The Fluffbucket Diaries

Today may be the first day of the rest of my life. Again. Fingers crossed.

Had my somewhat-quarterly fat doctor visit Monday. I’ve gained 15 pounds since my last visit in June. Not surprising, as I’ve neither logged my food intake nor have I religiously counted my carbs in the past three months. Also, averaging about 5 hours of sleep a night doesn’t help.

I don’t do nearly as much stress eating as I used to, but I do casually reach for the periodic piece of bread, tortilla chips, popcorn, and sweets a lot more these days. And I made it clear to the doctor that the past several months have been tough, between work and other demands, sleep deprivation, and unresolved struggles with grief (plus internalized anger and sometimes severe anxiety, which I didn’t mention).

He took me off topiramate after I noted the hit that my already-suffering mood seem to take after I began to use it; now I’m back on escitalopram (the generic version of Lexapro), at least through the end of the year to carry me through the holidays and winter months. Hopefully it can get me through the wait for a new therapist, too. One side benefit: It also curbs appetite and food cravings, so there’s that.

(It helps that I do have a history with Lexapro, as I mentioned to the doctor; I only went off it when I got pregnant. I neglected to mention that I went back on it once or twice after F was born, but I don’t think I was on it long enough for it to help. But before the pregnancy, it was by far the most effective antidepressant I had ever been on.)

Got a salad from Chick fil A on the way back from the doctor; it probably had more carbs than I needed, but at least it was healthier than the open-faced Double Quarter Pounder With Cheese I had for dinner.

Clearly, I’ve got a lot of work to do.

Oh, look. My new T-shirt arrived just in time for the World Series. #wompwomp

I spent more time venting online about baseball on Twitter than anyplace else, including this site. It’s a little embarrassing to look back and realize how much baseball has consumed me the past several weeks.

Anyway, I’ve spent more online time elsewhere generally than I have on this site. I probably should change that. The compulsion toward memoir, or at least to record fleeting thoughts and journal as a means of self-care, has been strong lately, so it seems much more appropriate to be here. But I have been so spent physically, emotionally, and mentally over the past year and a half – and yet not really realizing that until recently – that a vague sense of inertia overshadows everything.

(It doesn’t help that I can’t seem to successfully nail down a therapist who doesn’t have a waiting list or is willing to meet in person rather than over Zoom.)

It’s probably best I figure out a way to pour myself into analog means of recollection and self-care; I have piles of notebooks and bundles of pens that I’m eager to spend afternoons with. But how to find time? It’s easier somehow to use a keyboard, since I’m at a keyboard so much for work and parish reasons. And yet it feels so unhealthy, and perhaps unsafe, to work out my fears and loathing for all of the interwebs to see.

And all the while, I’m spiritually numb. I feel torn between the driven, demanding orthodoxy of Opus Dei and more moderate influences that I’m nonetheless not fully comfortable with. I’m not completely home at either part of the spectrum. I’m truly home in the Catholic Church, but – even at a parish I love, an unusually traditional place where I know I am supposed to be – I have yet to find a home within the Church. That said, I could at least pray regularly, and I can barely get myself to do that.

So, this is where I am right now: desperate for restoration of body, mind, and soul – and unable to find a way to even start getting there.

Between the Phillies defeating my Padres and Houston winning the ALCS, I’m still surprised by how dead I feel inside.

CCD student wisdom of the day: “Adultery is when a kid tries too hard to be an adult.”

Becoming incredibly tired of having to use the mute button every time one of those irritating “Citizens for Sanity” ads pops up during the NLCS coverage.

I do, however, appreciate it when a Spanish-language ad follows.

Went to H Mart and became completely overwhelmed by the selection of Korean instant coffees. Also learned that gift shops attached to Korean grocery stores also sell pet accessories.

I have a CCD class to teach in the morning, yet I can’t stop watching NLDS postgame coverage.

Time to work a goose reference into a discussion of baptismal covenants. Or just pull an audible and shift to a lesson on David and Goliath.

Finally done with one half-bushel bag of apples from last weekend’s orchard picking. Apple crisp, plus apple butter in the crockpot. Two more bags of apples to go.

After a long week, back in my happy place with my notebooks and a graphic novel and a chai latte that probably has a zillion grams of carbs. And no, I don’t care at all.

Stumbled across the BBC’s news site in West African Pidgin English, and now I can’t stop looking at it.

PTO time, Day 1: Preparing for Days 3-5, when I plan to hole up alone in a cabin in the woods with books and tea and notebooks, hopefully surrounded by wandering deer. At the local library deciding which of these to actually check out. I could be here all day.

The husband after a weeklong work trip to Sioux Falls, S.D.: “I listened to more Kid Rock than I have in the last 5 years.”

Picked up this trinket last weekend at a local “comic-con” (basically a small field house at the county fairgrounds stuffed with cosplayers and pop culture merch). Can’t think of a better place for this than my home office.

It’s here! My humble little Hobonichi Weeks shipment has arrived.

As I mentioned to a friend this week, the whole Hobonichi planner thing can be kind of a cult (in a major pen-and-stationery geek kind of way), and I was away from it for a while. But in a fit of pique over my worsening issues with time management—combined with my revived commonplace journal hobby—I’m back.

Maybe I should have splurged on one of the cooler limited edition covers or some of the other accessories available. But I expect this one, in the clear plastic cover I got with it, will be quite packed and covered in photos and other decor before I’m done with it.

And if anyone can explain that quote on the shipping box in the last pic, let me know.

Taking a break from baseball. It’s been a rough few days for both my teams, and I’ve got enough irritations in my life right now battering my psyche.

Twitter is good for at least one thing: giving our cat a gratuitous platform for … something.

I just spent a good 5 minutes explaining to my daughter the concept of “jumping the shark,” even noting with perverse old-person pride that I actually saw the “Happy Days” episode involved when it first aired.

My parenting work is done.

F’s weekly D&D session was canceled this afternoon, so we hit the local “comic-con” at the county fairgrounds. She added to her plushie collection; Helena approves.

Why yes, I bought a #HobonichiWeeks planner from Japan a week ago and am entirely too excited about the fact that it’s finally shipped.

Made a terrible mistake in looking at Twitter reactions to the Queen’s passing. Once again – surprise – civility is lacking, often in favor of a profound sense of smug self-righteousness. Humanity can really suck.

For the sake of my mental health, I’ve broken the habit of following most breaking news, especially political and crime stories.

But I’m riveted by coverage of Her Majesty’s failing health. “The end of an era” is overused, but here it’s entirely appropriate as this all unfolds.

And yes, it’s sad. For all the foibles and ridiculousness of the British royal family, it’s hard to dislike the Queen (using the BBC practice of capitalization here) herself. God bless her.

“Look Mom, another bowl of fruit!”

Time for a last-minute culture fix for Labor Day, the last day of the Cezanne exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago.

How I start a holiday weekend: tucked in with a cat, a pile of reading material, and a ballgame.