August 18, 2026

Today’s update.

I didn’t end up going downtown today after all, but for once it wasn’t because I was putting it off. I found a friend who can go with me tomorrow, which honestly makes me feel a lot better about the whole thing. So tomorrow we’ll head downtown, I’ll file Mom’s will, and I can finally cross that particular thing off the seemingly never-ending list of things that have to be done when someone dies.

Seriously, there is so much fucking paperwork involved in death.

I spent a good portion of the morning on the phone trying to take care of some of the other things on that list. I paid the florist for Mom’s funeral, handled some more bank stuff, and now I have her life insurance to deal with. That’s another phone call I really don’t want to make, but I’ll get to it sometime this week.

Every time I finish one thing, another seems to take its place. I suppose eventually the list has to get shorter.

Right?

Beaker and I also took a little ride to the pharmacy. I needed to drive my car anyway, so instead of having my medication mailed to me, I decided to use the drive-through and give the car a chance to actually move for a bit.

And yes, I took my meds. I ate. I took care of Beaker. The basics are officially accounted for.

I wouldn’t call today extraordinarily productive, but it was okay. I got some things done, left the house for a little while and made progress on things I’ve been avoiding. That counts.

I’m still feeling a bit under the weather. Whatever started yesterday hasn’t completely gone away, but I have a doctor’s appointment this week anyway, so I’ll bring it up while I’m there if I’m still feeling shitty.

I also finally resume therapy this week.

Thank fucking God.

I’ve realized over these past couple of weeks just how important talk therapy has become for me. Writing all of this down has helped tremendously, especially now that I’ve allowed myself to be more open here about what I’m actually going through. But there’s something different about sitting across from someone and being allowed to unload everything without worrying about making them uncomfortable or feeling like I need to make them feel better about how I’m feeling.

Therapy gives me a place where I don’t have to filter the grief or make it easier for someone else to hear. I can just say what I need to say, however messy it happens to come out.

I think I need that right now.

Slowly Getting My Space Back

In much less depressing news, I ordered a new monitor for my office.

I’m getting rid of my dual-monitor setup and replacing it with one curved monitor. I’m hoping it’ll make my desk feel a lot less cluttered because right now I desperately need an actual functional office again.

I eventually plan to have a smaller workspace downstairs too, but I want my regular upstairs office back.

And I’m getting there. Slowly.

It still looks like a mess, but it looks significantly less like a mess than it did a couple weeks ago. I’ve cleaned the hallway, put up shelves, moved boxes, reorganized things and gradually started reclaiming spaces that haven’t really functioned normally in a long time.

It’s strange being able to do whatever I want with my house again.

For the last couple of years, everything had to take Mom into consideration. Where furniture went. What could be left sitting out. What needed to be moved. What might confuse her. What might be unsafe. There were all these little accommodations that became so normal I eventually stopped thinking about them as accommodations.

Now I don’t have to think about any of that.

I can put something somewhere simply because I want it there. I can leave things out. I can rearrange furniture. I can build my office exactly how I want it.

I thought I’d enjoy having that freedom again.

And I guess part of me does.

But mostly it just feels weird.

Because I’d trade every bit of that freedom to have her sitting here again.

You get used to having someone around. Even when caring for them is exhausting. Even when Alzheimer’s makes life complicated. Even when you desperately wish you could have five fucking minutes to yourself.

Then suddenly you have all the time to yourself in the world.

And you realize you didn’t actually want this much of it.

The quiet is still one of the hardest parts.

Although apparently the universe has assigned a cricket to help with that.

Yes.

The fucking cricket came back last night.

I still haven’t found the little bastard, which makes me think it probably isn’t actually inside the house. I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere right outside Mom’s window. Thankfully, I discovered that closing my bedroom door muffles it enough that I can actually sleep.

So Mom Cricket can perform her nightly concerts without driving me completely insane.

I did get more sleep last night than the night before, which is definitely a win.

I guess I’m back to my day by day motto.

I still don’t particularly like it. I’m a planner. I like knowing what’s happening next. I like control. But lately, trying to plan too far ahead feels almost ridiculous because I have no idea what kind of day my brain or body is going to give me.

So today I handled some paperwork. Tomorrow I’ll go downtown with my friend and file the will. Later this week I’ll deal with the life insurance. I’ll go to therapy. I’ll go to my doctor’s appointment.

And somewhere in between all of that, I’ll keep working on getting my house back into a place where I can live, work and create again.

For now, I’m going to lie down for a little while because I still feel shitty and I’ve accomplished enough for the moment.

Hopefully my new monitor gets here early enough that I can set it up today. Once the desk is clean and functional, I can start tackling everything around it.

One little section at a time.

One annoying piece of paperwork at a time.

One day at a time.

God, I really am starting to sound like I believe that shit.

Maybe I do.