Lili Saintcrow @lilithsaintcrow@raggedfeathers.com

Burrito has been achieved, Delta blues are playing, and it’s raining.

Ahhh. That’s better.

And sometimes the stars align, and one pulls a PERFECT set of espresso shots. The crema, the taste, the aroma, whew.

Some things are still good.

…yeah, time for another quad shot.

I gotta say, caffeine is getting me through All This better than a lot of other strategies.

I’ll (hopefully) be back next week. Until then, you can find previous teas here: https://www.youtube.com/c/LilithSaintcrow1/videos

There will be no Tea with Lili today, my beloveds. I am not fit for human company and would probably break down sobbing on camera.

Nobody needs to see that.

No, YOU’RE doing air guitar to blasting Michael Bolton songs in order to feel better!

I’m home, with what little zen I can gather. A day’s work looms ahead, no matter how my heart hurts.

And that was the morning report.

One bee dive-bombed my forehead, another clung to my shoulder for a kilometer and a half, yet another tried crawling into my sweating hand.

I don’t know what they’re after, or I’d give it to them.

Some bees are out, taking advantage of a break in the rain and also the heavy humid warmth. Masses of azalea, late rhodies damaged from last year’s heat dome, alyssum, ranunculus, pollen-patterns in the puddles.

As for today’s run, purging stress chemicals and the like, I was having a hideous time until the run app told me I was moving at basically warp speed. So then I had to slow down a bit and it got better.

Morning Walk Report: Not much to report. A cool, damp, grey morning, but the dogs were being such brats we turned around and came home halfway down the block.

As my son says, “Some days do be like dat.”

I don’t laugh because any of this is funny.

I laugh because otherwise the screams of despair will drown me.

In which I wake sick with dread, the buttercups at least do not hurt, and endurance is all there is.

A Smaller Sun https://www.lilithsaintcrow.com/2022/05/a-smaller-sun/

Woke up sick with dread.

That’s it. That’s how I’m doing. Literally nauseous with bottomless dread.

Forcing myself to stop work for the night. I won’t do anyone any good by pushing to exhaustion. Sometimes even *I* need rest.

Be gentle with yourselves, dearies. It’s not you. You’re fine; the situation itself is horrific.

Rain’s just begun, hissing through leaves, whispering on the wind.

My bruised soul expands a little.

The birds are in the trees, saying “rain, rain.” The dogs have finished their dinner.

All is serene.