My back is like piano wires stretched up to high C and beyond, all the way to can't-be-heard-except-by-dogs and I don't even know why, I certainly do not feel especially stressed out although these dogs- in and out/in and out, god, all day long, let me just vaporize them up to heaven.
I went out into the market place today and looked at book readers and thought I knew what I wanted but a very nice young man may have changed my mind. I sort of doubt it. Why do we feel that if we choose this over that then our lives will not be as they are supposed to be? This can certainly be true in the case of choice of oncologist but probably not book readers nor whether to have the salmon or the pasta for dinner. Whether to buy the mixer in red or stainless, the sheets in blue or yellow.
I called and made an appointment next January to get my eyes examined to see if I am a candidate to get the Lasik. I did that. I called. I made an actual appointment. I wish they could do it tomorrow. I can't see for shit any more and I know that these glasses which I've had for years can't be right any more.
So I did all of that and I walked and I cleaned toilets and I went to the grocery store and I picked salad and I am cooking sweet potatoes and I almost bought a beautiful pair of clogs at Marshall's but the line was so long I just went and put them back on their shelf. There was Christmas music playing but it didn't bother me and for one second I thought, "Mary, you love your family more than anything on this earth. You should not be leaving them for Christmas, you should suck it up and do it for them," and then I thought, "Fuck that. If them knowing how much I love them depends on Christmas then I have failed miserably," and I went on, cheerful in the knowledge that I am NOT going down that road, no way, no how. I plan on staying reasonably sane this month and that's a fine goal.
Lily and Jason and Owen made it safely to Asheville where they are with Jessie, and Owen talked to me on the phone a little but then he had to get off the phone to go chase the cat. So I am at peace over that.
I didn't meet Bill Murray or finish my novel or meet Keith Richards for lunch but I did wash my hair and shave my legs so I'm ready, should the opportunity for either arise tomorrow.
And now I'm so tired I can barely sit up but I'll make it through supper which will be non-poultry-related and then I'll go to bed and hope that I do not dream of chicken coops built on an incline which keeps flooding and endangering my chickens. Why I dream this every night is beyond me. But I seem to need to. I've had worse dreams, I'm just getting bored with that one.
Those sweet potatoes smell so good. I sure am glad I live in the south and can eat sweet potatoes and also, salad from the garden in December. I'm going to chop up pears and pecans to put in the salad. Man, that is going to be good.
You know what? I am pretty damn happy. When was the last time you heard me say that?
Well, I probably won't say it again for a long time but for right now, it's true. Piano-wire back and all. Gee Dee dogs and all.
Sleep well, my friends. I mean it.