. . . but those people keep a-movin' and that's what tortures me.

[biberkopf_bear]

 I must now acknowledge that the blueprint is adversarial.  It was always adversarial.  It might always be adversarial.  The execution is something else (and sometimes has been something else), but not always.  I want it to be something else.  I want the blueprint to be something else, too, but maybe I like it the way that it is.  Tears sometimes taste sweeter than anything else; sometimes they taste better than the imagination does.

Last night we packed.  I looked down into that strange room and I wondered how the hell I was going to finish putting it away.  I wondered where to start.  I wondered if I would not just create more problems by doing it myself, but there was no one to ask for help.  All those clothes, feathers, pipes, and dishes . . . .  And I was so dirty.

Now I'm wondering why she stayed so close to the homestead, the farm, and the old house.  She's not going to leave now; I'm sure she'll die out there, and maybe A will go mad too.  I hope I never make the mistake of going back, but today I know that I've taken the roughest mindframe with me . . . from out there.  It was what they all had to work with, there on the plains and those harsh conditions.  I just have to figure out how to make it work best for me here and now (and immediately and forever).