proteanme

This is it. This is being alive. Eating my secret version of breakfast pizza and drinking tea and listening to music, Johnny Cash covering Glen Campbell at a second ago and now Bon Iver. I got up to feed the cats when it was still dark, but now the sun is shining and the sky is blue and Remy’s left the house to go hiking. I’ve got the back door open and Phil is laying in the warm spots on the deck. I can see some tomatoes need to be picked. Probably some green beans too. I am doubting the pumpkins, which sprouted up on their own this summer, have turned any oranger, but I can’t see them from here and my approach with them, all along, has been curious and kind of hands off, anyway. Last night my friend told me that I am “a catch” and that made me smile. I also wrote a poem, last night, and I think might work out, as in something I keep. And I finally slept better than I have all week. Not great but better and I will take that. Because not sleeping was starting to drive me nuts.  I started working on cleaning the windows at eight this morning and I put a load of laundry in too. I need to water the garden today. I might cut my hair. If all goes well, I am going to make a pie.