journal 7.8

I woke up from a dead sleep to write this. Not because it is important, but because, suddenly, I wanted to write.

It’s been so long.

When I’m not writing, I cook. It satisfies the same need. The last two weeks, I haven’t done any of either. I’m a bit stuck.

Before this, instead of writing, I spent a lot of isolation mastering different rice dishes. Mexican rice. Jeera rice. Sushi rice. Jollof rice. Risotto. A friend called it my rice-olation challenge. I like that.

When I don’t have the words for what I want to say, I sift through my pantry cabinets until I find something that feels right. Tonight I said it with a quarter teaspoon of cardamom in a tiny olive oil cake.

The cake was microwaved into existence because I had a (itty bitty) hip surgery this last Tuesday. It went well. For the sake of recovery, I’m on doctor-ordered bedrest, and though I stretch the boundaries of that definition at every turn, my body still can’t bend down without pain. You can’t use the oven when you can’t bend, so, I adjusted because I really wanted cake.

I’ve had a wild sweettooth lately and I think it’s related to the tests that say my hormones are all over the place. You wouldn’t think it, but brain damage and hormone fluctuations go hand in hand.

StrokeBrain is acting up in general. I’ve changed “write” to “right” and back again in this post more times than I can count. I just looked up whether the comma goes before the “but” or after. Yesterday, my peripheral vision blinked out like a spotty wi-fi connection. These things have become more normal to me, but they are still strange.

Is there a word for something expected but shocking all the same?

That word would probably wrap up this entire year.

I don’t know what else to say, and I can tell satisfaction isn’t going to come from this catch-up piece, but I am grateful I put something down anyway. I feel like I’m in the middle of a change, an adjustment. I feel like something isn’t quite right in my writing. Like when a dish needs salt. Maybe it would feel better if I picked a different angle, a different spice.

Maybe I will re-read my blog. It could be like searching the pantry for familiar flavors, thinking of new balances I could bring to them.

Or maybe I’ll just rest, like a good patient.

Like a patient human.

Like a human, healing.

Do you re-read your writing? Are you wearing a mask? (Please say yes.) Are you sleeping well?

45 thoughts on “journal 7.8

  1. You have Beautifully peened down ur emotions ….wishing you a speedy recovery…..Something search of flavours helps us a lot …..answers to your questions are Yes,yes and yesπŸ˜ŠπŸ˜ŠπŸ€—πŸ€—
    Get well soon🌷🌷🌷

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I wish I could say that I woke from a dead sleep to read this, but I’d have needed to sleep that well first, and I can’t remember the last time I did that. Slept well, I mean. I’ve seen more of my ceiling in the past seven hours than I really want to think about.

    I sympathize with not having written much lately because I haven’t written much lately, either, and when I have, none of it’s been online. I need to change that. I need to change a lot of things.

    I hope you heal quickly, and I hope your surgery corrects what it was meant to. *hugs*

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It’s awful when sleep doesn’t come easily, so I’m wishing you less ceiling-sightings. πŸ™‚ The hip’s already doing so much better. I won’t even need a cane anymore, when it’s all said and done. Thank you. πŸ™‚

      Liked by 1 person

      1. That’s fantastic news! Hip surgery can be such an ordeal, but I hope that when it’s all said and done, you’ll be pain-free. ❀

        And thank you – I need to see a whole lot less of my ceiling since I won’t be able to sleep in anymore after Sunday. I’m glad to have obtained a new job so quickly, but I will rather miss having my days to spend as I please.

        Liked by 1 person

  3. I think you picked the perfect spice! Wonderfully written. Also wishing you well for a good recovery. Yes to all three, but to the first – perhaps I need to re-read a little more carefully! To the third – a little more difficult at the moment due to high temperatures.

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    1. Cardamon is such a versatile spice for various emotional states. πŸ™‚ Today I’m feeling more like turmeric. We’ll see where that leads. Thank you for reading. I hope easy sleep finds you soon. πŸ™‚

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, πŸ™‚ The next “let’s get wine” day seems increasingly far away, but when the world opens, let’s put it to the front of the list. ❀


        1. I miss you too. I haven’t been in a reading or writing space for some time but I feel it coming back! πŸ˜€ Thankful that I get to “read” you in bite-sized mode on Instagram.

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  4. So nice you wanted to write. I wear a mask always indoors, but not outdoors. Outdoors I stay away from people. My sleep is random. It’s all good. I can deal with little sleep. I often re-read my writing and cringe every time I find a mistake πŸ™‚
    Heal well and soon Ra. Even stroke brain will rewire itself eventually.
    Alison xo

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  5. “Or maybe I’ll just rest, like a good patient./Like a patient human./Like a human, healing.” It’s hard to have that patience so often for me. When I re-read anything I write I want to tear it all apart and start over again. Wishing you continued healing…

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Yes, I’m still wearing a mask and probably will be for a very long time to come. I’m sleeping well too, thanks to a nightly dose of melatonin. I think you are very brave to reread your own writing. I’m far too embarrassed and ashamed to try it myself. It was nice to read some words from you today, though. Wishing you well. πŸ’š

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    1. So glad you’re sleeping well– I have a feeling that’ll be increasingly important as this pandemic continues on. It’s funny how writing as bright and alluring as yours can be so stressful to the one who made it, but such is the strangeness of the creative world. πŸ™‚ Wishing you well, too. πŸ™‚


  7. Yes, yes and…no.
    Re-reading my writing is like time travel, but I try not to do it too often because sometimes I forget to journey back home.

    Your little cake sounds lovely. I’ve never had a cardamon cake before, but I can picture it from your words. Thank you.

    Speedy and complete recovery.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, the time travel effect of reading my past work is exactly what keeps me from doing it regularly. πŸ™‚ I’m a fan of cardamon– I have a panna cotta recipe I’m eager to try next. πŸ™‚

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  8. It has been so long and so much has happened it seems. Like water under a bridge I haven’t stood upon in years, but it is still flowing, still water–well, not still water, but still moving water. You are a rare gift, Rarasaur. I am sending healing aloha your way. Please heal, please breathe, please keep writing and cooking. Love you, Kozo

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Ah, Kozo, I love you tooo. It’s good to see your name. I bookmarked all your posts that I’ve missed to really deep dive when I have the energy to do so. *hugs*


  9. Sometimes I very much like re-reading πŸ’—
    I am wearing a mask In my house because I had a cough 😷 earlier and I was at the doctors and dentist too many times recently.
    I can’t remember last when I slept well. Maybe before pregnancy but that’s unlikely, probably not since I was a child. I keep working on it, though.


  10. I haven’t had an urge to write like that in so long. I’m most motivated to write when I’m putting words in an email, or a post, or a comment like this one, when I’m addressing someone and I can’t wait for confirmation “yes you’ve been seen, you’ve been noticed, yes you still exist.”
    I like your journal type posts a lot, thank you for sharing.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. Yes, I re-read my writing. And my husband’s. Yes, I wear a mask when I am out and about among other people. No, I am not sleeping well.

    I am so happy to see you writing again! Your writing is good for your soul – and mine! ❀ xoxox

    Liked by 1 person


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