Visiting hours and associations of Hitler

I don’t hate my season. I’m trying not to hate anything - mixed results so far.

I feel like I’m a dead weight on train tracks. I’m not going to get the outcome I want, and I can’t do anything but sit there.

Saw my dad for a few minutes yesterday. He seemed to be in decent spirits. I got there at 7:45 - visiting hours apparently end at 8. Damn! I had thought they ended at 9. I am on visit #3. The SNF smells like plastic, so plastic is ruined for me now. My dad watched all of these Hitler documentaries when he was hospitalized at the last place. So golly gee, Hitler is ruined too. NOT HITLER!! Jk. Jk.

I cried the first visit. I don’t like deterioration. I don’t like problems I can’t solve.

So it was just a 10 minute visit. Yet worthwhile. I brought him a chick fil a salad.

I’m meticulously recording my hours to save my sanity. I am a glass that is constantly close to being full in good and bad ways. Everything is my always. I’m full of love, hope, despair, drive, bitterness, and a few other things.

I’m still trying.

I love journaling even though I would these are not hours I would ever want to revisit. I wonder if I’ll ever go back and reread them.

I keep talking about seasons but the boundaries that separate seasons can be hard to pin down. Seasons also overlap. A messy mix of good and bad.

My current season is primarily defined by strength and sadness.

But I’m trying. And doing. DOING IS THE NEW TRYING.

Okay, Cait? okay.