whelmed. ✾ social media is a trap and I keep falling for the promised cheese. ✴︎ would you still do it if no one saw or knew (etc) ✾ thinking about "a charm of finches" and "a skein of goslings" and "an eclipse of moths." ✴︎ everyday cursing that we don't have the star trek tech for drawing blood without needles. ✾ a kind of relief in dry crackers. ✴︎ how to move from a circle into a spiral— ✾ #7e80bd & #7b998c & #d7d5bb 7.1.26 ✾⋆.˚𓇢𓆸𓃹♡𓃹𓇢𓆸✾⋆.˚ j's birthday, we're no longer the same age! 11 months to catch up to her. s and I texted rabbit rabbit this morning, seven years of monthly hellos, seven times longer than my first heartbreak. time is ever the winding river I look back upon and remember each eddy. I want only to watch the water, how the light spangles into reeds. I'm baking a candied rhubarb upside down cake for j tonight and then we're going to watch harold and maude. she's wearing the screen printed tomato bandana I got her and we're drinking hop tea on the couch while I do a little work and she plays a game. rabbit rabbit, halfway through the year.