Watering the weeds

Nº 005

A pair of Incremental Outcome pocket notebooks that I stapled together the other day. (Chris Pugh Photo, 2025)

Most mornings start with a list.

I write down everything I need to do, no matter how small.

Mow the grass.
Write that press release.
Fix the leaky faucet.
Return the call I missed yesterday.

Without the list, I forget. I’ve been struggling to remember simple things. Names. Conversations. What I walked into the room to get. I’m not sure if it’s burnout or brain fog or the slow collapse of a nervous system stretched too thin. Probably all of it.

My mom is in the ICU again. Another trip to the ER. They’re running tests and adjusting meds. I don’t know what to expect.

My dad’s still in the nursing home. He’s confused and angry. Sometimes violent. He’s lashed out at staff and thrown food at people. He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him. Other times, he’s calm and inquisitive, asking thoughtful questions like nothing is wrong. I’m told this is normal behavior for people who’ve had a significant stroke.

I’ve hired a lawyer. I’m filing for conservatorship so I can pay his bills and manage his accounts. It’s not something I wanted to do. But someone has to.

There’s always more paperwork.

At home, I need to start fixing things. The faucet still leaks. The back room is a mess. The thermostat’s wrong. I’ve been watering weeds I thought were plants. fml.

I’m still decluttering. Old clothes, broken tools, and expired food in the back of the fridge. I don’t want to carry more than I need to. It gives the illusion of order, which is better than nothing.

I’ve also been scanning a box of old slides someone gave me. Most are from the 1960s. Strangers on vacation. State parks. Campfires. It fills the hours. Keeps my hands busy. There’s something comforting about seeing other people’s lives, frozen in time, before everything got so complicated.

I’m trying to take care of myself, too, drinking more water, cooking meals instead of skipping them, and saying no to things that can wait. I also let people help when they offer, even when it feels like a failure.

My life feels extra busy right now, and it’s been hard to explain that to people who aren’t living it. Work and the gallery keep me busy, but I still feel alone most days. Worn out. Some nights, I sit in the quiet and wonder what I've forgotten. I go back to the list.

It’s not a solution. But it’s a structure.

That’s where I am right now. In the middle of things. One day at a time. One list at a time.