Utter Nonsense

I feel...unsettled. I went out to the garden to weed but I did a thing to my wrist today and it's fucked up and doesn't want to do that twist/turn/pull that weeding requires. I worked for awhile with just my right hand but I couldn't settle down into it.

I thought to go through a closet and throw away hundreds of tiny bottles of paint that I got when another sister-in-law died. Brenda is going through her own house right now, getting rid of things, getting ready to move to Texas, and she brought a few things here and I feel her pain. Her last several moves were done professionally and the movers just came in and boxed everything up and moved it and her husband put almost everything away but he died a few years ago and now she is left with the task of going through all of it- much of it family stuff that she knows will mean nothing to the next generation and yet, she is loathe to get rid of it, as filled as it is with memory and meaning for her.
But anyway, it reminded me of how I have things that I am holding on to for NO reason. I will never use them. Ever. The hundreds of tiny bottles of paint, for example, and so I got a big black garbage bag and began to fill it up but then I thought about Hank and how he loves stuff like that and does things with paint and so I called him and said, "Do you want these things?" and he said, "Keep them, I'll come go through them."
Ah-lah.

I feel like a weak kitten. I have no energy. I left the paints and the bags and the stuff I'd pulled from the closet where it all sat.

I am unsettled.

I need to go get those baby chickens and bring them in. They are growing so fast. A few of them look to be likely candidates for roosters with bright red combs coming in. Miss Flopsy is still on the nest and by god, I wish I'd never let her start this mess. Her pile of eggs increases. There are thirteen there now and this can't be right. Some of those eggs must almost be ready to hatch and some are freshly laid.
Chickens are not THAT smart. Believe me.
Brenda told me that when she was a child, she had a teacher who would give her duck eggs to bring home and put under a setting hen and the hen would actually DIE because the gestation period for a duck is longer than for a chicken and those hens just sit on those nests without eating or drinking and eventually, yes, they die.
So if any of those eggs under Flopsy hatch, I am going to throw the rest away and let her GET ON WITH HER LIFE!

Someone needs to educate hens as to their reproductive choices.

Pfft. Blah, blah, blah.

I want to bake something but what? And there's no one here to eat whatever I bake but me. No one I know personally actually needs baked goods. Neither cake nor cookies nor pie nor anything at all. Recreational baking is not a sensible thing to do no matter how sensuously satisfying it is to mix butter and sugar and flour and eggs together. I have an entire bag of lemons. I could make a chess pie. I could make lemon bars. I could make lemon meringue pie. God knows I have the eggs. Why in hell did I buy a bag of lemons? They looked so lovely, so fresh, they smell so good.
Now what?

Now what indeed?

Put them in a damn vase and pretend I'm Martha Fucking Stewart?
Yeah, no. I don't think so.

HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!

I have half of a whole pompano which Mr. Moon ordered last night for his supper. With corn relish and yams. I don't even have to make my supper. I am just going to put all of that deliciousness in foil and seal it up and put it in the oven and then eat it like an animal.

I am unsettled. The sun is going down. I need to go get those baby chickens. I have taken to transporting them in a canvas shopping bag. This pleases me. "Look!" I say. "I have a bag of chickens!" They don't care. I handle them gently and talk to them. All they care about is eating and drinking water. And growing and becoming big.

There is no one here to say, "Look! I have a bag of chickens!" to. Well, you. I just said it to you.

I suppose I better make it true.

I am NOT going to make a pie. Or a cake. I swear.
But I might put those lemons in a bowl. But then again, we are having a terrible problem with fruit flies right now.
Does Martha Stewart ever deal with fruit flies?

I have no idea.

I am unsettled. But here's the good thing- if I wake up tonight and can't sleep, I won't have to worry about waking Mr. Moon. I can just turn on the light and read. My insomnia is good in that I have read so many books lately. I just read and read and read.

I just looked up kohlrabi on google images. I realize I have two of them in my garden from when I planted my mixed mesclun lettuces. I thought it might be kohlrabi.

Goodness gracious. I lead such an exotic life.

Chickens. Bag of chickens.

Gotta go.

Love...Ms. Moon

Chicks in a bag.