This Is My Brain On Not-Enough Sleep

Dear god, I am having the hot-flash of the ages and if I had a swimming pool, I would tear my clothes off and jump in but I do not and so I sit here, bearing it. 

That is all you can do with a hot flash. Just bear it. Know it will pass.

I've actually been sitting here trying to write and just the very boldness of such an activity is giving me the hot-flashes. It's been so long since I've done this. With every word I type there seems to be a demon poking me with a hot pitchfork, yelling at me to shut-up! you suck! what the hell are you doing? and why aren't you out there in that garden, getting some real work done? You afraid to sweat, woman? Well, I'll give you sweat anyway, you fool.


Or something like that.

It's been a decent day. I went for a walk and then Lily and Jason and the boys came over. It was a treat to have them all here and we went out to the porch and the chickens came up,



thinking that maybe we were out there to feed them so I went and got some bread and we did and Owen ate some of the bread, too.
Owen owns this house and the yard too. He knows it. Everything here is his for his use and he knows all the hiding places and all of the secret stashes of his bamboo and how to feed the chickens and where Mer-Mer keeps the chocolate and the juice and which cup he likes to use for that juice. I don't know why but this just amuses the hell out of me. Three adults wandering around the house going, "Owen! Owen? Where are you, boy?" and he's only been gone for seven seconds, if that.
Gibson, of course, still has a lot of learning to do in regards to Mer-Mer's house but he'll get there. The other day I wiped Owen's old walker down with bleach and Fabuloso and when he's ready, it'll be there, ready for him to get around and start to figure it all out.

I tried to get a decent picture of the two of us on Photo Booth but he suddenly decided he needed the ninny and in the three seconds it took for me to pose with him, he went from smiley baby to throwing-a-hissy baby but I think he's cute anyway. Isn't he getting chubby?



Owen's getting pretty darn annoyed with the camera. I hear that down in Satellite Beach one of his great-aunts started paying him dollars to let her take his picture. This cannot be good. His Mer-Mer is certainly not going to be paying him for the privilege of taking his picture. But I guess if I only saw him every six months or so I probably would.

Right after Lily and Jason and the boys left, Judy and Caroline came by. That was nice too. We sat on the back porch and visited and talked about such things as sexual abuse and aging and death and dying and I don't know what all. Women, after a certain age, do not fuck around. We get right to it. I appreciate that. I don't have the time or energy for garden-club chit-chat. Whatever that is. Maybe garden-club chit-chat is a myth in my own mind. Since I have a policy of not being part of anything that has the word "club" in it, I guess I will never know.
Which might be my loss and I admit that.

I've talked to May on the phone and then Lizzie called me and I talked to her. No garden-club chit-chat in either one of those conversations although Lis and I do talk about our gardens. I told her that my latest fantasy is buying and moving into a townhouse. She laughed at me. She knew I was kidding.
Sort of.

And Mr. Moon's gone to auction because thankfully, someone wants a car, and I guess I'll cook some green beans

 and potatoes and tomatoes for my supper. Maybe with chick peas. In a sort of curry thing. I wish I had some coconut milk but I don't.

It's time to put the chickens up. I've got the air conditioning on. I'm going to try and sleep tonight. I sure hope it happens because I'm tired of feeling even crazier than I usually do.

I heard a guy on the radio today say that perhaps depression is not really a mental illness anymore than homosexuality is, but simply part of the human condition and that "normalcy" doesn't really exist and that made me feel some better. My normal is not yours and his normal is certainly not mine and yet, even within my normal, there is abnormal and I'd just as soon get back to regular crazy.

Does that make any sense?

I doubt it.

Well, what in hell DOES make sense these days? Grandchildren do and so do friends and love always makes sense, even when it doesn't, and it makes sense to have a smoothie for breakfast made of yogurt and fresh fruit because no matter what you eat for the rest of the day, you have had your fruit.

That's about all I know.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon