Dear Penpace,

I have the restlessness of the recovering. Pacing the cage with no where definite to go or direction to set off in. A vague apprehension I've missed the planting season and won't have anything to yield come harvest. Thus assuring me doom. My interior castle took on water. There was a violent storm and the girl in gold has collapsed, luckily face up in the water. The other girl on the steep mountain had to come down to assure the one in gold she was going to be ok. But it's not clear on how much was understood since she was unconscious.

Besides strange dreams and landscapes, I've slept through the night the last few. The trajectory of the downslope- gross things about slightly pitted skin, scabs and copious amounts of ointment...not whincing and saying breath prayers for unconsciousness. And besides photographing the journey, I'm reading a historical romance- a monk forbidden love a girl named celia- centuries later the two come together again... to contrast i'm also reading a book on chaos theory. I've just got through the section on fractals and now we're talking fluid dynamics and the problem of turbulence. Reminds me of when i was in school and the constant exchange of ideas were swirling around me. Ah, nevermind. Let's not romanticize learning and school. Pshaw.

As a sidenote have you tried ear protection for when you vacuum? Or mow the lawn. Or even noise canceling headsets... I have a pair and it does make it all better. They really should make those things more stealth like. It's enough that my computer has a loud hum to it and when i leave my dvd player plugged in it cycles on and whirrs. Most annoying.

Well nevermind. I'm full from pineapple and am vaguely sympathetic about the fish situation and obviously at this moment sort of glad to be single. The whole thing sounds terrifying. And also speaking of animals Mortimer hasn't quite got the hang of the hunting thing. I mean he caught a mourning dove and it looked like it was bearing up under its death well but sort of humiliated by the presence of Marley who clearly thought Mortimer was bungling the job. Which he was-- trying to bite at it, while it was still quite alive and not finishing the bird off fast and efficiently. Feathers everywhere. All of it unsightly. And i feeling as if i'd come to late to be of any use but to shake my head at the whole state nature and the fall. I apologized to the bird all day.

m.

fleur. from the yard. in a glass.

 

current conclusions -

I’m over the fish tank.Why did I replace it. I don’t want to clean it. It’s a pain in the ass. Verging on an eyesore. I kind of secretly wish the fish would die peaceably and then I can be done with the whole fishy affair. But they’re so damn hardy, those five remaining fish. Ugh.

I love oak trees. Spring, fall, dead of winter – doesn’t matter. Hands down the best tree shape and really it’s my favorite ever. Oak.

I’m also an idiot. Because for a few months now I’ve been all, I would love an oak tree for the yard! Wouldn’t that be cool to watch it grow. And while I was mowing today I realized the two young trees in our backyard are oak trees. Duh. It’s kind of like the lavender discovery, only less serendipitous than stupidly obvious.

Occasionally I wonder why any of us ever have children. Okay, maybe not everyone – allegedly there are people out there who love children. I’ve seen these people. They do exist. And I wish I was one of them. I mean – I love my children. Of course I do. But half the time I don’t know what to do with them, and the other half they’re vexing me with their noise and their needs.  And in-between those halves I feel like I am penning their therapy pages. Bleh. Children.

I feel like it’s probably time for a change in routine so maybe I won’t feel that way about children. Because I don’t always. Just right now, the feeling is very strong.

Bourbon and ginger isn’t bad. I’m not sure it’s awesome. I’m not drinking any right now, but I did try some yesterday evening. Much sweeter and less a chest-hair tonic than I ever imagined.

Mowing the lawn trumps vacuuming every time. I hate vacuuming. But I also hate mowing in the oppressive heat, which makes my face turn reddish-purple. In spite of how much cold water I drink. And then every member of my household harasses me about said purple face. Which annoys me. Especially having just toiled in the hot sun.

A lot of things annoy me.

I’m even annoyed by it being nearly midnight. And I feel neither sleepy nor accomplished, considering the day gone by. Many undone things loom over my head. Annoying. But that’s all I’ve got for now.

irritatedly yours,

pen

Dear Grain,

Why are you breaking up with us? We had something good. I mean there were good times weren't there? It's not just that you were one of only 3 people who read the blog, though we noticed you really hadn't been reading much of late. And since november it was true you didnt have much to say longer than a sentence update in that other place we won't mention. I suppose we should've said something then. I'd glance to see if it updated but the days went longer and longer and then well- i guess I always thought you'd pop back on with an apology and renewed vigor. It's my fault for not seeing it sooner. For not reaching out. You never really loved us the way we loved you. Is that fair? No. I know. But I guess its one of those things- we've grown apart. Started living separate lives. And now you don't have anything to say to us. We used to love your stories though. Your thoughts about things and your struggles. With or without work. We're going to miss you. I guess it's the final thread and its good of you to decisively chop it off and not let it linger. Not pretend you're ever going to come back with promises and maybes. You've changed. You've moved on without us and aren't looking back. But it came as a bit of shock. We plead, we say- it's different. It's a different voice these enterprises you've embarked on... but then i stopped writing out of the blue and i suppose you have every right to not blog. But still. It's a blow. One less voice over the wires and plastic keys. A death. let's call it that. We've lost the thread of history. I know it's melodramatic. But it's true. A human story in minuitia wiped out and given way for very important things, only big arcs now and coded language. Blogging used to be a fad and a craze and we've hung on out of lunacy or quirk or maybe we both need to see how long we can last. Until blogspot closes or we die maybe? Until we print all the pages and make a tome of all the priceless words. Until we're the very last ones. Ok, you're right. We can make new friends. Friends come and go though. Like Kurt and Horace who died of old age. We miss them still and it's hard to go on sometimes. To keep saying what you have to say even though no one cares. But anyway. Nevermind.

Goodbye dear blog whom we've known for at least 5 years or more. I would go back to check but it doesn't exist anymore. It was as if... and then... So here's to you, no more to have such insight, you have faded back into time, like a star extinguished, reached us finally only years too late, and then gone.

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.... WB.

Dear Bruckner,

I have suspended the husband search- as it's true being at the end of week one- only 1 of 3-5. I could be enveloped in this meloddrama for a month more. I mean, you know you're life has taken a turn when you think, i can't wait till blisters stop erupting from my skin and dreading the unholy after effects and pleading for everything to scab over quickly as that will be at least be cool and interesting opposed to sensing some alien presence breeding on your back, waiting for the ooze and trying to explain to friends exactly what fiberglass in the skin feels like as pulses of haywire nerves make you whince like you've just been hit by a stray dart. But nevermind.

You mentioned in your letter you had thought due to the number of ailments someone else had taken over my blog moniker. Being self-analytical and neurotic are not good combos for when one becomes sick is all i'm saying. I do not handle it well. I do not have what you would call fortitude, especially if I feel whatever brought upon me is undeserved or over the top. But this year- only 4 months in was quite a doosey? doozy? i don't know. But 1. the cold that over took my camping trip in january 2. the wretching nightmare that almost made me miss chicago 3. my dog died in march 4. the death cold of april has lead straight into the 5. plague of may. not to be outdone by anal fissures sometime between 4 and 5. All of it heralded by a malaise lasting clear in from Novemberish and reaching a bad pitch in through early spring? Well what to do. One should make a story of peppercini seeds landing in your eye- as novelists it would be symbolic for life and some ironic twist that makes you see yes, the absurd, the random pain of life, take that. But the novel is becoming literal. They'd say, that's too much. Or I'd say, I'm going to make a comedy out of it. I may get there. I may make it to the frown upside down-- if i were writing.

One will just have to wait and see. But I take your point Bruckner. It's writing in the minuitia opposed to pulling out and developing an arc. A true arc of suffering or of comedic prat falls which say something, which tell you something. It's not just throwing stones in a pit or watching someone bail water from a sinking skooner 50ft from shore. My god my character has got to learn something. There has to be some-Thing behind all of this. Something funny and a bit pathetic in the character hunched over on a wooden box with a bag of frozen corn to her back.

Don't pay attention to her self-pitying demonstrance and her pleas for attention. It won't work. It simply won't work. This girl has a pie in the face coming or she's going over the waterfall in a barrel. She just wants to make sure someone's watching. Just give her a glance out of the corner of your eye and look the other way. That'll be enough.

m-

for your amusement only -

Because I know you’re just suffering at the moment. With your shingles. Have you tried cold compresses? Ibuprofen? Weeping silent tears?

Anyway. I’m growing out my hair – part rebellion, part fear re: new town and new hairdresser situation. Can’t go there yet. So sometimes I like to pin it up. Usually when it’s hot. Which it is, all this week. Hot and stormy.

I also saw some lightning in the sunset-sky. And heard some super-loud, house-rattling thunder that nearly gave Bailey a panic attack. Actually, it really might have been a panic attack. She’s not as young as she used to be.

Here’s my pinned up hair. And the incorrigible but fabulous K.Lo. And oh, since I’m sitting at my desk – let’s have a look at your birthday present!

I found him. Jesus, I mean.

One of these days I’ll get to the post office and you shall have him.

Here’s the dusky sky. Sadly, not the best lightning of the evening, but I did capture a bit of it nonetheless.

And now I’m going to bed.

Because

toomanylatenights+

toomanyearlymornings=

onetiredpenelope

pen-

i think i have shingles. who doesn't love numbing, persistent, intermittenly prickly, stabbing and burning, discomfort to usher in their 35th year? i mean THAT or its a really painful allergic reaction. either way- as j.lo would say, WINNING!

who wants to see pictures?

from under a twisty tree -

Have I mentioned I like the riverwalk?

And trees?

Especially twisty ones.

All of these are taken from the same spot. Up, down and around.

do not look: warning! gross shingles pictures

if you want to see the progress from wednesday/thursday morning to monday here it is... it all started with little fiber glass prickles and then got horribly worse from there. pulsing localized pain to a band of burning. and its not getting better- i mean the blisters are just starting to appear and well... whatever. whatelse. i actually don't have the energy to go into it any further except to say it sucks. which can't even incapsulate how wronged i feel.

this is the heinousness in my left panty line...

Birthday Recap,