No Poetic Phrases, Just A Lot of Profanity. Or, Well, A Little

Walking stick on the screen. They are so cool. 

I'm going to keep it very short this evening for several reasons. One is that I am having a hard and hopeless-feeling day. I cried talking to Glen about the things going on. You know what things I'm talking about. He is very good at compartmentalizing and just refuses to let it interfere with his life which, of course, is easier for him as he is a white male whom ICE is highly unlikely to pick up, he's not going to need an abortion, and he's not worried about Medicaid at the moment because it's going to be two years until that shit starts. 
Of course it's a lot more complex than that but Glen has never been big on the "what-ifs?" He deals with what's in front of him and doesn't borrow trouble, as we say around here. 
I wish I was more like him. I have a doctorate in borrowing trouble from the University Of Make Yourself As Miserable As Possible. 

Also, it's the fourth of July. I do not intend to grill burgers, set off firecrackers, wave the flag, say the Pledge of Allegiance, or sing America the Beautiful.
We did go to the Wacissa, just on the off chance that it wasn't so packed with people that we couldn't bear it. 
Bizarrely, it was not. 

Most everyone there was part of a family group which was nice. The little children were well behaved. Only one person was playing music that they perhaps thought we'd all enjoy. HOWEVER there were so many boats coming and going making boat motor sounds and THEN the airboats started coming and going and if you've never heard an airboat then you have no idea how loud something can be. They are horrendous and should be outlawed, at least where other people are exposed to their deathly roar. 
As one of them pulled out to the river, I looked at Glen and asked, "Does he even HAVE a dick?" 
"No," he said. "He does not."

But the water was cold and clear and we saw a great white heron patiently stalking fishes or frogs in the lily pads and there is always a measure of some peace beneath the cypress trees. 

We cooled off and then came home. Glen's out in the garage, sitting in his new boat, reading about all the stuff on it and how to use it and of course, happy as he can be. I changed the sheets on the bed but couldn't wash the sheets I took off because of the busted washer. The clothes from yesterday that had not finished washing couldn't be put in the dryer because they were soaking wet and have already begun to sour, as Glen says, or mildew, as I say. I hung those haphazardly across the rails of the back deck.

While I was out there, I noticed TWO crocosmia which had actually bloomed. This is a rare occurrence and happens about as frequently as I win the lottery. So I picked them and put them in a bottle of water because goddam it, they are pretty and I deserve to get any molecule of enjoyment out of the fuckers that I can.

I'm going to go make a shrimp salad (thank you, Anne-Helene) and drink a martini. And then I will drink another one. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon