On too many words (and I can hear 'em).
It's just impossible to be miserable in this weather. Especially out here. Especially when you drive out past the orchards and alfalfa fields on your way into town and the sweetgrass breeze coming in through the windows is about ten degrees cooler that what you'll encounter above concrete.
Toss in the earth-shattering convulsion-inducing news that I finally get to move into my new place on Monday, and there's that love and respect for Green-Acres-living I lost when I turned into Eva Gabor. And for the bugs on my windshield and the bird to my immediate 6 o'clock I'd otherwise be inches from throttling. And the toads, crickets, and doves outside at night. So I'm now absorbing it all up and trying to hold on to all this simple stuff I've refused to acknowledge for the past three months I've been here. Nevermind that it was supposed to be "a couple of weeks," and nevermind that I also start work on Monday and probably won't permanently be back in town until mid-week or so. Right now, this is good.
Speaking of turning into prissy mid-century icons; my new Mia Farrow Rosemary's Baby 'do will have those of you that even care either revelling or repulsing. Personally, I'm still doing both, as is my wont. I'll show you later.
. . .
It wasn't until I threw my head back to swallow some pills that I noticed the new ceiling fan.
Toss in the earth-shattering convulsion-inducing news that I finally get to move into my new place on Monday, and there's that love and respect for Green-Acres-living I lost when I turned into Eva Gabor. And for the bugs on my windshield and the bird to my immediate 6 o'clock I'd otherwise be inches from throttling. And the toads, crickets, and doves outside at night. So I'm now absorbing it all up and trying to hold on to all this simple stuff I've refused to acknowledge for the past three months I've been here. Nevermind that it was supposed to be "a couple of weeks," and nevermind that I also start work on Monday and probably won't permanently be back in town until mid-week or so. Right now, this is good.
Speaking of turning into prissy mid-century icons; my new Mia Farrow Rosemary's Baby 'do will have those of you that even care either revelling or repulsing. Personally, I'm still doing both, as is my wont. I'll show you later.
. . .
It wasn't until I threw my head back to swallow some pills that I noticed the new ceiling fan.