So many of my frustrations are because I need to know why.

 What does depression look like? Guilt and repeating poor choices. Letting imperfection reign victorious. Imperfection is the very truth; perfection is a longing only. Dirty feet. Not wanting to sweep though the floor is crumby again. Pissing K off because finishing stuff is anathema to me. The dregs.

 Dear Chloe:

The Truth. It's color in free form. Laughter. Always laughter. Cold carbonation. Songs, deep sorrowful and dreamy. La lune. Les chats. Italiano. Chocolate. Men with sleepy eyes.

 When night sneaks up on me and doesn't drag out the dusk's fading, that's merciful.

 Just one day as a child when you were conscious, and suddenly aware there were shows you liked, that you were an entity, that you had a history, a past. You had memories, thoughts and feelings you could retain; they wouldn't drift out of your reach any longer. You had permanence. It felt like eternity but you were only 3. Each 12 months of your existence actually millennia.

 Late start to day. Got heavy bag of household dirty linens out of room. Cat was out for a while, and I let her in. T talked to me last night about court matters. Wish I could explain my freeze responses better. Especially when I'm not even aware I'm doing it till afterwards. It's muzzy out. Front door open, 1 curtain drawn. Need to eat more, but my leftover carne asada fries just ain't doin' it.  Ignoring A is brutal, but for my psyche I've pulled it off. 

 K put a bunch of the broken down boxes outside. It's warm, but I have the front door open for my sanity. The strip is overgrown; the small barbecue is in front of it after the sea of oversized, wrecked boxes. The ice in my hibiscus tea is gone. What a delight, to have hibiscus tea, though.

I do not want to be alone/I have to. 

K's friend stopped by to pick up the boxes K had out. I startled her through the screen door saying hi.

 I remember the sheer beautiful escapism as I perused the grainy-covered quality paperbacks in the history and the microbiology sections of Borders when my shift was over. To my consumer's soul, it was paradise.

 Am fatigued. Lily is confused. Sniffing everything. Some company stopped by about solar today. Our trash bin must be picked up an additional day this week.

 Always on the cusp. Always. Almost done watching The Decameron. Ready to go outside and play. And walk and stand. Feel hale and hearty. Not be so overheated. Where did I run to? Haunted. The hotels were wearing. I can't be broken. I have Tasks. The Cusp this time could actually be the cusp.

 Have worn out looking for the old the established

 Look, I'm not trying to be ungrateful. And for it to be thrown in my face every time I let a concern slip just seems mechant. I'm maneuvering the shit thrown at me in the most truthful way I can. I'm not perfect. Quit expecting it of me. This loneliness is real. I'm not making it up. I'm sorry that I'm suffering so much. I know I ain't the only one. I know a lot of it's cerebral. I know that there are humans going through depths of sorrow that are unfathomable to me. You want me to let you know I'm in pain, but then you twist it so that I feel I must hide it again. I'm not comparing our pain. Mine is not superior or inferior or false. I'm expressing it, maybe even trying to set it free. I'm wallowing. I'm aware of that and attempting not to. I wasn't raised with coping mechanisms. I have to come up with them on my own. So quit fcking judging me for it. Quit telling me to be kind to myself and then coming after me with pitchforks. I'm tired of the whiplash.

 Things that seemed to help: less reddit, bothy vids on YouTube, Midnight Mass instead of Good Girls.

 It's 80. The wind is a miracle. A nifty campervan with two bikes on it just left the lot. My hair is getting in my face.

 My days and thoughts are taken up with Lily's litterbox, Good Girls on eternal replay, Reddit and cats, books, and bugs. Brio on YouTube and Tumblr. Concierges and housekeeping and that parking lot and the hospital helicopter, being on the toilet, having chapped lips, and dealing with 15 men all named Adam and another 50 men whose names and titles and duties change by the second. Eichmann would be fucking proud. And then of course my triggers of being gaslit on the phonecalls. Just cuz I have learned what gaslighting means tha5 doesn't mean I like it. Motherfuckers.

 What the fuck. Awake. So very awake. My mind is asking for sustenance. Not tv, not anything ugly, just beauty. I need to create. Make a disturbing paper mache nest. With little cells for pupae. Glue some shit. Acrylic paint the hell out of some rumpled paper and magazine inserts. Make it kind of ugly to the point its perfection wouldn't cause me that ennui. The parking lot encroaches more daily. The beeping from the crosswalk is constant. That I truly love. I signed up for free online classes today. I did a fuck-ton of finances. I'm ready? Not sure what I mean, but I am. Which is good. Thank goodness for the blue firelight of orgasms. The waves cresting through. Very physiological. I feel safest sleeping when it's light out. Yet the dark is comforting. Tamps the terror down. I guess I'm a child because someone has to be. My naivete is true. Trying to be cleverer than I am is a farce.  I mean, I am clever. I am sharp. And hard on myself. Easy on no one. But I pretend to be free-flowing. The dark thoughts, the primordial thoughts, they're chloe. But so are all the rest of these human thoughts that I am allowed to have.  Anyhow, this mind is still collecting back its loose and pissed swarm.

 Afternoon things: fight waves of false fatigue/lack of will. Eyes heavy irritated tired. Ponder distantly all tasks being avoided, though they are necessary. Fantasize about bitter/sour espresso in a tiny demitasse.

What are my tasks? Make rice, phone calls. Clean thoroughly the cat's litterbox. Bathe, shower.

This hotel has a vacation with too many expectations vibe. Maybe it is because I have no duty that I'm pleased with that mood. I remember San Fran, Vegas. Dirty sad tourist-trap ennui.

The pool lift's battery is being recharged right now. Tiff and A went to the restroom. Katherine and C are still swimming. I dipped my yellowed toes into the lukewarm water.

I didn't make phone calls today. Tomorrow I will.

 Whaddya know, I'm hungry again. Ate all freaking day and even like 2 hours ago. And just finished my crackers. I'm sure it's my time o'month again. Goddamn it, all I can think about is food. 

 A little over 13 years ago, Dad was in the heart hospital, which I believe I can see from here. January. Mom and I had a bonding moment while struggling to loosely cover the citrus trees in the backyard against the promised overnight freeze. It was after midnight, maybe? My memory tells me that that was the same stay they forgot his Coumadin. It's possible that mistake was from a different visit. In any case, parking was scary, although I'm sure it's much crappier now. Dad was in a medically induced coma, which was not explained to us very clearly at all. Mom and I had begun to think he would not regain consciousness. Gabby Giffords was shot and her recovery in the hospital in Tucson during the same time was uncertain.

When Dad came out of the coma, I punched the air, I was so grateful. It felt like the hospital staff couldn't have cared less.

 Must be stress over the higher estimate and still nothing being done that is making me not have an appetite though I'm definitely still hungry.

Tried to recommend sad songs per request on Reddit, but it inflamed my psyche too much. 

 Shitty memory #infinity: described Springerle cookies as a humble, hard-working digestive, and Mom said, "What are you talking about? It's just a cookie, that's it."

 Lily is back!! I got a lot of kitchen items put away. A fire alarm got me out of bed and downstairs outside by 8:30am. I was hungry, but there were too many people, so I got coffee and scrammed. A kindly fellow helped push me back to my room. Have finally had a BM after 2.5 days. Yay! The girls are here, waiting for Ana to pick them up. Yet another death--someone in Michael's family. Willow stayed for a good while today--at least 3 hours. Tomorrow is Sunday. It feels like I would be going to Church. 

 I guess I'm just trying to keep my anticipation at bay. We relocate tomorrow. I'm hungry again. Tired? Hopeful.

 Thought that since I knew we'd be going to another hotel that the evening wouldn't ache so much.

 Asked D for a loan. Gritted teeth emoji. Rolled out the side door into sun and sidewalk, across from the "nature preserve" and then freeway. Froze on an incline, and a kind fellow rolled my chair the rest of the way down. Then there was a long leng5h of carpet. Talked to the GM, and Lily must stay with Willow. Hope my optimism about being with Lily sooner is on point...Out here by the pool, in shade, chilled. Have some old phlegm that's fighting me.

 Got about 3 minutes of direct evening sun. There's still a chill to the air, but I feel like I've been in the sun for hours. Like I had a day at the Renfaire. Like I'm outside of myself again. The spring sun does that to me. I had too much to think. Staying out here to catch the magical chill of evening. Don't want to be alone. Some desires stay.

 Saw a pinterest photo of butter on bread and now I crave banana bread with butter. Definitely thinking about food even more than usual. Really want a caramel macchiato rn. Have yet to come down and eat the amazing breakfasts they have here. Am I avoiding it? I don't know why I would.. 

 Is it emotional lability or is it being uprooted? Or estrogen? Progesterone? Or is it all of the above? Self-imposed exile. Biting me in the ass.

 This hotel has killer views. The slightly muzzy sky and the greenery and cars below. It's enchanting. Lily couldn't stay here after all, so Willow is watching her. The toilet is very low. I barely fit into my room. The lighting is interesting. There's a desk. We're just off the elevator. We're further out, but the grounds are pretty. Katherine brought me a jalapeno souffle from breakfast. Yesterday was wretched. Fell asleep with no problem.

 Tiny sinus ache from not taking my Flonase. My dream was of that home store that I've visited before. Mom was with me. We were both thirsty and tired. She paused a few times and disappeared. But she ended up being ok. I slept so much yesterday. Woke up at nine. Took a nap at like noon. Then another from around 4:30. Then went to bed at midnight and woke at 6am today. 

The workers are supposed to start laying carpet this week. I am researching jobs. Got my first snarky reply on Reddit today. Sweet potato tater tots at breakfast this morning.

 This evening's nocturney just started an hour and a half ago. Dishes are put away; I hit up the mac and cheese "bar" at the social hour. I'm having coffee and Coke. Also had an adorable raspberry dessert bite. Currently experiencing the oversleep headache. T and K are justifiably angry with me. I avoided day and tasks successfully. I kind of love this place. The layout is charming. Beaucoup de gens mais pas trop. Reddit is changing my brain. X has changed my brain. This sitch is changing my brain.

 I feel so all alone. I feel so numb and unfounded. I feel so hopeful. So fearful and young and childish and naive and like a turtle or a bear stale from hibernation or like maybe an adult should feel. Did I understand that I'd be middle-aged? No, I did not. It happens to others, not to me. I wish men would respect us old ladies more, but they do not. 

I need to be out of my room. I need a little of the energy of the people in here. Some attention, too. It enhances the Emotions. In a kind of sweeping sense of denial? How may I contribute? Why does my optimism keep flaring up?

 Sittin in the Great Room on a Sunday afternoon. Asked at front desk, but as of yet, no vacancies available and even if so only for another 6 days. Wheeled my white ass out to the drive-up, stabbed my thumb on an agave, and enjoyed some sun. Probably not quite enough, but...The reconstruction process has made me feel way too ungrounded. The moody lady at the front desk reminds me of Grandma F. No Brooklyn accent, but in her slightly annoyed and unsmiling demeanor. If I were the receptionist I might be like that.

Sometimes I remember my inner and outer resources. My capacity for learning is unlimited. 

 Fantasies of sex with X helped oodles last night. Almost weary of my need for it today. Got to internalize anxiety SO MUCH LESS OMFG. Instead of it coming out in a gigantic clot. Do feel younger today than I have in ages. 

 Eaten, but fed? 

Nourished?

 A shift in thinking. I'm a grown-up. All adults of ever in one single room. Or out on that stormy island, exposed. We're all scared.

The doldrums must be the cost of the Lurid Energy.

 The sharp lighting in this hotel room, in this bathroom, is bringing me back to the red house. Maybe even the house in Ukaia. At nights I would be awake, and I would see the shadows. And I would see the geometric patterns in the wallpaper. It felt like I existed before I was meant to. Those lonely hours where I would picture a mouse in a brown room with lots of blocks. It was a neutral awakeness. It was hours between myself and the Seriousness. Godlessness. No one else awake; I would have to be aware for them.

Was it Mom's sorrow I felt? There was trepidation, not actual fear, not actual sadness.

It's the geometry I can't shake. That every night a certain light will bring back to me. It has to do with the void from which I came. A peopleless night.  With only dark forces out.

 In one of my pasts, I lived in a sunny Spanish village with a large monastery. It was around noon and abandoned. 

 Back and stomach jacked up again. Drama with the lockbox at the house. Need to let housekeeping into my room to vacuum and mop. I kinda want something vegetarian tonight. Collect dirty laundry. Scoop Lily's poop. This coffee is good out of a mug. Might lose weight taking less half and half, because it doesn't taste good with the hotel's coffee. Beds need to be changed. 

Is this rebuild gonna be finished?

 It's weird to feel alone and disconnected and claustrophobic in a building filled with people, isn't it. And, oh my God to be numb and untethered in a place awash with humans. 

 I was numb until I found religion. Now that it is lost to me again, I feel like the human I must have truly been all along.

 At Bard, lining up for something outside. Grace, whose arms had dark hair on them. I felt a little sorry for her, because the other girls would joke about it. I was jealous of her name, because I felt she must be elegant with that name.

And Allison and Elizabeth and Eileen at recess, climbing across yhe top of the long ladder monkeybars, so serious and adult and unknowable to me. With my skinned knees and apt but humble name and getting in trouble with the boys b3cause i forgot my comb on picture day. Hoarding the precious black comb they gave out to me. I don't remember happiness at that school. I would restlessly pace around at recess, waiting to be told to line up to go back inside. Daydreaming alone on the bleachers withmy book, praying to become smurfette with her raspy voice, longing for Dorothy's tornado to suck me up and set me down in a big green overcast field. The longing stronger than the loneliness.

 When you are alone you have less to protect

To nest

To close off

Your embrace can reach around more

It's not great for the ego

Although somehow I manage to get around that--it makes me aloof

I didn't have children. It came about organically. No, I would not have focused on them enough. Aunt Renee's family life may have contributed, I don't know. Her stillborns and miscarriages and live daughter who died. Dad's distant, uncaring parents. Their troubling experiences with parents who could not support them. Ironically, it must have roots. And Uncle V and Aunt A, unable to have children of their own, were generous to all their nieces and nephews and great nieces and nephews. So I've missed out, and maybe having that physical connection would have been kind to me. I had a sense I would be unable to give birth, but didn't really have any m3dical reason to support that...But it isn't selfish.

 Impressions from age 3 again. This interior lighting at night on granite tabletop. Or like age 7 Port Hueneme--the apartments, or the park or the barracks in the russet and pumpkin evening's start. The shadows (ghosts) thrown up blue-violet on the stone fences. I'm feeling sedate right now. Not good, not bad. Expectant? Lone. Feeling judged but not lonely. Don't know I'm being judged or anything...

 Fluorescent lighting is my enemy. Bleeding heavily as I am is tiring. Being solo is wearing. Worries find me. I'm thirsty; parched. Cold and thin. Not physically.

 Looking at some illustration of children and the starry skies reminded me of kc. I'll have to call her. And then I thought of Jeff, and looked up his obit. I wanted to post on it but it felt contrived, it felt manipulative, it felt attention-seeking, it felt intrusive--like it would make his family wary...These cannot be likely outcomes, I know it's my inner critic torturing me. The truth, Jeff, is that you were bossy. Not mean, not manipulative. Just bossy. I thought maybe you would be my significant other. Your book collection was as broad and random as my own. You were a child, crazy with the desire for knowledge. Myself, also. We'd have been two kids forever learning. We'd get together for romance, but we'd sllep in separate rooms. We'd go to musicals and plays and try every cuisine available. The truth, Jeff, is that no one else felt like my exact equal. I know we'd have gone on different literary tangents, maybe only meeting at some scifi fantasy. Or hanging out with Neil Gaiman. I guess I also just don't actually think you left us when you died. It's not denial. I just know your soul is in more spaces now. Wisps in random sections of night sky. So I am not sad. 

 In the lobby. Cold. Waiting. Drinking ginger lemon tea that's kind of gross. Sad that on my X board there are pins whose poster I cannot follow--it's private.

I resemble Aunt Renee down to a flowered dark shirt. Her last photo that I know of. It actually kind of comforts me a bit, encourages me to hold on. Started my period today. Last n8ght as I was drifting off, I thought maybe it's full-on menopause.

 Well, I'm fat and pasty. But clean. Legs bloated. Apple cranberry tea steeping in paper cup in front of me. Out the dining room window in this hotel is a 2-storey crane. Lowering. C would be tickled. This limbo is my natural state. Inbetweens. I am an obligate betweener. Always though of myself as a bridge-gapper, so here I go.

Fridays are the ultimate inbetween. Airports, hotels, repairs and rebuilds.

 The gloom might be good for my psyche. The plaintive evening sun might make me too claustrophobic. Yearn too much. Need color in my gray face. Watching Handmaids Tale--too maybe real and ugly. The female teacher or whatever--just brings too much 3rd reich to mind.

 Figured it out: sex is simply too intensely good to be "fun." Too intense.

 Chance: to be born a female

To be caucasian

Descended from vikings and celts

To have health, and food, and drink, and sanitation, and the sun on my skin

And the wind on my hair and skin

And the rain on my hair and body and skin

And could choose to leave my house and walk or roll or drive down the street

At night, even

And a shelter and soft drinks and garbage collection services

 The thing about depression is that it's ugly. It's clumsy. It's having little impetus. It's looking lazy. Physically, I do a lot of nothing. Mentally, have overwhelmed myself; have had many (mis)adventures. The depression ebbs and flows throughout the day. It's not feeling capable or strong enough. It also may be less extreme than depicted in ads and on television and in movies. Then again, I've been diagnosed with anxiety, not depression...