It’s a cool gray morning, edged with birdsong, fringed with interstate noise. We woke to the surprisingly loud song of a wren, perched on a branch outside our open window. I hesitate to enter the day. I have lots to do, I know I can’t do it all (especially if I make time for writing, which I don’t think I’m going to do, but wonder if I should).

Who can understand this world. Do I, in my dreams? Am I trying, in my dreams? I’ve had two baby dreams in the past six weeks—one in which I had a totally painless (and about 20-minute) labor & delivery, and another in which I was carrying this 7 or 8-inch sleeping baby around, a hushed dream, I was so aware of its fragility.

Last night we watched Caddyshack with Josh at the Birdhouse Walk-In Theater. Is that how Harold Ramis sees the world? Is that what he wished the world were like? Is that what we wish the world were like, or are we afraid the world is like that? Is satire a better corrective than plain instruction/moral stories?

Yesterday Megan and I planted so many squash seeds—cheese pumpkins, seminole pumpkins, butternut squash, delicata, acorn, tray after tray, tray after tray, talking about conspiracy theorists and chemtrails.

Spending money, making money. Just wrote a $77 check to A&L Labs for heavy metal soil testing, I want to buy a denim dress and a camping fan, each grocery trip is $20, and now we’re trying to figure out the summer: can we afford a roadtrip with Jason and Julia AND a trip to Seattle? What will Marshall’s new job be? How long could I / should I be away from the farm?

All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of thing will be well (Julian). How I love this liminal space that is 7:00 – 8:00am. I  could be anywhere. I could be anyone.

 

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