So naturally, we’re traveling. May God have mercy upon us. It’ll be fine. At least we have a little time to pack, and I’m stealing a little time to write.

Mrs M inherited half of a house, so we’re going there for New Year, and we get to clean it. You’d think I’d celebrate getting to clean a house, but, weirdly, not so much. I like cleaning. I know, it’s weird. Cleaning, once I get started, is motivating for me. Until I get started, it’s torture, as is the journey there to clean. It’s only a two hour drive, but it’s a two hour drive. I already look forward to getting back home after the cleaning is done. She rents to random people on a website.

We’ll get through it and celebrate the New Year together, with just the immediate family, not all of the extensions. One sister-in-law and family, as BIL has alienated himself during the process of grief for my late FIL. When he figures out the need to apologize I have already decided to immediately forgive, but IDK how hard his heart is about such things. I hope he apologizes. I actually like my in-laws, and I think he’s been cool up to the time of thoughtlessness.

People can be thoughtless, but having been unjustly name-called, and having witnessed the insanity and the greedy grabbing for family treasures, I was delighted after all the paperwork was signed and dear BIL signed off on having received the value of his 1/3 of the estate. Thank God for small favors. I don’t really care about the stuff-where would we have put it? What got me was being name-called during the process, after I reached out asking for reconciliation.

Everything stressful can cause conflict. Including the fact I’m writing while Mrs. M. feverishly tries to pack the kitchen sink for our trip, instead of just knowing what she would want me to do next on her list of tasks which must be done before we all leave for the trip.

I hope the holiday stress hasn’t caused too many family squabbles, and I hope 2023 is a happier year for all, including myself.

I hope I get to bake more in the new year, maybe even while we’re at the old family homestead, after the dust settles… I mean after the dust is swept away. I hope I can rediscover the joys of simple things, like having time to write. I hope I finally win the lottery.

Thanks for your patient persistence reading my infrequent, bizarre, rambling posts.

Happy New Year, blessings, and best wishes to all my faithful reader. If there’s more than one, I hope you’ll take the time to let me know.

I used to do better, when I did blogging more often. Maybe it’s a skill set and I just got rusty. You can look at a slick blog and see the skill- links are pretty, videos are embedded properly, posts are consistent, and the writing talent shows. There are relevant, interesting topics, with writing reflecting a broad spectrum of knowledge across said topics. These, among other things. I’m jealous. For a prime example, see https://stephellaneous.wordpress.com/ . It’s just good. In fact, look at any of the blogs I follow and you’ll see why I follow them. There’s not a single pity-follow on my list.

I’ll bet I’d do better if I were being paid to do it. or if I had cash flow sufficient to keep me from worrying about cash flow, and getting distracted by myriads of tasks and the relentless push of Mrs. M. to invest my time in practical things like housework and getting a job to pay the bills. I’d probably do better without A.D.D. My interest in topics ranges from a mile deep and a yard wide, to a foot deep and a mile wide. My awareness of where to find good free information is pretty good, but my interest in going out and people-ing to get more are an inch deep and a foot wide. I’d do better if I were more comfortable people-ing. I’d probably do better at people-ing if I had any faith in my fellow human beings, but every time I think I’m close, I get hurt, taken advantage of, taken for granted, under-appreciated for my contributions. Maybe if I wasn’t so fragile?

I’d do better if I could stick to, and market, a single niche: poetry, mental health, music, cooking, coffee, cleaning, charity, ministry, personal heroes, my dog… just pick one and stay with it! But my interests run far and wide, and my marketing leverage skills don’t.

Anyone hiring a writer/editor and researcher who can write content about a lot of different topics?

I’ll be sober Christmas. You can plan on me.

Please have Joe, and mistletoe,

Just coffee, please, for me.

I didn’t receive Buttershots for Christmas coffee, but did receive cherry vodka. I don’t have strong convictions about alcohol, except that if you can’t handle it, please don’t, and if you can, moderation is better than excess.

Among other things, I happily received one of my favorite coffees, Tanzanian peaberry. Yum. But I can’t mentally mix coffee with cherry vodka, so it’s just coffee for me, thanks.

It’s been a long day, almost 9:00pm. Family visits happened, yesterday & again today. Socializing happened, at a party late last week. Shopping happened, I peopled without panicking. Things went smoothly, but I’m glad the Christmas festivities are done for this year. And if it doesn’t go without saying, coffee notwithstanding, I’m tired. No vodka required.

Mrs. M. and I watched White Christmas one night last week, Home Alone last night, & another Christmas movie tonight, a rom/com/drama-dy. She likes them. So forgive me if I’m a little bit Christmased out. I’m also grateful having endured.

In years past, I’ve written a Christmas wish list as a poem, ideals I think everyone would hope for. I didn’t receive any of them, but none were realistic. I can’t find the poem anywhere to share with my reader. This year I published a realistic Christmas wish list and received some of the things on it, and a few pleasant surprises not listed.

In the spirit of Christmas past’s ideals, I hope you got lots of nice things for Christmas, including good memories. And also, peace and rest after all you may have endured.

“God bless us, everyone.”

It’s Christmas time in the city, which meant today I was asked to people and go grocery shopping in the chaos. Bleahaarrgggghhh? So I spent it, I waited in line, and mentally calculated that if there were 50 more people in the store, it would’ve pushed me into a panic. I survived.

I’m sure there’s a parody song out there. Anyone?

If I take my meds, isn’t it supposed to help more?

The store was obscene. It looked like Armageddon had started and people were a loaf of bread away from rioting in the aisles. They were out of bread and green peppers. Fortunately I can bake my own bread, and as the peppers were for a pizza, I got banana peppers, which I prefer anyway. I also had to make a trip to Homes Despot, where there were far fewer people. Considering the cold wave we’re anticipating, I found the lack of people strange. Shouldn’t they be out there buying up generators, snow blowers, shovels and space heaters? I’m waiting, Christmas. Santa may have put a damned shovel under the tree for me. At least they’re quiet.

The kids have helpfully turned my phone’s ringer up to OMYGODWHATISTHATNOISE level. Otherwise I might be able to ignore it. As it stands, about 90% of my incoming calls are spam. One might guess I’m in the habit of ignoring it already, and one might understand why. None of my incoming calls have been good job offers, unless I’m able to move to California, which I am not and cannot afford even if I did want to. I might want to if I could afford it, except for drought and earthquakes. I think I’ll stick with the frightful weather outside the bunker. And figure out how to turn down the damned ringer on my phone, lest it trigger seismic activity.

Merry Christmas, and stay warm and alive out there. It’s too damned cold out there. If your fireplace works, celebrate with a nice fire for me since mine doesn’t. If not, keep your heater on at a comfortable level and hunker in your bunker. Mine is full up with family as dear daughter and fiancé are home for the holidays. I’m mostly in a daze, but that’s probably the medications quietly scheming against me.

Hey, I got out of bed today, and, bonus for both of my loyal readers, I’m writing. Something.

For what it’s worth, Happy Thanksgiving. Is it weird we had meatloaf? Yes. It’s weird. I want turkey.

The more I experience depression, the less I understand it. I thought I had a handle on it, as in times before, and then another wonderful wave came along. And another, and another.

I’m thoroughly medicated, several for depression and one for ADD. See? I’m out of bed. Some days I don’t feel like getting out of bed at all despite the medication. But for the last two days I have forced myself to be productive. I baked two loaves of yeast bread yesterday, and I baked two loaves of banana pineapple bread today.

I applied for 2 tutoring jobs, but they don’t pay enough. What I need is $6 or $10 more per hour to be happy tutoring. Even the application process was draining. But, hey, wow, aren’t I the busy guy?

What I need is stability, instead of these waves of shit moods, things falling apart, blah, blah, and being told how I should feel. People say pick your battles, but they come in too fast to fight, & I reach a point of surrender. Mrs. M. says one step at a time, but they’re all uphill, they’re not stair steps, they’re slippery, and I can’t wear slippers. They fall off my feet. Oh, and my jeans slip, too. I keep hitching them up, belts don’t seem to work or they pinch, and I’m not losing weight. I’ve plateaued between sizes.

I understand also, why two good marriages of some friends have ended in amicable divorce. (If Mrs. M. divorces me she gets everything, including me.) It’s all of the enemies, all of the expected steps not taken, all of the lost battles. Taking each other for granted is huge.

I’m teaching Mrs. M. and myself, to say “thank you.” For the little things and the big things. Sometimes just trying is a big thing, even when, or especially when, I fail. I tried recently with plumbing and it worked. I tried with the garage door and failed. She relented & let me call the guy, and $500 later… I wish I could’ve fixed that myself, and spent the money on Christmas, and a nice steak dinner.

The next enemy is the dishes. First a cup of coffee, and then we’ll see.

If I don’t write before Christmas, Merry Christmas.