Four logs in the Lopi stove, Foreigner vinyl spinning, and Reid reading about “No pest strips” to Paul and me means we made it safely to the cabin. At 9:41 PM, I imagine bedtime won’t be long now.
It’s the first time my best buds are here. A two-night stay in the backwoods of Copalis, and who knows what kind of trouble we’ll get into. I’ll likely suggest the Renewed Antique Show at the Convention Center in town, and lunch out at La Spiggia Restaurant.
We’re playing a conversation card game; the question is “A time I felt rejected was…”
Bob Dylan’s now playing, and I’m thinking about how frustrated I get when a post is not a golden boy. I think my expectation for my writing is perfection every time. But this post? It’s my dirty-faced, tattered-shirt foster kid kind. And so I remind myself this is just practice. Practice putting myself in front of this laptop, practice at moving my fingers over this keyboard, and practice playing with words until they describe my experience creatively, and accurately. Just doing it. A discipline.
Paul’s reading an AI interpretation of one of his dreams, and in hearing its interpretation, I’m interested in trying it, especially since you get three free dream analyses before paying $80 per year. Note to self: the app is called Temenos Dream.
Perhaps I’ll download it now and try to capture a dream tonight. I usually always dream, but without a journal nearby, I always forget them. Not tonight. If I do get a butterfly under a glass, I’ll share it with you here tomorrow.
We’ve brought the temperature up in two hours from 41 degrees to 73 degrees and shedding layers. With my puffy black coat beneath me and the only coal fire a few feet away, I’m of two minds. Go to bed right now, or keep this party going. Which, knowing us, with the desire to share ourselves and learn from each other, we’ll keep it going.
It’s now 11:15 PM. Late, but not too late. I’m so stuffed up and sound like one of those heavy breathers. I’ve really tried not to be sick; lots of tea and water, mucus-relieving medicines, and a hot, long shower. But nothing, I’m still unable to breathe.
Update: The app I mentioned above, Paul’s friend John Temple Jr. created it. Two degrees of separation for me, possibly three degrees for you, but either way, let’s support the guy, huh?
Three for free? Why not!
Lots of love coming your way. Take care. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 