Walk. Weed. Wait for whatever.

Hey.

Been awhile.

The point of being silent, I've been finding, is the brain and heart agree. There is nothing new under the sun.

I see the items (1,2,3) which follow logically.

Number 1. Depression. (Allowed)

Number 2. Introversion. (Expected).

Number 3. Frustration (Sieved). As the  result of  the world's constant pawing and pecking.

Number 4. Loved Ones. The ones who love me. Who also want all that I have dropped in the bowl by the door.

Number 5. Choose: Complain (therapy) or if not then --> Disappear.

Number 5a. Hear yourself speak. Watch others' listening. And watch the words dissipate into the wind.

Number 5b. Write (Prescribed). Letters to old friends on yellowing paper. Facebook rants. Blog posts in the air. Poetry smacked out on the keys then stuffed inside an-almost-dead drive.
   (Send it out, set it down or ---)

Number 5 b1. Look at writing. Splattered there on cement. Les Nesman's turkeys.

Number 6. shh. (she said)

Number 7. Walk. Weed. Wait for whatever.

After two days in the desert sunMy skin began to turn redAfter three days in the desert funI was looking at a river bedAnd the story it told of a river that flowedMade me sad to think it was dead  

--America 

By conscious endeavor

I still think if I had done something differently --- if had been something different-- none of this would have happened.

But first let's state for the record that THOSE are two different things entirely.

The doing

And the being.

The being, well. Not so much. I don't think I could be different. By and large because of the "trying to be" that I've been doing all my life.

But the doing. Well, then there is that.

What have I done?

I came to Concord to be alone, to be myself. But the act of doing what feels most like my being meant doing something unspeakable.

I've said I'm sorry. To the dog, the wall, the air, the priest, to them.

It's not the being. Or the saying. That doesn't matter.

It's the doing.

in our soundest sleep...

Carolyn called last night. I was in the middle of cooking dinner when the phone rang. It always surprises me that she still exists. Hearing her voice on the other end of the phone is like hearing the voice of a famous person -- Nick Nolte or George Clooney -- calling to see if I'll meet him for a beer.

Small talk. Kids good. Dog good. Life good. Work happening.

When I was single before, I thought a lot about getting laid. Getting drunk, getting laid, and fixing whatever problem had to be fixed as a result of either of the latter. Or both.

Now I think about having a good drink. The right whiskey, with a long smokey finish. I think about whether it matters if I plant heirloom or hybrid tomatoes. I think about soil and the eggshells in my compost and earthworms.

I don't seem to know exactly how to think about a woman, however.  Like trying to teach oneself to do a tri having never quite mastered swimming.

Infinite Expectation of the dawn...

I could so live without a cell phone. It would be so easy.

There are days when I don't sit at the computer at all. .. But I've noticed the tendency to be drawn there.

I found my stash of PrismaColors finally. Getting up at 5:30 is of some use anyway, as I'm finally getting unpacked. Now and then when I pull a pencil out of the box, it is one of Marianne's Crayola pencils. So hard.

The Warrens in the main house have hummingbird feeders in their perennial garden next to the carriage house. The feeders are so far away from their windows, I doubt they can see them, but they are only about 10 yards from the cottage's front window.

I brought in the bin of legos which I also found while unpacking. Haven't decided if it would be a good or a bad idea to put them out here in the shop for use. Think they will just get stolen or covered with snot.

Awake

Ok. I'm awake now.

I've always wanted to be one of those people that gets up at 5:30 and does whatever it is 5:30 people do.

So, today is day one. I'm up.

Wait. Now what? Am I supposed to get dressed? Go for a run?

I am not sure I planned this very well.

This place is musty. It's about time for spring cleaning. Can't believe the luck of finding it. My dad and mom lived in a house behind a house when they were first married, out in Colorado Springs. A tiny place, where I was born.

Took a pic of thing I did in my journal at work between 2 and 4 when I was supposed to be doing inventory.

So the collage wall in the reading corner is still pretty bare. A few new additions this week. However, I love to see the items people cut out and decide not to post.

Collecting them here.

At the typewriter

Sitting at the clanger this a.m. Didn't get much sleep last night. The accountant wants to meet at 4 today so instead of gathering my tax docs for the audit I thought it would be fiscally prudent to bang out a few lines.

Yesterday, a woman from Tennessee came in. She was about my age (which means that I looked at her and thought she was a semi-attractive MILF, then realized she reminded me of my high school girlfriend.)

Anyhoo, seems she is staying in town for a writing workshop for the spring. "Honey, you should plan on seeing A LOT of me!"

She wanted to know where to get a decent sweet tea. No idea. I am goin to have to become a better tour guide for this town. Guess that means I need to leave the hovel now and then.

Anyone know where to get a decent sweet tea? 

I Really Do Not Like Small Talk

In fact I am quite miserable at it.

This is a problem with self-awareness, friends. You COULD be having a perfectly lovely time, but then you are in a car with your friend on the way to a Venezuelan restaurant, and your friend is talking and you are mmm-hmmmming when you suddenly have one of this out of body moments and you think:

Crap-daggity dog, brother. SAY SOMETHING! 

What happens then, of course, is I can't think of ANYTHING to say, and I'm also distracted  from the listening as well.

I don't think my friend noticed. He was driving and the GPS was talking to him and there was some kind of parking involved, and the awkward empty speech bubble dissolved.

But small talk. Yeah. Not. So. Much.

I have friends, but since I'm new around here, they aren't that close to me. So the result is that we end up just blabbing about basketball or work (no not too many people in the shop today) or tourists and other non-things.

This is not something I am interested in doing. I have "Angst and Political Unrest" as my default setting.

However. As I'm 42 now, I've found you've got to figure out who can handle that shit.

Well, tomorrow I've got a new project going. Got to start it anyway. Angst etc.