rattled this morning, set coffee cup on top of car while lifting floyd up and in. drove to work in grey funk. pulled into parking lot, killed engine, and suddenly remembered coffee. got out, and voila, cup on its side, trapped by luggage rack-- with still a couple of sips of (now iced) coffee inside!
Its pouring rain outside, but the house is so well insulated - I can't hear it sitting here in my office.
Ben is in his office, now painted a DARK brown with dark carpet and black wood desks - his man cave - playing with friends online.
We've managed to get the rooms painted we wanted to change, put in new carpet, get new furniture, set up guest rooms and there is a new hot tub in the enclosed garden room - once potting shed - just waiting for Ben and my brother in law Mark to pull the 150 feet of cable and wire up a new electrical box for it.
Today I finally decided on health insurance and studied for the driver's license test. It will soon be official -
Just talked with both kids. Miss them - but will see them soon at Cas's graduation.
She's graduating UC Davis with 2 majors and a minor. She's applying to law schools.
Aaron was cooking dinner with a friend tonight - steaks in pepper and olive oil.
I can't wait to see them on the 12th!
Soon, maybe this weekend - the rain will turn to snow.
I am going ten pin bowling just now. Haven't done that in a long while.
not quite clear exactly how it came about this morning, but suddenly everything is terrible. not where I want to be, or doing what I want to do. just everything. marked pattern of a distortion, and I know that although it feels utterly real, this is an illusion that will pass. keep shaking off the dark thing perched on my shoulders, stretching my back and taking a deep breath, stepping forward foot by foot, only to have it settle its heavy shadow once more. this thing has pursued me the length of conscious memory, with blessed stretches of unblemished sunlit daytimes and mornings and even bright evenings, whole weeks when it seems to have retreated to some moldy stinking grotto, only to return again and again and again.
exhausting.
floyd (and chris and I) enjoyed a delightful holiday weekend visit with treats of all kinds from miz kristin, book artist extraordinaire and all-around phenomenal person.
happy together
we could start over
(should i regret
not keeping secrets)
this should have come earlier
but I've always been a fan
of perfect timing
i wondered if at this age
i would be considered
retired
and if that made my scarlet letter
not burn so brightly
chicken wire
bruises, blood blisters
his pistolero fingers
when he's just thinking
dusty neon beer signs
the kind that hang from
forgotten cowboy bars
in towns no one knew existed
anymore
he's just maybe
another cowboy
to steal, shoot and run away
from, maybe
or a poor farm boy
who knows the right words
maybe, baby
it's the guessing game i mind
and sometimes
don't mind to play
... on my lap, sniffing roasting turkey aromas wafting from the kitchen.
