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Friday, March 5th, 1999
| I had a dream last night where I was having dinner with this nice Asian family. After dinner, the mother would not let me near her children, even though it was obvious the kids and I had a pretty good bond. "I didn't like anything you say." she told me, over and over again with an obstinate stare. I had a distinct feeling this had to do with the fact that I write erotica, even though I hadn't mentioned it at the dinner. It was awful. The kids couldn't understand why I wasn't allowed to take them swimming anymore. | ||
| This dream is a mixture of missing the kids at Lothlorien and the guilt my mother has put on me recently. She's afraid a relative will stumble upon the page and, thus, read Clean Sheets. My mom can't even read the Table of Contents without getting offended, and I must say, I'd rather she not read that much of it! I suppose she has a point, though I'd rather care to believe that any relative of mine that is wired and happens to read this stuff is adult enough to either handle it (if they like it) or leave without passing judgement (if they don't). I know, it's a lot to ask, especially from the midwest, but I like to assume the best of people. Besides, no one is stupid enough to tell my 97-year-old grandmother, and that's the only one I'd worry about. I wonder what my mother's Daddy would say if he knew I wrote stories with sexually explicit scenes in them. I never knew him, but I'd like to think he'd understand the changing times. That he'd love me anyway. That's all I expect. | ||
| I bought more plants today: a chive, a German chamomile (for tea), sapphire Lobelia and a really striking orange (with yellow deep inside) star-shaped flower called Asphixia? something like that. David offered to help me work my garden this weekend. In fact, he seems somewhat excited by the idea of having a garden where he can get fresh tomatoes, basil and dill. I also want to plant snow peas, if they'll grow here, and red and yellow bell peppers. I tend to go for herbs instead of vegetables, but I really don't have the room for cauliflower nor the soil for potatoes anyway. All these flowers and grasses and herbs and trees just makes me yearn for my own house. I don't want to sink bulbs into my landlord's yard, so all perennials are going in pots. Which is nice, up to a point. I'd love to make a herb garden with bushes and frangrant grasses and a little stone path that winds back to a hidden gazebo (ok, wooden park bench). I don't know if I have the gardening "gene" (which all the women in my family seem to have) or if I'm just getting a nesting urge. Either way, I can certainly see the appeal of having one's own yard space exactly as one likes it. I have the urge to create art with plants. I'd just like to own it when I'm done. Is that so wrong? | ||
| No, Mary Anne, I am the most tired person. I haven't slept more than 5-6 hours any night save last night. I aimed to go to bed at 8pm, thinking that would get me in bed by 10. I would have made 9, but I remembered it was recycling night and it was certainly my turn. I hate that Thursday is the night I have to haul a tub full of metal and glass to the curb. I think it's my weariest night of the week, even before that. | ||
| The job is going well, I'm taking on/creating some new projects, and the variety can't be beat. I can work it so I'm never sitting more than an hour tops. There's little bits of cleaning/maintenance that is kind of refreshing to do when you work in the office. I just love the atmosphere. I took a lunchtime nap twice this week. I also reclined on the couch, in the late afternoon sunlight coming in the picture windows with their view of San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge and the moutains of Marin. Ahhhh. Have I said yet that I love my job? I've had such shitty jobs lately (with the exception of Winsome and Melodi, though that was a temp job), that it still seems too good to be true, like I'm a nice stray finally picked up by a loving home, with really cool furniture. Purrrrrrrr...... |