I cannot speak the words; I cannot write them...

My hopes about the break from the Loestrin meaning that I might sleep more like I used to has not really come to fruition.  I am finding greater blocks of time passing, but then I also awake after 90 minutes still.  My greatest victory was five hours.  Last night, I had three blocks of three hours.

I awoke, however, from the third block of time truly terrified.  Deep terror that I have not managed to shed this entire day, though I have tried mightily to do so.

I dreamed a dream.  I dreamed the most terrifying dream that had not a moment of violence in it. I dreamed a dream that involved my beloved friend Bettina even though it was about me.  I dreamed a dream of which I cannot write.

While getting ready for my appointment, I was shaking and trembling from the dream.  I knew it was over, and I tried to re-write the ending, but I had no words.  Off I went, thinking to talk to Bettina on the way, but I forgot my phone.

I did try to tell the dream to the person who has been helping me, but I started having a panic attack just trying. Truly, PTSD is a most horrid evil in this world for what it wreaks upon a person.  It is a terrible companion with whom to live.  We talked some, but also had to leave the subject.  Not because I wanted to so...but because my body could not bear my trying to speak about it.  My weakness--seeing it, experiencing it--was nearly as overwhelming as the dream.

I wanted to talk with Bettina about the dream, but I was surprised to realize I was actually glad that her cherubs were needing her attention when I finally got back to my phone.  I want so much to talk with her about it, but I found that I could not speak the words.  Even as I cannot write them.  It is one thing, though, to hear that I must wait until such a time as I can talk about this, but it is another to live it.  To have a dream be so...big....

Alas, when stymied once more by my struggles and weakness, I sought to be productive about something.  My goal for the day was that since I had to go out, I would also get the things I need to manage my blood sugar in another late night episode.  So, here is my basket for my bedroom: Gatorade, trail mix (peanuts, chocolate, and raisins), and honey oat granola bars. This way, if my blood sugar plummets again, I can be safer about addressing the problem.  Immediately and without the use of stairs!

I also took care of a small matter with the fire place.

This weekend, I watched A&E Hoarders for the first time.  My goodness, has sin wrought such havoc on God's creation!  My heart aches for those people, who are so clearly battling the work of our foe in this world.  It was interesting to watch others who simply had lost all perspective of their lives.  Actually, it was also disturbing, since I have struggled so much this past year.  But I am at least not that lost and I am taking steps forward, even if a whole lot of backwards steps are also taking place.

Clearly, with all my reducing, recycling, and donating, I am not a hoarder.  My grandmother was.  My mother had to step in just as others do on the show: removing her for a time, calling in a rat catcher, ordering roll-off dumpsters for literally tons of trash, hiring help, and then having the home professionally cleaned and then repaired.  I think I could be.  I do think I can understand how easy it is to shy away from overwhelming loss and hurt and confusion and the ugly things of life by focusing on things or by simply stop managing the few things you can do so as to avoid seeing all that you cannot.  And, clearly, were I a hoarder, I would most certainly fill my home with office supplies!

[The ladies at Family and Children's Services laughed when I brought in more office supplies for them.  I did not begrudge them their outburst.  I deserve it!  One lady, a mini-hoarder of fine pens, was near giddy with the selection I had forced myself to add this morning, since I have more pens than I could use even if I live to be 100.]

However, as good as I have been on clearing out things. I do have a tendency to see potential use in things others might discard.  For example, when clearing out all the trash that was left in the basement by the previous owner (GRRR), I kept this small strip of metal (sheet metal I think).  I just felt it might be useful.  Well, while working, I had the most brilliant of brilliant ideas: that metal strip would be a rather effective solution for a pesky problem with my beloved fireplace.

You can see the strip in the first photo.  I came across it again when I was working on the "stuff" wooden shelving in the basement.  In the second photo, you can see the open door of the ash dump in my fireplace. The pesky problem is that when the back leg of the andiron on the left hits the far side of the door, it can swing open during a fire. This is most problematic since having hot coals fall in the dump is not exactly safe and it breaks the proper air flow needed to keep the fires going.  The third photo shows the execution of my idea.  I laid the strip at the back of the fireplace so that no matter where the andiron is, the door would not swing open unless I wanted it to do so.  Brilliant, eh?

Finally, I thought I would show you the next load of wood that Firewood Man brought yesterday.  He and his partner spent the entire afternoon splitting it by hand for me because he knew that I much prefer the oak and did not have access to the splitter.  This pile is from a tree that was felled two years ago, so Firewood Man was most enthusiastic about the great fires I will be having with it, so perfectly seasoned it is.  If it appears to you that he brought extra wood, you would be correct.

What a kind and respectful and encouraging pair of young men are they.  Both admired my stepping stones again and both were excited for me how much my yard has recovered since my fertilizer debacle.  [They had put some good stuff on it for me a couple of months ago.] Coming inside to fetch an item I found in the basement beneath the gargantuan table I thought they might want (a palette with wheels), they were greatly admiring of my new laundry area and were properly impressed with my table.  Both thought the idea of making a counter out of vinyl floor tiles was rather brilliant and a stellar outcome.  Both also mentioned again how blessed I am that my Good Shepherd brought me to this beautiful home that is such a haven.  One in which I could putter around tending to it while enduring the difficult process of having someone putter around tending to me.  And, of course, they both were quite vocal about how adorable The Beast continues to be.

If you are counting on your fingers, stop. I shall make it easy for you.  It has been a mere three weeks since I last ordered wood.  Yep, I burned an entire rank of wood in less than a month.  SIGH.  At least, I am benefiting from copious amounts of fire therapy...especially fire therapy combined with snuggling puppy therapy and deviled eggs therapy and rose candle therapy and chocolate therapy and football therapy and bacon therapy.

Note: Amos gets all excited when a new load of wood comes because he thinks all those ends sticking out are there for him to have a good chew whenever in the garage or on the back porch or next to the fireplace. Basically, Amos believes all things in the world are there for either his enjoyment or his consumption.  He seems to have a proper understanding of God's provision for His creation.  Would that it were I shared his clarity.


Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!