I look forward all night to my morning repast--a huge two-bag cup of black tea with cream and rice syrup and toasted homemade bread to soak it up on the tongue. I never tire of this. Peaceful tea and toast to clear the cobwebs. Later in the morning I concoct a blender drink of banana, tofu, pineapple juice, and frozen black cherries. Mmmm. In the months since I started making this daily drink I have had not a single hot flash. I tried soy milk recently to see whether it would accomplish the same thing, but it doesn't digest--gassy stuff--and so I'll stick with the tofu-and-fruit.
Every 15 minutes I get another handful of spam in email. (Two in in the last two minutes: "very large dildo" and "FRESH YOUNGIES WANT YOU.") Frontiernet if the worst in this regard. They regularly bounce back my various newsletters and even mail from friends, insisting it's their spam guard and the fault of the senders, but they permit this constant stream of actual crap. I set up two addresses with them when I first got the account. The other address has never once been used for anything, and it gets 20-30 spams a day!
***
I'm beginning to think I shouldn't listen to music anymore, or watch movie musicals (which I love--sorry). The songs stay in my head, swell to fill every wrinkle in my brain, and repeat for days. I can't generate a single poem because everywhere I go internally I find Petula Clark singing "Have I Filled the World with Love?" from Goodbye, Mr. Chips. It's sad, really, when you lose access to your words like this. (I grin) Or maybe the songs are pouring in because I have no music of my own to hold them back with.
***
Spot of sun on rising this morning. Now the gray returns, and wind. Yesterday was wonderfully stormy and mobile. I hope we do it again. In the herb garden the columbines blossom like there's no tomorrow. The little cottonwood is still in shock, though, from being severed from the parental umbilicus.
The woman who owns the property next door--the one in Los Angeles I wrote my rent/buy proposal to (her name is PJ)--suggests I go after the landlord to put in a new well and pump here. She says he can afford it, having inherited money recently and with additional income from a variety of sources. She's even offered to look up the legal code for me. I suppose I could present him with an estimate. Maybe if I offered to split the cost with him--but I haven't got the doctors' bills yet, and with more to come, that's a bad idea. I don't have the juice to move out, nor to stand and fight. For now I'd rather just hunker with my 90-second showers and make the best of things.
This week's present to myself will be the oldest cheapest volume I can find of G. M. Hopkins poems. I once edited a series of very bad articles on Hopkins, and was turned off for a long time (20 years...). I'm over it now, and it's time to explore a little.
11:00:33 AM 
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