at peace

Clucking chickens. Fucking clucking, goddamn chickens.

There’s more to the cup of coffee than D initially gave on. She asked for decaf, but there’s a spicy undercurrent to the hot drink. S wasn’t sure if it was ginger powder or some motherfucking cayenne or whatever spice Matilda had hidden into their afternoon basket that night, but whatever, as she sips. Still tastes good.

Winter’s slowly creeping into their town. Fog greets them in the wee hours, but does not deter Dexter — he still runs off in search of small woodland creatures to play tag with. She wonders, as she blows steam out of her coffee, if they should have him groomed. His long fur’s matted with dirt after every morning run, and God knows she and D hate cleaning after him.

There are still gaps in her memory. She knows they’re there – portions of her thoughts hazy and scattered, and she feels with every fiber of her being she’s skipping from one unrelated memory to another, which for some reason makes sense, no matter how illogical that appears. This should bother her, but she’s done being troubled by it. After all, they’ve done right so far. Beacon welcomes them like a frazzled parent, one that hasn’t seen their hide for years, and, tired from all the battles, they seek solace in her loving arms. The town’s quiet, the neighbors caring, if a little bit nosy, and they’ve got everything they need here. S, for the first time in years, is content.

She’s plucked from her thoughts by the incessant clucking of hens in Matilda’s backyard. Well, she sips her coffee, not everything’s perfect.

via Daily Prompt: Portion

Yes, I’m fine. Still kicking it.

The past few days have been rough. This is why I haven’t blogged recently. I was supposed to post every two days, but life caught up to me and punched me in the solar plexus. A powerhouse, that punch.

I’ve been mercurial since the end of 2016 and thought nothing of it. I was unemployed, I’m basically a hermit, and I don’t have any social activities unless they’re family related. So being moody was kind of expected. I’m an introvert – always was one, so I didn’t have any need to put myself out there unless it was necessary. [This may or may not be faulty logic, but I’ll figure it out soon enough, I presume.]

Then I started feeling a bit out of it in certain times of the day. Kind of like I was in a haze but everyone around me’s just doing fine. Thought nothing of it until I started thinking of harming myself.

So, short and short of it: went to a psychiatrist, got diagnosed with depression, told to take meds and come back every two weeks.

If you’re worried about me, know that I am fine. I don’t really feel oppressed or diminished or anything substantially depressing. I just feel tired and numb all the time. And like death is a joke, one I have cracked regularly for the past couple of weeks.

I will try and update this blog. I do still have the Brutalist architecture series going, as well as the motivational quotes series. This is not the last you’ll see of me, that’s for sure.