Firewood for sale. I'm wearing a light sweater in the mornings but taking it off in the afternoons. I am getting used to the idea of a change in seasons, begrudgingly albeit. Every spring, we have a family of birds move into the fireplace. Last winter, with my birthday money, I hired a chimney sweep to clean the fireplace out and I ordered some wood and we enjoyed a few fires, even though the wood was a bit green. This year, the birds were here again, but I don't think I will have the chimney sweep back. It's early days, but I am just not in the mood for a fire. My dad, for some reason, is against putting a chimney cap on. He thinks I should just smoke the birds out every spring with a very small fire. I just can't do that. I am too soft I guess, not pioneer enough. I guess I also feel a bit special because they chose our fireplace. For the past two summers, a chick has made its way to the house. This year said chick was not well and was being rejected. I took it outside and left it, and the next day it was gone - I think I mentioned that in my blog already.
I just sympathise. I would be homeless too if it weren't for my parents - same with my brother - although maybe he's more resourceful than I am. My Dad has been a rock of security, picking me up from hospitals all over the place after I wandered, with no money and no plan. In DC, I actually threw my keys in a garbage can and slept overnight in the dressing room of the Kennedy Center, where there was a shower. The next day, I was discovered and they had me removed to a hospital. I am lucky. I have spent the past five years concentrating on having a home. I just want to be sane enough to keep being able to care for the house and myself and my brother after my parents are gone. It's nervewracking to think of it. All it would take is one accident, or a major repair we can't afford, and we could be displaced. I just get nervous about it. But I am not as terrified as I was on Haldol. Latuda has given me a feeling of confidence and can-do. And my brother will have a legal guardian after my Dad dies, who hopefully will help me think my way out of any possible crisis. As a student in Fine Art, I used to think I could totally rely on myself, as long as I had a hammer and a screwdriver. I felt empowered. But now that I have lost my mind, I am not so practical. I can barely change a lightbulb. I haven't worked with my hands in years and my brain is fragmented and delicate, so I have to really work my courage up to handle the most basic things. Like with the lightbulb, I always thank God I have a lightbulb, and a light to change at all. Then I have to overcome my fear of heights and screw it in. So far, no accidents, but I am accustomed to expecting trouble, and it's hard to shake that off and relax. The medicine has stiffened my muscles considerably, so I am no longer confident in my stride. It's like aging really fast, I think. I was always into ballet and yoga and bikes and hiking, but I am now down to thirty minutes on the treadmill and some weights. I have to use my whole brain now, I'm not on autopilot anymore. I am working on it though. The modest workout is helping, and the stiffness goes away sometimes for a few days. I just have to hold my nerve and keep going.
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