Jessie is here and up getting a shower and soon the boys will be here, too, quivering with electric excitement as they are when they get here.
I was thinking the other day about my reluctance to leave my house and yard and it occurred to me that this may be a result of several things. One is that I do live in my dream house and thus, am simply loathe to leave it. This is certainly true. Why leave these old wood floors and these generous porches to go anywhere else and why leave these trees, some of them hundreds of years old to drive down a highway to a town? There is a real sense in that, if you think about it.
But then the crazy piece comes in- is there some part of me which thinks that if I leave Lloyd I will not return? That in leaving I am giving up ownership and control? That I don't truly believe in my fortune, my dreams-come-true enough to test out the theory of their reality in my life by leaving and coming back?
Do we have any idea what I'm talking about?
I think that in all insanity and mental unwellness there is a germ, a kernel of truth. It may be blown way out of all proportion, but still, somewhere in the chaos of crazy there is a still center of possibility.
Well. I don't know.
I just know that Jessie is home and the boys are coming and it is Friday and there are lists to make and a cake to bake and things to buy and plants to stick in the dirt and floors to clean and toilets to scrub and porches to sweep and there will be all of this and puzzles too.
Good morning. Happy Friday.