But it's more fun out there...

So difficult to do the cleaning inside, where it's most needed. When the outside beacons so enticingly, despite the heat, the living things growing for my efforts. Nothing like sweeping away tree litter to create a tidy place.

But, the kitchen is mostly clean, now.

Hypochondria expressed in medical folks.

A scratch on my arm, but a good one, a bit swollen because it's on the soft of my wrist. After a few days of little or no progress, part of me leaps to necrotizing fasciitis, not out of genuine worry so much as not wanting to be dumb and not even suspect the worst. Bandaged it last night with ointment and such, cleaned up a treat this morning.

Just a matter of placement, rubs on everything.

Boston at 80 is sweltering, so.

Nothing like a few hot days to make me want to live much further north. Not that heat further north can't be worse, more humid, houses less well designed for heat. So, really, I can't go far enough north for satisfaction.

Good to live in a bungalow.

Not anti social, tired of society.

Weeks without Wednesdays off leave me wobbly. I'm accustomed to the break, and without it, I get weary and antsy. Getting more agoraphobic - albeit very mildly so - as I get older.

Happy in the smallest of groups, or alone.

On the other hand, how much space do tomatoes take up?

Why does the argumentative dialogue continue inside my head? Or maybe I need to ring the changes a while yet, get it all worked out, so it won't come back? Tired of thinking about people I want nothing to do with.

Surely, I have better ideas to have in my head?

Who *tells* a spouse what not to do?

Twice in the recent past I have had my mother and a woman at work say their husbands "wouldn't let them" do something. With my 87 year old mother, with a bully of a husband, there is some sense - even though I think that in a couple adhering to traditional roles - a husband would not interfere with anything to do with a kitchen - banning canisters on counters, use of bleach - as with my mother, is just out of bounds. With the woman at work a mere decade older than me, and I can't remember what her husband forbad, it just seems like a child blaming a parent for not being able to do something they didn't want to do anyway in front of the other children who think whatever it is is cool.

I can't imagine Dylan trying to tell me not to do anything, since we are equals and adults, not parent and child.

Next year is soon enough

The urge is to make everything as we want it, right now. We need to pace ourselves, which is not as satisfying as, "ok, let's!" Cannot do everything, cannot, cannot, cannot.

So much work, so much joy.