Chaos and Cozy

Eclipse Notes

2026-08-28T00:00:00Z

This lunar eclipse is an emo one.

"A psychological astrology perspective on a Pisces lunar eclipse frames it as a profound moment for emotional completion, the release of old subconscious patterns, and the integration of intuition with rational clarity."

I am in a puddle and feeling wrecked about every single thing I've reached for today.

Every self-soothing attempt has been met with some weird picking apart, no patience and plenty of weeping. Even watching a childhood favorite has rendered me pissed off at the adults and wondering why children were so pigeon-holed into gender appropriate activities? Why wasn't Laura allowed to go hunting with Pa? Because she was not his son, that's why. She had the entire spark of wonder that he had for the land and he did not see her most of the time. Caroline wanted stability and structure and a schedule for the girls, and Charles just dismissed her worries. Laura's logic - "Then why did we come to Indian Territory?" and the entire go to bed dismissal when Laura starts asking more questions - because children are seemingly not people yet?

I vividly recall watching the Little House on the Prairie television series in my grandma's spare bedroom, which was her very own artist's studio. She was a gifted multi-media artist, an oil painter who won many gallery awards, but also had a ceramics kiln, needlework supplies, yarn, beads and she had the patience to sit and make those holiday ornament kits that were handmade for our 5 family members most every year. The ornaments with my name made it to me in nothing short of a miracle. To have these childhood relics in my possession is the most precious gift. She made them with her own skills and customized each one to suit the recipient and I know the amount of concentration, presence and love she stitched into each one is irreplaceable. Knowing what it means to hold that focus and let your mind wander to the individual you are creating for?

There was a small loveseat in her studio in front of a tv. I never understood it, but now I see it as a spot for my grandpa to sit there out of her way. I also see it as company if she felt lonely. But mostly I remember it to be the spot where I watched parents that were kind and loving to their children. Caroline was not my mother. Charles was not my father at all.

As my grandparents cooked dinner and had their own cocktail hour, I was allowed to sit in the back room out of their hair with a small bowl of salty peanuts and my own Shirley Temple. My grandparents were very different than my parents and I did not understand how my dad came out of those two people he claimed to hate, when they were so warm and loving towards me. I did not believe him, because I did not experience once, whatever his internal strife was with them. I grew up with better grandparents than parents and when I eventually lost all four of them I was devastated and I knew deep down they saved childhood me. I wept and cried more inside. When I lost my parents I did not care, I was relieved. They could no longer hurt me.

If I was not at one of my grandparent's houses on the weekend, I was firmly hiding in my room reading books. Little House on the Prairie, Nancy Drew, Chronicles of Narnia, A Wrinkle in Time, and a set of grocery store encyclopedias with glossy pullouts. I had a school library card and also a County library card. By some huge miracle, my two brothers and I were allowed to walk to the library and spend time wandering the shelves. Yes, I was responsible for them, and no I do not know how those gremlins did not get us kicked out of there! A 12 year old responsible for two 7 and 9 year old boys? Regardless of that, I was able to locate more books by the authors I already had in my own bookshelf. The library was a refuge and I would go as often as possible. My mother read books and I know my father tried, but he was very tired from working all day. I think the fact they both read made it safe to escape into books, because if they did it, then how could I get in trouble for it or get it taken away as a punishment? That was the only thing that was never taken away. For all the punishments at least there was one silent boundary. They could not stop me from reading or writing.

Testing the Hearth

2026-08-25T00:00:00Z

Testing the 11ty pipeline straight from local Markdown. ✨

Coping Mints

2026-08-25T00:00:00Z

I went to bed early last night since we had a big appointment the following day. I got all my ducks in a row. I planned the route down South. I planned for his meds to come with us. I planned for another snack since his lunch was earlier than normal. I planned water bottles and Gatorade. I made sure he was clean enough. His last shower was 3 days ago. He slept in those clothes each night and wore them to the appointment. I don't know when my last shower was, maybe 10 days ago. I had to power through with a wipes bath because I was out of energy.

Of course going to bed early backfired. Of course I woke up at 3:30am. Of course I was pissed off that trying to get caught up on rest backfired. Of course I started writing angry letters in my mind. That is what I do in this season to cope with the insane amount of trauma. I write and write these letters and keep them in my back pocket for a rainy day, just in case I need them. Everyone gets a letter when they betray or disrespect or ghost or fail to do their jobs. I have only sent one good letter this season and that was to our favorite EEG technician in the hospital. I will tell that story another time.

After I journaled for an hour or so about how pissed off and surly I was, I attempted to turn the inner fire around and start publishing my ramblings on my own domain. I think I did it. I think I am really pleased. Maybe a tinkering post of joy later. I have decided on a digital hearth instead of a digital garden. Much to discuss about this topic!

Before we left I checked the cats' food and water. I checked the lights and closed his laptop so no cat would hurt it while we were gone. He no longer realizes things this important - to take good care of tech that we do not have money to replace? He tried to lift a large format printer for me this morning with a microfiber towel still on it, very slick and how did he get it to the counter and not have it slide? Everything has to be monitored now. I can no longer just say "please feed the cats" and expect it to have been completed. I must now check behind each task. I can't just do it myself, I have to be his brain and I am worn the heck out already. I am also the entire C-Suite now. So yes, I still ask for help with the physical things while he can still execute them. My own body is very tired and complaining about the constant strain I have put on it and given it zero down time and it is just getting more and more compounded by the day.

I'm already worn out from the effort to get ready. I choose to take the backroads so I do not have to add the freeway to my overload. This doubles the travel time. Maps took me all ramble-y and twisty-like and we saw scenery we had not seen before. We crested the hill as you come up to the overlook at Del Mar Beach and the view was so stunning I gasped in awe. My husband did not react whatsoever and I was crushed inside. I could not let that piece get to me right then, I had to forge onward. There was no parking until the roof. It was 83 degrees out and I just had to deal with whatever spot we could get, no matter the sun. I had to hold it all in and race to find a restroom very quick once we parked. I hate this facility. They charge you to park. $6 for two hours. In a medical facility, because bougie neighborhood. We're on Medi-CAL and also displaced and it pisses me off to no end, the audacity of medical corporations...

Blank faced young man attempts to get the Alzheimer's patient to relay all his medications and that was infuriating. "It's part of the process." Ok, I'll sit back and watch the train wreck. I see it all day long, have at it. Blank and now glazed face now turns to me and asks for clarification. I said it's in his chart, you dismissed me right off the bat, so you can grab it from there because I am not doing your work for you. "oh, ok" He leaves. LOL!!! My husband sees I am no longer messing around with these people. I am here for extreme documentation purposes of the highest order today. I am armed with a three page summary of brain droppings stripped of every emotion associated with those traumatic events and translated into medical speak so they do not dismiss me again.

Neurologist comes in THIRTY MINUTES LATER with zero apology and has to get herself back up to speed. I wait. I hand her the list when she looks up. She asked if I wrote it. I said yes. "Ok, if you wrote it I will read it later." WHAT THE FUCK!? I gave you every detail of every brain dropping in a perfectly laid out four category list. Ok, I just watch her and answer her questions about her own decisions in his chart that she forgot she made. More medication adjustments. I ask why is the cliff so steep? It does not match one thing I have read about Alzheimer's? She does not answer at all. She orders a five day hospital stay to monitor his seizures again via EEG and adjust medications? HOLY FUCK. what? I thought the point was to NOT have him seize again. She orders a speech therapist. I said he can speak just fine. She said it was also for memory too. Well then say that also? "Where is all of your family?" There is no one to speak of ma'am. Also she busted out with "a motel is still a home" - WHAT? In what world is a motel a home? A motel is a temporary roof, no matter how you look at it. Unless you mean a bougie motel in Del Mar, then sure, but that is not where we are. "You qualify for such and such program" No, that program is for Medicare patients ma'am, I researched it. "oh, well then why don't you get Medicare?" OMFG, I applied on April 30th for disability to even get that rolling and do you know what they are waiting for? YOU, because you have not responded yet! "Oh, I will go figure out where that is." She sends blank face glazed man back in with an EDD form LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOO! I sent him away with a snarl. My husband cannot work, that is for someone who can get back to work within the year. He lost his career over a year ago and we did not qualify for it then. I already told her it was SSI/SSDI based and the office is so clueless they throw whatever looks good at you.

He gets another memory test done. He does not know the city he is in. He doesn't know the date or the day. He didn't draw the clock correctly. He could not recall the same five words they always ask him to remember. He could recite a boatload of words that begin with the letter F though, just like he always does. He's very good at that one because he is a natural wordsmith and will impress them with the amount he can recite in the minute allotted. I cheer him on for doing well.

Memory test over, check out over. We use the restrooms again, find the elevator, get down to the lobby and I see the coffee cart. I ask him would he like some? He declines. Usually he'd say yes, let's split one if you don't want the whole thing? I shove that traumatic gut punch down also. We locate the car again on the hot roof, check. Pay the stupid parking fee. The drive to the post office is an eye opener. The Coast Highway is scenic and beautiful and the leaves at the very tops of the trees are starting to yellow and that is how the quiet of Fall starts to creep up in Southern California. The summer's end, the folks using the last of their free time at the beaches. So many people walking up and down those gorgeous palm tree lined streets full of exciting places to eat and drink and snack and buying something joyful to take home to remember it all. I decide to stop noticing it, my heart wistful and longing to be a part of something so sunny? There is no room for extra outings in this season. There is no extra gas money. It took a quarter tank to get there and back as it was.

I look over next to me because the driver nearly sidelined our car. She was upset and smacking her steering wheel and also crying I am sure of it. I have been there before very recently and seeing that, on top of all the kids in the medical facility with their parents that I had tried not to see? I could no longer unsee anything. I started weeping.

I wept for those scared children and parents. For a child to be at the neurologist? I cannot fathom. I wept because I have not seen the sun in days. I wept because I was no longer allowed to be a normal person with freedom. I wept because I have been that woman in anguish pounding my steering wheel, not understanding why all of this falls on just my shoulders? I am holding up my husband's entire sky and my arms are shaking from the strain.

We make it to the post office and collect the mail. I refuse to look at any of this angry bureaucratic mail until I get us home. But the traffic! Maps took us crazy again and sent me right through the high school traffic where I watch in horror at all those kids looking the same, like lemmings, not one of them original or confident. Wearing furry black boots in 83 degree weather? Why? Insanity. I become very agitated and start noticing every single rude parent and teen driver acting foolish. Why are there crossing guards at a high school? My tax dollars are better spent on the younglings ffs. It makes zero sense in my mind. I am on coping mint number 8 by this time. Life Savers Wint-O-Green y'all. Crunch crunch crunch, exhale. Cool and minty. No one to kiss me. There is entirely too much traffic. Too many rude drivers not letting people merge. Everyone thinks they are more important than others. I am thoroughly disgusted.

As I pull in the motel parking lot the lady exiting was not driving straight and she nearly ran into me because she was not paying attention and then she waved all friendly like everything was hunky dory. Our keycards would not work at the back door. I send my husband around to let me in. We were locked out of our rooms and my key was not used all week, so it was not demagnetized, some bullshit happened and I had to go all the way to the front desk to see if he was taking care of it. I threw all my shit at our door in the hall on the way because I was so pissed off at having to go around to the front after him with my aching and stressed body.

We finally get inside and I get settled and open all the mail. So many angry letters, where are the forms and papers? I SENT YOU EVERYTHING YOU ASKED FOR ON THE 14TH!!! THE SAME DAY, so why did I just get 4 thick notices and half a dead tree in my mail when I did everything through the portal? His seizure revoked driver's license is causing our car insurance to be cancelled if I don't sign a form removing him from the policy asap. This would be another gut punch I was not expecting today. No medical professionals are answering the SSI office requests for more medical information and "IT'S MY JOB TO GET IT HANDLED OR WE ARE DENIED" I only have a few more days to do it and get it faxed in. They keep sending the notices to our old address, so they get lost in yellow sticker hell. The rest of my week is going to be worse than I thought.

I scarfed my turkey and cheddar sandwich down and I have a warm mug of coffee in addition to the Pine Logs soundscape that reminds me of our old fireplace, but I am still pissed off even after all the word vomit. I need to add more coping mints to the grocery order.

How was your day? ✨ I'd love to hear about it. 💖

The amount of homework to get assistance is staggering and unhelpful

2026-08-24T00:00:00Z

Dear Unhelpful Organization:

I am not able to find 2 hours for an intake video interview when I am a 24/7 caregiver for an Alzheimer’s patient recovering from a Grand Mal Seizure. I will answer your stupid online questionnaire as time permits. I am not ignoring your emails to help, I am very overwhelmed and drowning in bureaucracy. The amount of homework to get assistance is staggering and unhelpful. I have zero income, zero support from so called family, and every friend I have reached for cannot fathom one feeling or problem I bring to the table without being so shocked that I never hear from them again. I have had zero respite since November 2024. I am a 58 year old AuDHD woman who had a full hysterectomy (try to get your brain to work right with no hormones) and I do not have the bandwidth to mask for you for 2 long hours on a video call. I can barely survive my therapy appointments that are a mere 30 minutes long in this complex season of life. I don’t know how to do what you are asking with my limited energy. I can forward all of the government forms I have already filled out. Why am I repeating every single thing over and over again? I have an SOC821 from his Neurologist. I have all the completed SSI paperwork that has been submitted detailing his ADLs and declines and every other thing imaginable. Why do I have to jump through so many hoops to get help? Why is it my duty to rehash and regurgitate details that I have already documented for three different organizations? What part of “I am now his entire brain” is not sufficient enough to acquire help? When did it become ok to overwork the spouse to the point of detriment to her health and wellbeing? What happened to medical professionals being helpful? Every single person I have reached for in the medical profession points me to therapy because of my tears. Are you joking? I need respite services, not therapy. My mind is solid. My BODY IS OVERLOADED. There is an obvious and glaring difference between the two. Tears do not equal instability. Tears are the valve releasing the pressure of being overwhelmed. Learn to be human. Learn to listen. Learn some empathy. Learn to just sit and be a presence. Think for 2 minutes how it feels to stand in my shoes and then let me know if it does not reduce you to tears also.

Sincerely, an overloaded caregiver.

My mind is now my anchor

2026-08-23T00:00:00Z

I have three soundscapes going in my headphones. Fireplace, Rain on a Tent, and Summer Night Thunder. They are set to animate so I cannot locate the repetitions. I have two cases of Gatorade Zero at the ready. There has to be tear replenishment or the headaches are unbearable. Fuzzy blankets are around in case my heart feels empty. I have to hug them lately to feel less alone.

Caregiving is one of the loneliest seasons I have ever lived. There is not one person out there who has the guts to look me in the eye and meet me where I’m at. Every single friend and family member has distanced themselves from us.

The loneliness is the loudest in the evening. Tonight is really loud because two days ago I was forced to come to terms with the fact my husband can no longer see me and cannot respond to my grief and anguish. He is no longer my partner in the sense of the word, and needs 24/7 care. He is a shell of his once highly intelligent self. He can no longer navigate technology and his work was in the tech sector. I am now his brain and his alarm clock and his reminder to eat and bathe. He can no longer be responsible for our cats and help feed and care for them without reminders.

I was forced into finally separating my caregiving from my marriage vows. Every single brain drop felt like he was doing it to me and that is not how Early Onset Alzheimer’s works. Every missed cue, every dropped ball felt like a slap in the face. Regardless of if logical brain understands the disease, the emotional expectations you have regarding your partner do not just magically vanish overnight.

Every single thing that was an anchor in my life is now gone except my own mind. Sitting alone with your own mind all night in this season is a special kind of hell. The brain plays tricks and asks what you did to deserve this. It wonders what you did to make every single person ghost you during the most crucial time in your life when you need external support. It reaches for blame and attempts to make sense of why no one was tested early when they found out a maternal Aunt passed away from the disease. Would any advance knowledge have helped? Probably not, because of all the ghosting from humanity.

A Substack post landed in my inbox today that changed my mind about writing. It opened my eyes, because she was brave enough to name all the real feelings a caregiver has. She was still standing afterwards. I felt so much less alone. Reading a voice that is similar to my own experience is both heaven and hell. I feel for her journey, but I also see the importance of getting the real unvarnished voice of raw pain and anguish out there.

The Totally Awesome After - Suzanna Quintana- What I'm not supposed to say about my mother

Caregivers are the most underappreciated, hidden group of society and the broken system where I live is cruel and unfair and exploits your love and devotion and runs you into the ground before lifting a finger to help out. More voices need to be heard. We are people too.