Yes. Timmy Is In The Well

 I had a fine evening last night. Made myself a stir fry with tofu and all the vegetables, and decided to do what I've been threatening to do for awhile which is to restart watching "Reservation Dogs". This will make the third time I've seen some of it. Or maybe fourth. 
I just get so tired of what's being offered new these days. I don't want to watch blood and guts things, I'm sick of all the tropes and stereotypes that seem to pervade everything streaming now, and I don't really have the patience for comedy specials. Documentaries? They have their place and sometimes I do enjoy them. 
Maybe I'm just lazy. 
Maybe I really do like "Reservation Dogs." As I've said before, I love some of those characters so much it makes my heart hurt. 

I had some trouble sleeping last night which is unusual for me. This can be a side effect of Zepbound. First of all, I stayed up too late reading a novel that I'm not really enjoying that much but it's enough to keep me turning pages. It's "The Paris Novel" by Ruth Reichl and I had great hopes for it but...eh.

The review the NYT's did of it is entitled, "A Sugary Bonbon of a Novel by a Legendary Foodie."

Pretty much sums it up. There are some interesting bits, mostly the snapshots of historical places and people in Paris but honestly- how many times can a person use the word "aroma"? 
Quite a few, it turns out. 

Anyway, what the hell is a book review doing here? Nothing. That's what it's doing. But I got to sleep late and I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep for quite awhile with those middle-of-the-night thoughts and also mango rash itching which wasn't horrible but enough to keep me awake and then I did fall asleep and Maurice came in and scratched the bed with her scimitar-like claws and meowed like perhaps Timmy was in the well, making enough noise to wake the dead and then she jumped up and for some reason wanted to get all in my face. So I slept late and that made me feel like a slug and basically I've felt old and fat and ugly and useless all day. 

I picked beans which is my go-to when I feel like this because it's a mindless way of at least attempting to be productive and I do enjoy being outside although it was so hot that Maurice kept trying to lure me back in. I picked for an hour, finishing up only one side of the fence, came in, drank water, ate lunch, cooled off, and went back outside for almost another hour and picked a whole bunch more. I have almost filled a jumbo-sized Ziplock and already have half that much in the refrigerator so really, I wasn't doing anything that needed doing. I do need to weed though. Badly. 

And then a nice thing happened which was that Lily came over with the kids and it was so good to see them. Owen was greatly entertaining and he and Gibson and Lily and I talked and talked while Magnolia worked on my jigsaw puzzle and then played with the miniature things that Linda Sue sent her which she loves. 
I got Owen to give me the real dirt about what's going on with that cabin and the work situation. He has observed that Boppy is a perfectionist and he's not wrong about that. He's enjoyed the work, I think and is proud of what he's doing and what he's learning. Owen is such a dear boy. Gibson wants to go up and help more too, and since they'll mostly be working inside for awhile, that's more his speed. Maggie also expressed an interest from what I hear, but Owen told her she was too young. 
I can just hear her saying, "Harrummmph!" and flouncing out of the room. 
Owen told us some duck-hunting stories that I'd never heard and I laughed so hard. Mr. Moon does not relate all of these stories to me but Owen has no problem telling them. 

Glen's off the boat and safe. He always texts to let me know that and I appreciate it. Of course it'll be hours before he gets home after cleaning the boat and cleaning the fish and taking a shower and all that stuff. 
God, he must love to fish. I can't even imagine. 

So I guess I'm just hot and tired and probably bored with myself and everything I do. Also, I have chin hairs and a mustache and no neck but I do have enough skin where my neck used to be to cover my entire back should I ever need a skin graft. My creative abilities in the kitchen seem to have smashed into a wall, and as stated before, my garden is on the fast track to being as overgrown as my facial hair. 

I think I may be obsessing on what's wrong with me and my own tiny little life so that I don't have to think about...you know.
The death of a country and the rights its constitution promised for all all, and the possibility of WW III, all caused by a man who claims he should have gotten five Nobel Peace Prizes and in fact, they should call it the Trump Prize. 

But here's a very, very nice picture which made me very, very happy. 

Time is flying. 

"You're driving!" I said, when Lily and the kids got in the car and Owen sat himself in the driver's seat as if he's been doing it for years. 
"Yeah," said Owen.
And Lily said, "I don't even bother to look anymore." 

My babies, my babies, my babies. 

Oh yeah. Happy summer. Let the hurricanes begin. 

Love...Ms. Moon