tuckova

So I had over two weeks of feeling like the saddest bag of mostly salt water ever, convinced that I was entirely alone behind a wall of sorrow, or alternately convinced that I was within a web of equally inarticulately tormented people and the whole world was going to hell. I felt like a mouse running uphill on metal, scrabbling and desperate and hopeless. I was somewhat less than delightful to be around, I expect. Then I remembered that feeling that way is really, really boring, and I slept for about 14 hours and then I forced myself through some steps on a "to do" list and then I felt better; it was just in time for my birthday and I’m sure we’re all very grateful that I managed to ring in a decade with a modicum of self-respect. Now I’m feeling quite nearly chipper, all things considered, and they have been.

So, hm. We went to the cottage. Some photos are here. I pulled up about 200 dandelions because I don’t want the neighbors to entirely hate us but otherwise we’re letting the garden go a little wild to see what all will grow, instead of trying to cut it into some shape when we don’t know what shape it might already want to be. First of all, it keeps us from being robbed like the neighbors on both sides of us. Secondly, we may have some beauty already there that we’ve overlooked. Like: we just realized we have tulips. Everything is a metaphor for something.