Sunday, April 09, 2017

Journal

I had a fitful morning of dreams most of which I tried to remember while still dreaming but I kept rolling over and having more dreams so I eventually forgot them. Neil Young was in my dream but I wasn't able to talk to him. I was crazy talking to his manager waving my hands wearing my polka dotted white dress. We were performing at a dairy farm. His manager said we always title our tours with the word FEAR in them. I was blown away and had a lot to say about this and was looking to find Bill to explain why this was profound and symbolic and meaningful to me. In real life, Lily heard me get up to pee and since I was hoping to sleep some more I invited her into the bed to buy time.

I was exhausted yesterday late afternoon and I became grouchy. I believe the day went by too fast. In my mind weekends should be expansive and have fatter hours for reading swimming and walking and baking and eating and visiting friends. I am often unrealistic and overly imaginative. When I was a kid I pictured each day of the week a different color and a different width. Saturdays were wide and fat and brown. Fridays were tall and thin and red. Sundays were light blue. Mondays were white Tuesdays were yellow Wednesdays were pink and wide and short. Thursdays were maroon and average size.

I get sad mean and grouchy when I lose energy. So instead of taking a nap (not when the sun is out!) I took a three mile walk going towards the pond as the sun was setting. The sky was pink and blue and gorgeous. I walked west to stare up at it. Then it got dark and nobody was out. Everyone was home having dinner or resting or whatever. The loneliness was palpable. Lily found a red apple on the ground on Miller Street and held it in her mouth the whole trip, pulling on me so she could lay down and eat it. My left knee hurt from tugging back. I didn't want to stop moving. I limped on the last block. She ate it the second we got onto the front porch. I made tea, sliced a piece of my freshly baked apple cake and climbed into bed with it. After pouting I turned on the light and read some of my favorite book, May Sarton's Journal of a Solitude, a bible on how to live. I have three copies of this book and I reach for it regularly, like medicine for 30 years.

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