High Dive, Low Land

At last, some men’s springboard diving at a time I can see it. Also, my bathub’s clean, and the spare email account’s cleaned out. That last task I’d put off for over a year, so I’m truly relieved it’s done.

So anyway, today seems like marking time until something happens. I’m trying to make myself some peace and quiet but I feel the push of tasks in the offing. If we get to move, can we do it? I am uncertain I have the strength to move house, but I’d like to be moved in a we-already-did-that sense. I want grass to mow and a garden to plant. I want dirt to plant. I want herbs to water first thing every morning, and tomatoes to baby in the afternoons.

It’d be nice to be able to have parties again.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll walk over to the credit union. Another small adventure.

Advertisements

White Noise, Black Out

The Olympics are on, and I’m about as obsessed as a spectator can be without a restraining order. My family is like this about certain sports like gymnastics, track & field, and diving. Beach volleyball has been unbelievably great.

Tonight, the scoring on the parallel bars is a minefield. Heads should roll.

Paulie’s back in Glasgow. Mamie’s back from Pennsic War, where she says the weather held most of the week, then the skies opened. When things dried off a bit she pack up a day early. I was a bit relieved.

Despite the lateness of the hour on a weeknight, food smells waft in from outside. Today, I polished all the wood in our apartment I could reach, Swiffered under things, wrote a little causerie for Altrok. That’s really enough for one day.

Trust Issues Speak Volumes

I caught me actively avoiding blogger and blog writing. So I’m back. Miss me? Now that I’ve wrangled myself, I wonder what I can get for me on the open market.

I’m going to need a backup plan. Adrienne Rich is coming back to Rutgers. The last time I was on stage doing anything that meant something was at her reading in 1997. Ugh. I miss the Me who did that show, but not her arrogance and despair. I don’t miss being professionally tragic. Even then, it was too late, I think. I was already on my way here.