Wearing my cremation garment for the first time in a long time in These titles mean nothing.

This is not a particularly good day. I have no reason to say that, except it is what it is and it’s not very good.

So far I’ve eaten too much.

So far I’ve written 750 words..... bitching.

So far I’ve done several jig saw puzzles.

So far I haven’t done anything else.

This entry does not look like it’s going to end up as anything.

I suppose many of you remember my cremation garment. It’s the worn out sweatshirt my kids gave me for Christmas - god it must be 30 years ago. It was new when they gave it to me. I’m the one whose worn it out. It has a hood, but no longer has a string to snug it up. It’s maroon with sky blue chest and sleeve stripes. It’s insulated so it’s thick and warm. I’ve worn it for many - maybe 30 - years and it’s generally made me happy, as well as warm. It’s been out of my clothing system the last few years. It’s worn out. I had at one time thought I’d get a skein of blue yarn and a darning needle and try to fix it, but I of course never did. It’s been hanging on a nail in the cellarway. I’ve been passing it every time I make one of my million trips up and down the cellar steps = those million steps I’m not doing any more. That’s part of my depression and my bad judgement and my desire to just go back to bed, even if it’s almost lunch time.

My cremation garment has made me happy in the past. But it doesn’t seem to work anymore.

Saddest thing I’ve come across lately.

I hate these kind of entries. I hate them when I do them and I don’t necessarily like them when others write them. Life is a gift. Blah, blah, blah.

I want to go home.

I am home.