Monthly Archives: September 2014

Making the Bed

Part of the routine I’m doing these days is making the bed. It’s to the point where I can say it’s a habit, so I can check it off the “get this to be automatic” list.

I find myself making the bed in certain ways:

  • Flannel bottom/top sheets because it’s fall and starting to get colder and they’re cozy.
  • The older hand-made coverlet we use,  this covers the entire bed, it’s soft and not scratchy and is what’s closest to our faces.
  • Then the secondhand wool blankets: the smaller one on DH’s side of the bed as he likes to “cocoon” himself in the night and the larger one on my side so I can still snuggle up to him without a tug of war.
  • The polartech light blanket, covers the entire bed and is the cat’s favorite.
  • The two hand-made, smaller (single bed size) Swedish blankets we bought to replace the one my Dad had bought me, and the one I’d bought to go with it. (They were destroyed in a fire at the drycleaner, long ago.) These blankets have fringe on the edges that needs to be tucked in to keep the cat from going mad AND to keep her from unweaving the blankets. At the moment, these are folded up at the end of the bed; it’s too warm for them!

When it’s really cold and we have the down comforter on, I alternate the small wool blankets (both sets) between the full size ones, like layers in a sandwich.

There: when I make our bed, I consider all of us (2 people and pets) who’ll sleep on it, our comfort, etc. It makes the “chore” into an act of love, not just being tidy because it’s expected or whatever. Every time I put things just so, it makes me smile. Self-care and loving sometimes are the smallest acts.

I just

reread this post

I’m dismayed to realize how much of this still isn’t done, sigh. It’s Saturday morning. I need to go get something done on the “TO DO” list!

The Hardest Part

The piece of the PTSD that seems to affect me the most these days is the “exposure” thing. People with PTSD feel as if they have a painted target on them and so want rather desperately to be below the radar, any radar.

Cleaning the house, working on the cleaning plan, working on the memoir, ummm, and writing this blog all lean on this. So did the 10,000+ items out annually. Sometimes I can overcome it; sometimes I can’t.

It just is.

The only way I know to deal with this is to just bull ahead, as much as I’m able. I’m doing way better than I used to. In the bad old days the idea of living in a uncluttered, clean house would throw me into a panic attack. These days, I can clean just fine, losing the clutter is going to be the bugaboo, and we think we have a plan for that too.

But still. . . I do things like I’ve done 3 times now . . . and “lose” the manuscript for the memoir. Yesterday I finally found the printout, but then lost my reading glasses. I just smiled and did what I could without the glasses. And when I found them again read the two or three things I hadn’t been able to before. But it’s that sort of thing. My brain fights me.

I’ve been having nightmares for the past two weeks or so, I expect this will continue for some time. It’s apparently a bleed valve I need, so be it. I don’t remember them, but it does disrupt my sleep. So instead of getting up at 6:30, this morning it was 8:30 before I finally rolled out of bed and I felt as if I needed another 2 hours, or more.

The unconscious  things my brain does are the main reason that I can’t “just ignore” the PTSD. I’m not where I need multiple anxiety meds, a dog, etc. but I have the same disorder. It shows up in weird and interesting ways: these days in nightmares and “losing” things.

What’s New?

The book got sent off to be edited last October, almost a year ago. I got it back, then spent two weeks coming up with a new outline, then more weeks adding and culling and moving around.

Then it was sent to the editor again, this time for a copy edit. It’s back.

I’ve been putting off making the changes. Nothing major, I was going to move 4 sections around. I need to send pieces of it to my siblings so they can say if they hate what I say about them. I don’t expect they will, but, I’d rather ask than get sued or make someone mad.

I need to send it off to people to read I’ve promised the chance.

I have a marketing idea brewing.

After I get it back from the beta readers, then I’ll make those changes, and it goes out to be formatted for epub and POD,and will available to buy on this blog.

Why? Because the book is titled

Teacup of Water:

An Emotional Testimony of

PTSD with SF on the side

so the sales link should be here. My editor, rightly so, got all over me about the SF reference, as most people would say “sci-fi,” except you see that isn’t true in the science fiction world; that’s what people say whose business isn’t science fiction.

Anyway, that’s where I am with the book.

The house is getting (and staying!) clean too.

Yeah, I’m doing both at once. The fallout from that is that I’m having nightmares,  for weeks now. I have multiples most nights. I don’t remember them and they don’t normally actually wake me all the way up, just enough so that I know that I’ve done it again. There was one bad one, or one I woke all the way from about my ex-husband that was just weird, as we’ve been divorced for decades! Another night whatever was going on in my head caused me to stiffen my right leg so much it went into spasm —that woke me up! But aside from those two incidents, I haven’t a clue wtf the nightmares are about, just that they occur, nightly. I figure it’s a bleed valve and that’s just fine, obviously I need it.

I was in California for a funeral last month, remembered/was reminded how really messed up some of the people I knew were, and it’s so crowded I doubt I could ever live there again. Made me sort of sorry I’d come from there a bit.

Today I got home and DH said, “Your box is in the kitchen.”

“What box?” I asked.

He said, “You got a box in the mail.”

There was a card and a gift of candied orange peel from one of my oldest friends for no real reason at all, except she loves the stuff, remembered that I did too and bought me some. She is one of the people I didn’t get to see when I was in SoCal, as she only lived there for the short while we lived together, lo many, many years ago.

I was feeling exhausted and worn down when I parked the car. It seemed to be a nonproductive day, but it took an upswing. I got out of the car on the beautiful piece of land where we live,  found an affectionate cat, an intelligent and caring man, and a box from someone who knows me well enough to know that I like my sweet and tart mixed — and always have.

I wish I could write poetry! I’d write a poem about the granular, sugary sweet offset by the oily bite of the soft peel. I can’t, not my kind of writing I’m afraid. I wish I could though.

Today wasn’t all that great,but it ain’t over yet!