Tuesday, June 10, 2025

I was about to call him cz he said to / I could, but then P (psych) called me. She's the one who defined tenure for me as "we are going to know each other until we die."  

She's dying. Parsed diagnosis: our place of employment + shitty divorce = killed her. She died of NO. I am telling you, that all encompassing "don't wanna" phase is potentially lethal. I swear it is true on my children's souls. Rule of thumb for No Sickness: stop self-medicating with deadly substances (like wine and denial) and get Yes into ya before you die. 

With the time she has left, she would like to start a death composting business. There are pods and they put you in there and 3 months later you're great for the garden. (Personally I prefer the sky funeral where the vultures eat you.) It is now legal here, but there are no companies doing any of it. I could, perhaps, approach my hospice connections, and indeed that falls under health humanities. Mark died in his 40s and was sick for half a decade at least, and wanted to be composted, A LOT, but here his ashes sit because he could not. I've enough experience with the subject to know that people who die younger care about this more. They feel alive, midstride, not like their body is a "husk" to shuck. Dying is their future, and everyone living wants one of those and to talk/think about it. So, an urgency to start a body composting LLC is suddenly on my to-do list.

My mother called while I was on the phone for hours with P and left a different version of "I'm dying" on my voicemail; she's dying of my father. I swear, I love him and all that, cz he's my father so 🤷🏻‍♀️, but I spent a LOT of time wanting him dead when I was younger. And I was not wrong. 

How strange for a day to be suddenly taken over by dying while leisurely shopping lingerie. My resting state today was "stimulated". I got a 'body high' sex chocolate bar, my toes painted red, and new panties to fit my current butt, a couple lace and a thong for special occasions. This is akin to cooking/eating (for me): I am more likely to do these things and enjoy them for my self if I have an excuse/reason for whom. Nobody saw my ass today, *I* can barely see it lol, it makes emotional sense only.

Emotional sense makes sense. Maybe humans mostly make sense that way - evidence suggests (?)