I’m in flux right now.

The popular belief is that the masks and lockdowns will come back sometime in September.
But this is based on a lot of heresy. It will be until it’s not and I refuse to believe that American (and the world) would allow such restrictions again.
But people will. I don’t see Americans going the yellow vest France example.

Any type of gathering, peaceful or not, could be perceived as another type of insurrection or a violent Portland riot.

With inflation and economy in flux sweeping everyone at the knees, it’s doubtful that these will have the traction and meet the purpose – unless it’s pro mask as all media is increasingly left leaning biased – and the sheeple will just accept.

I’m choosing believe that America and the world won’t just cave in – but I don’t have a lot of faith.

Since Jason’s Diabetes diagnosis, I’ve slowly educated myself via a series of informal and formal documentaries about the food industry, the disease, and the ruling “authority” government agencies.

Again, nothing new and nothing that I haven’t suspected in the past. I’m certainly not surprised by the information. Rather, it just confirms what I’ve suspected but never cared to check into.

But it’s different that it’s related to Jason and this creates a conflict.
Much like how I want him to be safe, I also don’t want to be restrictive. To be safe, apparently, processed meat, high carbs, and certain prescribed drugs (which he has avoided so far, thank goodness), should be avoided. There should be an exercise regime in place along with some other trappings – which would equate to his life to be structured in a highly restrictive routine – which isn’t fair to him or to me, for that matter. It takes life from a flow to a structure and we desperately need to flow. And I know how much I hate it when I’m curtailed. I don’t want to be that person for him. I can’t fully know what’s the best although I can pretend.

This is another place where faith has to come into play. I have to have faith in him but he isn’t the only factor.
While I’m sure the medical professionals have the best intentions, they’re curtailed and misinformed by governmental agencies. They can’t be trusted but they’re still the best shot we have when it comes to aspects of care. It’s kind of like starting a campfire by a gas can. We need the warmth but a misstep is an explosion and sudden death. There isn’t a happy middle ground. Well, there might be. Dr. W. But he’s outside of the insurance, I’m sure.

Classes will resume shortly. After two months of worrying about losing my job and being called a white racist bit** by multiple students for most of the two month class runtime, I’m a bit shy about starting another term. But I really don’t know what I would do without a paycheck… still… I’m rather enjoying my time between classes. I’ve actually started to timidly read a book and have written more than single blog after a multi-month absence.

Despite the frequent 90+ days, I’m feeling fall in my bones.
Summer, in my mind, is all but done as the trees will soon change, the Roses of Sharron fade, and Cicada bodies lightly litter the trees.
I enjoy fall. It’s one of my favorite seasons but I’m already dreading winter like something fierce. Last year, I was simply unprepared for the pain and aches. It was embarrassing and depowering. Actually, to be honest, it was kind of scary to feel so helpless and hopeless. To feel so depressed and continually upset for months without stop… While winter is months off, I feel like I want to already surrender. The dread is, at times, overwhelming. — and the season isn’t here. This year may not be so bad, or I might be able to cope a bit better. Maybe I’ll (and Jason) will allow me respite by warming in a tanning bed every now and then just for the heat… I think a four-month stint in Jamaica would be better.

But that doesn’t matter.
Winter is coming and that’s already enough to cause oppressive apprehension. It’s not logical. I know. But I can’t help it.

That, coupled with being hauled to the emergency room – twice – within the past six months isn’t creating a lot of self-confidence. Sure, okay, the first time might have been warranted as I couldn’t stop the bleeding. But the second was just dehydration from a flu bug.
I love my mom with my whole heart. Still, I guess I would have rather been carted to her house, forced to drink Pedialyte under her watchful eye, sleep, read, and spend some quality time with her instead of a two hour drip at the hospital. I guess I can’t cope with going to the hospital for something that deem trivial but — even more important — something that I feel mom and I could handle. Why the ER? Why couldn’t she have tried to care for me herself in her (our?) home?

And how many more ER visits will I have coming up in the coming winter months?

I don’t get sick. I don’t get hurt. But, apparently, I do.
I’m not as immortal – or as strong – as I think I am and that causes a lot of deep-seated uncertainty.
My bravado will only take me so far but I don’t dare to defy mom and Jason – especially when they’re united for my wellbeing, which I read to be against me. That’s a learning curve. They’re not against me but there’s something wrong in my brain that conceives them as a threat.

Again, I know I can’t trust myself.
If I could, I’d never have entered the House.

In flux – like I said.

It’s tiring but, even more, I feel fragile.
That’s not me. Please don’t let that be me.