1. I've been absorbing the milky earl grey that passes for December sunlight, and drinking in my own thoughts (whose substances are easily as opaque if less palatable). Grief is a weird and complicated emotion. You can't really cover it with sugar or sweeten it with platitudes. Don't try; let me drink it as is, for what it is, this is my cup and I must digest it.
2. Having a conversation about grief has been (interesting? difficult? unexpected?). The discomfort society seems to feel around (death? grief? emotional vulnerability?) makes it hard to being to articulate responses, reasons, causes, without one party or the other falling back on tropes. I wish more people felt comfortable saying "I don't (understand/know how to respond to) what you're going through but I'm (not passing judgment/listening/here if you want to talk)." That would be a heck of a lot more comforting than painful questions, offers of prayers, or good intentions based on misconceptions. Sometimes what you really need is just time and space: time and space to be, time and space to talk or not talk, time and space to process.
3. During this time especially: I have immense faith in the potential of the internet to help us identify and define our true selves, but find myself tripped up in the unexpected Selfie Effect of putting on the Eternal Best Face You Can Be, and how that's passed on into Real Life Interactions. It renders the social etiquette of "How Are You Today?" somewhat meaningless. Human experience is more multifaceted than that, we are a complex roast, many smells and flavors in a single serving.
4. How I am today: Warm in a sweater and scarf. Outside of the house. Momentarily not thinking about it. Writing about mountains and the tendencies of blackberries to spring up, defiant, in the summer clearing grasses. Momentarily thinking about it. Tracing the letters carved into the coffeeshop table. Watching the clouds overhead: a featureless expanse of digital sky, low resolution. Warm.