Do you see the black earth which the falling of the tree dug up?
The view from the east side.
That cracked limb is as big around as a man.
I felt like a woman turning her stove burner off when most of her house was engulfed in flames.
I hated that.
I took the trash and hated the small meanness of everyday life and the cheap goods we acquire and cast off, the stinking mounds of garbage we produce. I did the laundry and washed the dishes and hated the repetition of the incessant necessary tasks. I hated that I didn't just get in my car and drive to a river, a beach, a movie. I hated that I am fat, that I am stuck, that I can't write anymore, that I don't even reach out and call someone. I hated the green beans which are growing too large to eat which are growing up too far for me to pick. I hated the man who pulled into the yard and got out of his van and asked if I knew who owned the abandoned house down the road and I hated that I felt as mean as a junk yard dog at his intrusion and as smelly and as ugly as one too and I hated that I wanted him to be some sort of proselytizing Christian so that I could unleash some of my meanness and ugliness on him.
I am hating that my dogs are so old and blind that they can't find their way out the door I am holding open for them to go out to pee and poop. They stand stupidly beside it and I have to direct them and I know this is only going to get worse. I hate that every morning when I get up I wish that they would just be dead and I hate that the thought that this is going to happen.
I am hating my face and the way this dermatological gel is making small lesions on it, open and weeping. What I am hating even more than that is the fact that the way it looks doesn't even bother me so much- who cares what I look like? Not me. Obviously.
I hated that I spent hours online looking at places to stay in Cozumel for a mythological vacation, all of them saying, "Luxurious!" and I don't give a shit about luxurious, just a room with a bed and a toilet and a shower and a balcony to watch the sunset but of course, there are no places like that anymore because if you have the balcony and the sunset, there is the belief that you must have luxury too and so everything costs a pretty penny and I remember when we could stay for $49 a night at what is now an all-inclusive resort and it was downtown and on the water and perfect and I was young and thin and would always buy new silk underwear to take with me and I felt like a goddess, a beloved disciple and worshipper of Ixchel who blessed me with love and children and her warm waters and moonlight and words.
I have hated growing older today and meaner and unloving in my thoughts and ungrateful too.
I hated myself and that is mainly the problem- I am hating myself. Of course.
Well. One does have these days. Dark and hateful and terrible.
And you know what? I don't have a but oh...things will get better.
Of course things will get better or maybe they won't and on days like this it doesn't even matter.
Mr. Moon is on his way home from Georgia. He got his truck stuck in the mud, the red rusty mud of the woods of Georgia and it took him three hours to pull it out and it'll take him three hours to get home and he sent me a text and said, "Don't wait supper," and I wrote him back and said, "I'll tell the cook."
And so I shall become the cook now and make a meat loaf with ground venison and chopped portobellos and peppers and onions. I will snap green beans and cook them with potatoes for the third day in a row and I'm not tired of them yet and I love meat loaf like nobody's business, especially with bacon on top and I apologize to any of you vegetarians out there, I really do, but I cannot, no matter how much I wish I could, hate meat.
It's raining again, a little bit, and I get the boys tomorrow for a little while and I cannot hate the rain and I cannot be hateful around my grandsons. Not ever, ever, ever. Please dear god, not ever.
The world goes on and it does not care whether I hate how it goes or not. There is comfort in that. Yes, I may be turning off the burner when the house is in flames, I may be pulling weeds when a tree has fallen and plowed up the ground, I may be old and ugly and fat and without any measure of redemption and the world just does not give a shit one way or the other. It will continue its course of vast movement and meaning which I cannot begin to grasp.
And there is meatloaf. With bacon on top.
On some days I bless and on some days I curse and there is no day on which I cannot cook.
Yours truly...Ms. Moon