Another day. Another awakening and morning struggle. Another walk and another trip to the post office. Another cleaning up of the kitchen, of doing laundry, of working on a sewing project.
Gibson's monkey doll is done, I suppose, and I really am not happy with it but he probably won't care. It will be his monkey doll that his Mer made him.
At least I hope that is how he sees it.
We got more rain and distant thunder and it's warm and the sky is gray and the world is still spinning and youknowwho is still president and I have nothing, nothing new to report and nothing inspiring to say and nothing profound to say and certainly nothing cosmic to say and it's just been a regular day, albeit one in which I did not take much pleasure.
I don't know what's dragging me down but something is and I've noticed that I am not really invested in the idea of starting the summer garden or getting new baby chicks which is worrisome, in a way. I just can't seem to get excited about new projects or anything, really, that pertains to the future. The energy I had for curtains in my bathroom has disappeared and the Kantha cloth I have up now is fine with me. Where has my spark for any sort of anticipation gone? The pole bean seeds I bought online because Vergil's mother recommended them lay unopened on the kitchen counter, the life within them dormant until I tuck them into the ground which is, in fact ready. Where is my lust for the buying of tomato plants and cucumber seeds? The beets grow ever bigger in the ground and I have done nothing towards picking and pickling them.
Ah-lah, I think.
Well, these times happen. These lost days, these days of hiding and holding on. These days of trying to have faith that really, there will be such good days ahead.
Tomorrow is Gibson's sixth birthday. That funny, funny precious, loving boy. His party is not going to happen until next Sunday but he gets to stay home from school tomorrow and we are going to take him to Target where I will get him a gift of his choice and then we shall have lunch and oh! At noon, he is getting a hair cut by Melissa. That should tide him over. And god knows, it will probably be just what I need to get this first-world silly woman's head out of her butt.
If you think about it, I really have already done my job when it comes to my part in the future. I have done exactly what my biology has dictated and made more of my species, not to mention some fabulous human beings and I suppose that anything over and beyond that is merely gravy or perhaps sugar on the grapefruit or the cherry on the cowgirl as Tom Robbins said before his books descended into a sort of embarrassment for those of us who have loved him.
If I never plant another bean or another cucumber, if I never pickle another beet or another okra, if I never raise another peep or write another haiku, I have provided the service which mother nature so insistently demanded that I provide.
I guess that's good enough.
Plus- I have focaccia rising and some of the last arugula greens in the refrigerator, chilling for a salad with goat cheese and strawberries.
Reasons to live, babies. Reasons to live.