There’s a thousand-mile stare as I imagine mowing the chickweed before settling in to write. With the weeds being far too long and the electric mower not yet packed, I could do the soon-to-be owners a favor.
I’m pleased by the feel and look of a new set of pajamas with vibrant orange peaches against the navy blue. Had I not had an expiration date on my time as a Pacific Northwesterner and wasn’t en route to the land of peaches, I might not have even looked twice at the garb. Aren’t new discoveries the best?
I kick myself over a misstep in my clan game. An event called Rise of the Ancients has not been attended by me for over a month. And although I am not the only one, the threat of banishment hit me hard. So hard that I sent a correspondence with haste denouncing my behavior and promising my leader to uphold the clan’s values and show up henceforth. How in the heck did such a silly little game wiggle itself into my heart and mind? Well, I think it’s the people. Their devotion and silliness make it easy to come back.
Tomorrow, two fainting goats will arrive next door. My neighbor, a usual gruff talker, spoke of the five-hour round trip to Camus, Oregon to pick up the billies in a hushed voice, as if the extravagant extent he’s going to get them is shameful. I see nothing shameful. There’s nothing better, albeit cruel, than shocking those little bleaters with a shrill yell to send them tipping over, paralyzed by their physiology. I’m most looking forward to getting them on video for you, and giving them ample amounts of hugs.
Before editing this post, I wrote this in the third person, using she instead of I to tell a story. The perspective shift was enjoyable, like a fly on the wall spying on a woman in a leather rocking chair next to a kerosene lamp. It feels heartwarming getting to know her and seeing life through a new lens. I don’t wear glasses, but if I put them on, it’s like that—a slight shift yet without the nauseous feeling.
Evelyn gave Dave a Sky Paw Patrol figure and Zuma’s water vehicle to give to me as a bedtime play toy. Since I’m upstairs writing, he’s consoling her as she cannot find Sky’s plane. Although my kid is overly tired and overly sugared, there’s always tomorrow to start anew.
Start anew, that sounds good. Let’s get ourselves a fresh day’s canvas and set this one in the recycle.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 