I've been working on the style sheet for my website for the past hour or two. I screwed things up last night, which precipitated a premature delivery of the new version. I wasn't really ready to bring it out yet, but the way thing worked out, I didn't have much of a choice. I *cannot* get the frigging H1 font (which is the herdname in big latters across the top of the page) into any other font than the one that's there. I don't know where *that* font came from, but I hate it, hate it, hate it!!! :shrieks with frustration: There are a number of others that'd be fine. By the time I was through I'd decided plain old arial would be fine. No dice. No matter what I do it's the same clunky ungraceful font. Now, if all I had to do was *&$# around with this one font all day long, it'd be one thing. But the fact of the matter is that there are about a zillion details that have to be attended to very quickly because the home page's links aren't valid, and the new layout will be using a different navigation bar, and there are about 15-20 more pages to complete. (There *is* a template I've made so each page doesn't have to be written anew, but still...it's going to take several more days worth of tweaking before it's acceptable). So- I guess you could say I'm a little stressed.

Ummmm....oh yeah, I do have a life outside the computer. And lately, I'm preferring this one- I have more control over it and it's more fun to fool around with pages that don't work than to deal with dysfunctional interpersonal communications. The harder I look, the more life seems like some kind of inpenetrable maze. I'm surrounded by people and their expectations- act this way, do XYZ, say what they want to hear, think what they want me to think , feel what they want me to feel. And this is where I draw the line: what I *do* is negotiable. What I think or feel is nobody's business but mine. Other people are private about their money, their age, their history, etc..for me, it's my inner world that is off limits unless otherwise specified, and even then- misbehave, screw me over, and you're out- never to return, or- restricted access only.

Anyway- back to the external reality (is it more real? I think maybe it's less so...). The relationship between internal and external reality is an interesting one. The physical world can kill your body, but can it kill an idea? Does the material world have any value without ideas, thoughts, feelings, other than existing for its own sake? From an idea, to plant, for example, I can not only modify the physical world but also inspire others to do likewise. It's possible for an entire forest to spring up if I want it to, which will last a thousand years and reseed itself...Ideas are powerful- they're the strongest tool we have. It could be and has been argued that ideas and original thought are what set us apart from animals. The worst thing that the physical world can do to us then, is to kill our ideas, our power of thought. Starve a person, bruise their body, they're still human. A brain dead person with a healthy body is nothing more than a mass of tissue, a remnant of what once was human. Independence of thought- it's precious.

It's like- Being lost in a strange place with lots of strange people all around who don't know you and don't speak your language or even really see you at all. And then- running into the dearest face in the world.

It's like- Having the wind pick you up and carry you up over the mountains, in the clouds- but only for a moment. And then feeling somewhat bewildered when you realize your feet are on the ground.

It's like- Waking up one morning and realizing that everything around you, every physical thing, is utterly meaningless, it means nothing at all.

It's like- Coming out of a fog...seeing your goal, your destination clearly as though for the first time- and wondering if you have the gas to get there.

It's like- the snick of that one puzzle piece, the one that matters, that you'd thought was lost or missing, the sense of completion once it's there.

It's like- living in a black and white movie, and then one day the film stops rolling and you notice just how lovely the real world is.

It's like- a bleak gray land where the sun never ever shines, and the stars only seem to mock you. And then the most beautiful comet you've ever seen in your life comes blazing across the sky, illuminating everything around you, making you want to sing. But you can't touch it or reach it, and afterwards the land looks ten times as ugly and dark as it ever did.

I'm not ready to even begin on today yet- if I had my way I'd go back to bed and sleep for 2-3 more hours. Seems like I feel sleep deprived most of the time; suppose that's to be expected when there's a baby in the room. So----> yesterday.

I dragged myself out of bed at the ungodly hour of 9:00, milked the goats, and hurried in to town so I could check out the local fine arts guild and their monthly meeting. It's held at a restaurant, and you know, I should have guessed, because this restaurant is the one the loggers frequent, and this guild hangs it's art in the library and businesses around town. Certainly, I didn't expect Michelangelo, Rodin, or Degas, but that was OK- I just wanted to find people with similar interests. So I walk in the door.....actually, I saw even before I *opened* the glass door- and there is this room full of women, most of them in the 50-70 age range, and they give me this look as though there must be some mistake, because I sure as heck don't belong there! The tables were jam packed, and nobody made room for me to sit down. They hardly even looked at me, and when they did, it wasn't exactly friendly. _But_ I'm stubborn, and I make up my mind that I am going to be here in this place whether they like it or not. So I picked up an empty chair and carried it around the perimeter of the room to an empty place with some gals who looked eccentric and not too unfriendly. They were nice enough. The first part of the meeting was boring as hell (in my mind, hell is a place of utter and complete boredom and loneliness), mostly it was about various means of raising money or exhibiting art. A painting or two was held up briefly for display and a couple of them were good, too; but mostly it was about voting on one dull issue after another, and everyone agreed all of the time. Then lunch was served and the guest artist began to talk about her work and methods, and she was pretty interesting. I learned a lot from her, and she also is self taught, which was inspiring. But other than the two gals on either side of me and the guest artist, not one of those ladies said hello. Bunch of crochety old...:slaps hand over mouth:. Anyway, I think I'll go there next month.

After that I went and applied for another job, and I think there's a chance I could get this one. It's weekends only but hopefully could lead into expanding horizons and hours.

Back to the art meeting: the weird thing is that I'm already a member of the quilt guild, and it's the same way as far as age range but the attitude is entirely different. Once those ladies saw my work they welcomed me with open arms. There must be another place for art with people my own age. For years, my friends have been 20+ years older than me, maybe because I sought out men that age, too. For over a decade now, I've bemoaned my youth and pretended to be more mature, to be above all that goes with being in your twenties. I guess I didn't want them to say I was too young for the men I was with. And the men- they *were* gentle (well, some of them were...) but they always acted a little fatherly and protective, even patronizing. Sort of like, I've lived and let me tell you all about the world and you're just a young sweet thing but I'll teach you what I like. Well, I'm sick and tired of it now. They were young once, they had their kicks and thrills before they looked upon the world with a seasoned eye. I'm tired of feeling as though it's some kind of a sin to be my age, and as though the main benefit of my age is to an innoncent thing for some guy who doesn't feel like dealing with a gal his own age. I'm speaking in generalities here of course...I don't know that age is the main issue so much as the attitude that tends to prevail with an extreme age difference. It's impossible to feel like an equal with someone like that, and equality is what I want.

On second thought, there must be another group around here- one with contemporaries. I'll have to find it and let the old ladies keep their exclusive little club. What a loss. *snort*

Birds by Elton John from- Songs from The West Coast (1991)

There’s some things I don’t have now
Some things I don’t talk about
These things are between myself and i
In my thick skull the joker hides

There’s consequences I’m scared to taste
Cold hard truths I can’t face
These days are different than the past
Reflections change in the looking glass

And everywhere I look there’s something to learn
A sliver of truth from every bridge we burn
A hatful of quarters and a naked song
Don’t answer the question of where we belong

How come birds
Don’t fall from the sky when they die?
How come birds
Always look for a quiet place to hide
These words
Can’t explain what I feel inside?
Like birds I need a quiet place to hide

These independent moves I make
This confidence I try to fake
You can hear the beating of my heart
But not a feather falling in the dark

And everything I hear never makes any sense
Another old prophet perched on the fence
A cupful of pencils and a self help guru
Don’t answer the question of what I am to you

I slept well last night. Dreamt well too, and would have preferred to keep doing so; but the baby felt obliged to climb on my face (repeatedly). Anyway- I still feel restless. Considered calling a friend, but ran through the list (it's short), changed my mind, and went to check on the goats instead. Feather's in heat. To breed or not to breed? I'd like to A.I. her, but I'm out of sheaths (a very necessary component of the A.I. gun). Could breed her naturally- easier. Eh, I'll hold out for the A.I. breeding, and if she doesn't settle, breed her to the live buck. Besides, breeding the does early means early kids, and I'm still entertaining the idea of some kind of vacation or trip back east or somewhere this winter. Can't do that if there are goats kidding at the time. So what exactly do I want to do back there? I don't know yet- go to the Art Institute for sure, eat Chicago style food, visit people. Still rolling over possibilities in my head. Maybe I'll stay here.

That's BS. This isn't about some non existent trip back east; the awful truth is that it's hell to be celibate during breeding season (and now I'm going to go find a rug to curl up under). I mean, hey, might as well be honest. Speaking of which- I found a fascinating article: asexuality. I don't relate to it personally, but it's interesting nonetheless. I once knew a guy like that, he was my dad's best friend (and I had a crush on him as a little girl). People would ask him when he was going to find a girl or get married, and his answer was always- 'Never. I'm married to my music." He meant it. Music was what he lived for, and women were extraneous. I don't think he was gay either, he just had no interest in a relationship. People always acted as though there was something horribly wrong with that, poor guy. He must have grown very tired of hearing it. Then there was Paul Erdos, who lived only for mathematics. I can see where it'd be so much more convenient, and a person could devote all their energies towards one pursuit and acheive excellence in that field.

I wouldn't want it though. Passion gives life color, depth, and richness. The dark side is that once you've had it, approximations or analogs of it are simply unacceptable. Anyway, maybe it's just me, but lately it seems as though everything I see assumes some sort of erotic identity or undertone. It may be a piece of fruit, a stone, the throbbing beat of a song, the drivenness of a piece by Bach, or the form of a tree. Flowers are particularly bad- which makes sense since they are, after all, the plant's sex organs. It gives new meaning to the custom of men bringing flowers to women. (!) Or for example, the sanserveria plant I just bought. It looks distinctly phallic to me every single time I glance at it. Drives me nuts...if this is what being thirty is like, I'm not sure I want to see forty. :-/ Man, maybe I'm just losing my mind.

See? Told you I was bored. ;-) I found this. I like that site more and more every time I visit it, though it's hard to say why. Anyway, about the story- sleeping in strange beds, the way people smell... Why would anyone want to have sex with a guy is she couldn't relax and sleep soundly next to him?? And if he didn't smell *right* enough to enjoy sleeping in his bed? Life is too short for that sort of thing. I can relate to her sense of smell- I have a very definite memory of the scent of every person I've ever loved, familial or otherwise, and even of people who were just friends. You could hand me an article of worn clothing from their house, and I could identify it just by the smell. But from my point of view, scent is a comforting experience, not a sleepless one. To sleep in the bed of a grandmother, friend, or otherwise dear person is to be surrounded by their aura and to feel embraced by them. Maybe she didn't feel loved by the people whose beds she slept in. That's sad...

I'm really bored. And honestly, I don't know how I could be, since I have enough projects and interesting things to do and more work than anyone could shake a stick at...but I am, nonetheless. I guess the bottom line is that none of it really means enough to me to actually hold my interest.

For example: today the first doe came into heat and got bred (now that I think of it, that wasn't boring. That buck kid is the first buck I've seen that makes _no_ noise to the doe. But anyway...) And then...I don't remember. It seems that I spent most of the day coping with children. I did some reading in HTML4 for dummies (what is the deal with people paying to be labeled as dummies?), came up with some more ideas for the website, started a drawing of some autumn leaves (watercolor pencil, so it'll be a painting though it's a drawing now), took a couple of phone calls, made bread dough and dinner (cheese fondue), and milked the goats. That's about it. It doesn't actually look bad when I write it down, but is this all there is to life? It just seems like there is something vital missing.

The result of which is that I'm in a pretty strange mood and I'll probably go and find somewhere to stir the pot or excercise my strange and bizarre sense of humor. I don't know- have you ever felt like either banging your head against a brick wall in frustration, or taking the world and shaking it until it makes sense? Where are the answers? I can't find them; and just when I think I have, someone comes along and casts enough doubt on it to make me wonder again. I hate it, hate it, hate it. Arrgh!!!

Well,well. Since my last post here, I've been pretty busy moving the dairygoats forum from it's old place onto the far more reliable server that I use for my other websites. Want to see it? Here. My son has just gone square dancing for the evening, and prior to that we went to town and had a grand shopping spree. I'm kidding, of course. We bought a weeks worth of goat and duck feed, dark Dove chocolate, groceries, and a variety of flowerbulbs. Lets see: Tulips- 16 Apricot Beauty, and 8 Mickey Mouse (which is red streaked with yellow), 5 pink pearl hyacinths (love the smell), and 8 each of Misty Glen and Thalia narcissus. the latter is simply superb- it has multiple frangrant, pendant blooms on each stem, and they're pure white. I went to some lengths to procure and plant some last fall, and was so pleased (come spring) that I jumped at the chance to buy a few more.

It doesn't make a whole lot of sense since I'm thinking of leaving; why sink more time, money, and love into this place? But on the other hand, I love it here. I'll have been here 7 years in the spring, which is longer than I've ever lived anywhere else, and I've never loved another place the way I do this one (though my childhood home in Harvard, IL would run a close second. My childhood effectively ended when I left that place.) Besides, whether or not I'm here won't matter. Someone will enjoy the flowers, I hope. The point of planting is partly to enjoy the results personally, but mostly it's to beautify the world and leave something pleasant and lasting in your wake. I wish I could plant more; I'd like to put in frittilaria meleagris, some scilla, some grape muscari (grape hyacinths), maybe a few more crocuses, and I'd wanted to try the arums, which look like jack in the pulpits. Also- more hyacinths! Some deep, ultramarine blue water irises around the edge of the pond, as a counterpoint to the yellow ones (already there). A water lily or two. Lavendar and various plants that like dry sun, for the SW corner of the house. Hardy cyclamens and others that tolerate dry shade (few do) for the western side of the house.

Then there is the chestnut tree. I think it's an American chestnut, which means that if chestnut blight ever comes our way, it's done for. This tree is so stately and tall, so regal. I swear it has a personality, and out of all the trees on the place, I may well love it the best. Every year, this fine tree flowers profusely, advertises it's mating urges, so full of hope. In vain, for there isn't a pollinator here for it. I've tried planting one for it, but it died. There are heartnut trees, and english and black walnuts but I don't think they pollinate chestnuts. So here is this tree, so lonely, trying year after year to produce nuts, and yielding empty husks every fall. :-( It makes me sad and wistful every time I see it. I'd like to find and plant a mate for it. I can just see that it'll produce loads of nuts as soon as it gets the chance.

My favorite doe just died. She had a cold so I went to get some antibiotics for her. By the time I got back, she was dead, just like that. I can't believe she went so quickly. This is the daughter of my formerly favorite doe (Sprite), who also died this spring. My consolation was that I had her daughter, Song. So out of thirty some goats, which one dies? At times like this, I begin to think that there is a God after all- and that He hates me. This has been a really crappy week. I hope it doesn't get any worse; I don't know that I could stand it.

When I went to the dump last, we found a bunch of good children's outdoor toys- Tonka trucks and the like. It just happened there was also a movie, so we brought it home, but the boys said it was messed up, that it had no beginning. Turns out it was tape #2 of the Titanic. So being the glutton for punishment that I am, and having already watched the second half, I rented the set so I can see the first tape. Why would I want to watch such a depressing movie at a time like this? On the bright side, I've made a good deal of progress on the website revisions. It's heartening to see progress somewhere...

Well, I don't know. Offers of negotiation continue; however I am skeptical as to whether they would actually lead to any real changes. It isn't that I see them as patently false, it's more like there have been SO many problems, and several of them have _always_ been here, that I'm not sure if it's possible. There is some agreement that an amicable parting would be desired if it proves inevitable.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe I'm just flawed to be a wife for anybody. Or, maybe the wife role as commonly defined. When I think of a wife, I don't think of an equal, although I'm sure there are wives who are seen as equals...But to me, a wife is someone who is always smoothing things over, sweeping the conflicts and problems under the rug, keeping the peace, putting up with all sorts of things rather than dealing with them out in the open. A wife's role is to serve her husband, to wait on him and see his need before he asks, to put aside whatever she wants and think about her husband and children, until she forgets that she ever wanted anything herself aside from the happiness of her family. A wife is supposed to be *interested* in child rearing and homemaking. She can have other interests, as long as they're incidental and secondary to her main role in life, and the same with a job. If a wife has a job, it should be just for a little extra spending money, and it certainly shouldn't exceed what her husband makes. A wife is domestic, feminine, and self-abnegating.

In that context, I don't ever want to be a 'wife' again. Can't there be some other word to use, like spouse? Something that denotes equality and not sexism, where the two people are allies and best friends who've chosen to be together, permanently?

------------------------------Putting that aside for a moment------------------------------

Less than a week ago I drove out to a friend's to scan some artwork I'd done so I could upload it onto my site. When I left their place, I set the sketchbooks on the trunk while I put the baby into his carseat, meaning to pick it up when I got into the car. I forgot to do that. When I arrived home and realized they were gone, I called to see if they'd fallen in the driveway and my friend looked there, to no avail. We wondered if maybe I'd set them in the house. Yesterday, I get in touch again with them, and the art was not left in the house. So I packed my two oldest sons into the car and went drving up and down Highway 41 and the dirt road I was on, with the boys keeping their eyes peeled. We found one watercolor painting, and out of all that was lost, this one meant the most to me. It's an abstract, I had it tacked to the wall. I shouldn't have taken it. It was too big to scan anyway. The entire time I was looking, I was thinking about this work, and I felt just sick because it's irreplacable. When we found it, it'd been run over a time or two, and it's dirty. But the essence, the spirit of the feeling that inspired it is still there. Now that I have it back, when I get into exactly the right mood that created it, I'll try my best to make another very like it. Seeing as how the other work must have fallen off into the residential area, and we found no trace of it all all, I think someone picked it up. I'm going to call around at the police stations and local radio with call in advertisements and try to see if anyone's turned it in. I had been designing a business card for the goat business which had my name and address included in the preliminary sketches, so whoever found it will know where to send it or at the very least, my name (most of the work was signed). That was yesterday's adventure. Today I run in to Sandpoint to investigate college possibilities and get some concord grapes.

I've been editing my website this morning. I really should do the same to the goat site as well. I've got several ideas, and I haven't yet made up my mind which ones I want to implement.

Otherwise- I've kind of run out of steam. My partner has been playing one sad song after another about women who leave and the effect has been to make me feel absolutely miserable, depressed and guilty. Have to give him credit for strategy...I don't know what I'm going to do if I can't get a job soon here. I'd kind of like to fly off to some other place for a few months, but with breeding season being imminent and a whole battery of exciting A.I. breedings to execute, I can't really afford to go anywhere.

I'm remembering a time- it must have been the winter after I turned 16. Our family lived in a little cabin in the woods. To call it dilapidated would be kind...you could literally peek through the logs to see who was comign up the drive. Our woodstove was in a similar state- you could see through the rust holes in its sides when the fire was going. There was a windstorm that winter, and it happened that we ran out of firewod in the middle of it. It was so cold that the vehicles wouldn't start, and power lines were being blown down all over the county. The temps were down in the -35 to -40 range, plus 70 mph winds. We huddled around that pathetic little stove until the wood was gone, and then it became apparent that something had to be done, and quickly.

Fortuitously enough a tree blew down just 30 or 40' from the house. The other three kids, our stepdad, and myself went out to get it. We didn't really have much in the way of winterwear. I recall wearing two pairs of jeans, plus long johns, and two or three pairs of socks during any winter in that place. Our coats weren't all that warm, and the gloves were cotton work gloves, the kind that have little rubber dots all over them. The minute we stepped out the door, that wind cut right through us like a knife, and we had to brace ourselves against it to stand upright. We pulled the tree down farther, our stepdad sawed it into lengths, and we began carrying it to the house. This is the short version- in reality every step was an effort and a struggle. The firewood reached the house in time to keep the fire burning, and because our gloves were wet and we were *very* cold, the temptation to stand and dry the gloves for a moment or to exchange them for a dry pair was irresistible. We'd come in shaking profusely with a few logs, warm up a little, and then run back out again to get more wood.

Our mom got tired of that. She wanted us to leave the wood at the door and stay outside until we were through. After all, opening the door made the house cold. At first I was angry- she was cozy and warm by the wood we'd worked to cut, carry, and split, yet we couldn't partake of it's warmth ourselves, while she stayed in the house complacently. It seemed vastly unjust to me. But then, I stopped caring. Nothing mattered anymore. I just felt tired, very tired, confused, and sleepy, so I found a snowbank and curled up in it to take a nap. At the time it seemed a perfectly sane thing to do. I was exhausted. As through a dream, my sister called to me, told me to come inside. I told her I was warm, that everything was OK. She kept shaking and prodding me until I got up. Hypothermia does some pretty weird things to the mind.

And in a way, that's how I feel now; confused, disoriented, lacking perspective and objectivity, very tired, and so cold. Every so often, I get some distance from the situation, the course of action seems clear and apparent, and I try to act on it quickly, while the iron is hot. But then I'm thrust into the cold again, with the warmth of the house being only a sustaining memory, and the confusion sets in. What I need to do is to get some _serious_ distance, maybe. I've been thinking about going back east to visit my family this winter. But winter...it seems so far away.

I enjoyed 'things given' enough to go back to fray.com and look around some more. This time I read this one. Read it and see what you think. Frankly, I think the girl is beating herself up unnecessarily. She helped the guy, she wanted to be compassionate, but for some indefinable reason, she felt uncomfortable about taking the interactions any further. Why? She feels she was selfish. Yet, Andrew kept taking liberties with her, trying to touch her, acting a little too intimate, wanting to put her in uncomfortable, compromising situations. This isn't about a handicapped person needing help and being neglected, it's about a man trying to use guilt to manipulate the girl into intimacies she doesn't want to give.

Cut the wheelchair and disability out of it, and the picture becomes all too familiar, even redundant. The man may be young or older, weak or strong, ugly or handsome, poor or well off, disabled or perfectly healthy. It may be a father, husband, brother, teacher, pastor, friend, or a stranger. One they have in common- they see a woman more as a *thing* or an object, than a person with the right not to want them. In their eyes, the woman has an obligation to satisfy their needs. I have my doubts regarding whether those needs can truly be met by an unwilling but cooperative (or uncooperative) partner- it seems that true intimacy must be given freely and willingly, and forced intimacy would be distinctly unsatisfying. Maybe that's why some of them try to talk themselves into believing that the woman/girl "really wanted it" but was too passive to say so, or that she didn't really mean it when she refused them, or that her silence meant 'yes'. I have some more thoughts on this subject, but I need to incubate them a while longer...

Current mood- I don't know. Kind of bothered, though it's hard to articulate why. I spent most of yesterday applying for a job. First, I had to find a daycare that would take the baby for me. You just don't walk in job hunting with a kid on your hip. So I found a nice place after some roaming around, left him there. When I got to the place and pulled up in my shitty car in front of this professional looking building, surrounded by a lot of really nice vehicles, my confidence began to dive. The gal I spoke to apparently didn't think much of me either, didn't seem to think I should even bother filling out an application, but I did it anyway, since I'd already gone to quite a bit of trouble to do so. She said a lot of very qualified people had already applied, after which I felt about 3 inches tall. When I handed the application in, I mentioned that I have a bit of experience in several areas which would directly relate to the job in question, and wrote down the URLs to my websites as an afterthought. Now I wish I'd spent even more time updating and monkeying with them. I love to do it, but my partner just hates it for some reason, and it's hard to concentrate with so many kids running around. I've got a few ideas I want to implement in the next day or two. Anyway, so as I left, I began to feel very lonely, and...I don't know, just really depressed. I mean, what am I? What do I really have in the way of concrete acheivements? Even in my otherworld of thought, of books, music, visions, and ideas, is there anything new or noteworthy of significance? I sort of doubt it...I've always wanted to be different, always striven to be unconventional, but with a sense of panic I realized that I've become really ordinary, just a housewife and mother of five children, who dabbles in various pursuits with varying degrees of mediocrity. This whole single mother with kids in daycare role isn't one I've ever wanted to play. As I was driving back to pick up the baby, the thought crept into my mind, and then lodged there solidly: I'm a nothing. I've lived 30 years and nothing I've done has amounted to any consequence, none of it matters or means anything. I felt so bleak that I picked up the boys from home and drove around town and various places until the edge of the mood had been dulled somewhat, many hours later.

So I don't know; what do I live for? What really matters and makes the hassle that we call life bearable and palatable, makes me *glad* to be alive? What is there to strive towards?

• Love- as far as I'm concerned this is just about the only thing really worth living for. Were you to talk to me in person about it, I'd sound pretty jaded and cynical, but that's only because it matters so much and I'm disappointed with the way things have worked out. I have a very definite idea of exactly what I want, and I won't compromise for anything else. So, moving right along here,
  
• Art- If I could be a serious artist and do the sort of work that expresses what I want it to, that'd be worth living for. I could sublimate the drive for the above into my art and be reasonably content. Maybe. With that in mind, I went through my sketchbooks and drawings this morning. There's very little recent work, and virtually none from the past five or six years. I've been too preoccupied with mudane tasks, and there just isn't much to show for it. What there is, tends to be good, but not what I'd call stellar. It's a little too self concious and constrained. Anyway, maybe there's hope here. We'll see.
  
• The goats- To me, goats fall into the same category as art. They're labors of love. And to some extent, a well bred dairy goat is like a walking, living sculpture, always changing position. I've done a lot of work with the genetics and the goats definitely have some potential, if only we could feed and manage them a little better. People are constantly telling me to give up the goats. They don't realize what they're asking.
  
• The children- I don't care if this _should_be_ at the top of the list. I can't afford to have it there. I'm not good enough at mothering to make it my main goal in life. But I do care about them deeply and whenever I feel suicidal they're most of the reason why I stay.

I wish I could say that writing down this list has given me some perspective or made me feel better in some way, but it hasn't. It only makes me aware of the deficiencies. Anyway- this is the last day I have alone to establish any changes I want to make, so I should curtail the navel gazing and get working- (on what, though?). God, I miss you.

Hmmmm. Looked at this tonight. I don't know yet what to think about it. I couldn't believe how the list went on and on, one guy after another. People aren't something to use up and throw away. I guess that for the sake of brevity, she didn't list all the facts, and there may've been more to it than what she wrote. But still...to play around with someone's heart like that...to induce them to let down their guard, and then walk away, knowing that they love you...why start in the first place? Why not spare them the pain?

Could I write such a list- I don't know. Objectivity tends to be a strong trait for me, but not in that area. Emotional stuff is my achilles heel, which is why I tend to steer clear of it if I can. Maybe that's why I don't even want to think about compiling my own series of accounts. The other thing is that, well, to look at people and relationships that way, as in 'what did I get out of it', bothers me. I can honestly say that in every serious relationship I've had, I was hoping it'd be THE one, THE soulmate and lifelong companion and confidante. Maybe that was asking too much, but I still feel that a mate should be more than a sex partner, they should also be a best friend, the sort of person you trust above all others and would gladly walk through hell for if they needed you. Anything less just isn't worth bothering with. There's nothing like looking into someone's eyes, knowing that they understand you, that you can be honest with them, that your minds mesh, to have that tacit communication that transcends words. It's rare, but it's the only thing worth having, IMO. Settling for less just highlights the absence of what should be and isn't.

Enh. :shakes off sentimentality for a moment, knowing it will likely settle onto me again, like a veil: There is still a lot of work I have to do around here. Trash to run to the dump (again- there's a lot of it built up over the years), cleaning, people to email, bills to pay, the worst of it is letter writing. I hate writing letters except when I'm truly inspired. The insincerity of filling an entire page with trivialities and polite nothings irks me to no end, and then you have to start all over on yet another, and another... I love my relatives, but they aren't interested in the things that really matter to me, so why write? Maybe if I set a quota; one letter a day. God, that sounds like some kind of a sentence or punishment. I suppose I could make a marathon of it and get it all over with in an hour or two. Unfortunately, they sometimes compare letters, so I have to dredge up *different* insincere trivialities for each letter, and by the time I've done two or three, my mind runs dry and blank. If only I could paint a picture instead, and scrawl a short note on the back- 'Thanks for the X, here is what bloomed today in the garden'. I should try that sometime. It'd be a lot more palatable to me. It isn't the usual, but they've long since become accustomed to other than expected interactions by now anyway. I could tell them all about my breedign plans for the goats and that the bucks are coming into rut, and the does in heat...but on second thought, I do believe they'd rather have a picture. ;^D

The laundry is done. The extra goats are gone. :breathes a huge sigh of relief and satisfaction: Now I need to find a job, and soon- before I fall back into the pit of despair. Momentum!! It used to be that I had to trek halfway across a city on foot, (in the days when I was homeless) before I got to a Job Service and registered. Filling out the resume was always a problem....Now, it's a lot easier since it can all be done online. No waiting in line, eyeing other homeless and migrant workers, no exchanges of where the best free lunch is, don't I miss it all?? Nope, not a bit! See, I've been there already, time and again. I have hit rock bottom a few too many times and I'll be damned if I'm going to spend the rest of my life there.

I figure that by now, whatever sort of penance or punishment I may've deserved or had coming has long since been meted out. Much of it seems to have been self induced, anyway...but that's another story in a moldy, mildewy chapter, and now that I've got access to the laundromat, I hope never to see moldy clothing again. I'm rambling....speaking of homelessness and mildew, I found a few thigns while sorting through a box of papers (now that I've abandoned organized religion, there are a LOT of irrelevant pamphelts and magazines and etc, etc that can be disposed of). I'd forgotten about this, but I ran across a newspaper article and booklet of some artwork I'd sold when I was homeless in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Cheyenne is a crappy place to be homeless...let me tell you. The people there do NOT want homeless people around. I think they had a soup kitchen, though. It served roadkill antelope stew. Don't think there was a shelter, I honestly don't recall where we slept. They did have a Wyoming Coalition For the Homeless; it was just a rundown old building where you could hang out during the day. They had this deal where they'd pay $3.00 per drawing or piece of art, and so I sold them quite a few. I kept the originals: they just copied the work. I thought little more of it. The money was welcome either for gas, food or diapers. A year or two later, envelopes arrived at my dad's mailign address: the artwork, mine as well as other's, had been exhibited and featured in a newspaper or two. One paper has a full color reproduction of mine on it's front page. I leafed through them, the work embarrasses me a little now. It's so...dreamy and idealistic/romantic. I guess it was my escape from the all too unpleasant realities of life.

The dreamer lives on, a little disillusioned but quite alive nonetheless. It's just that pipedreams aren't enough, there has to be action and change or nothing happens. And you know, it's a little ironic. Because for as miserable as life was with my first husband, I was able to endure it. Why? Because he didn't crush my dreams. They were always possibilities he was willing to entertain and consider acting on. The guy was a nutcase, true. Now, things are actually quite a bit easier, but without a dream, without a purpose in life, a passion, something to love or to strive for, what good is it? Hardship is tolerable. A pointless existence is not. So- :shaking off black shreds of melancholy: I have to recapture the dream (while maintaining objectivity and sensibility, of course).

That reminds me: I had the wierdest dream last night. In it, the world was falling apart, to pieces, literally. But I wasn't scared- I braced myself for it and handled it just fine. When the blow had struck, I saw a group of goats, and realized that all the evolution and hundreds of thousands of years of breeding dairy goats had reverted to square one. These goats were feral, wilder than anything I've ever seen. They had long, black shaggy hair, horns, were small, wiry, and had the wildest, craziest eyes I've ever seen. Oh, and they were *aggressive*. I felt a sinking in my stomach to see that this was all I'd have to start out with in recreating the dairy goat, and just how far removed the two were, as to be almost unrecognizable as even related species...They were leaping around with blazing eyes like creatures possessed, and they reared at me. But I grabbed their horns and broke them off, broke all the horns off all the goats, and then they stood quietly, their eyes became calm and golden like a domestic goat's eyes, and I knew it wouldn't be hard to effect the rest of the change. Strange as dreams go, but it seems auspicious enough. :-)

Well, I don't know what was up with that. All I can figure is that maybe it was my heart playing tricks on me again. (No, not that one; I mean the physical, muscular organ located in the thoraic cavity. The only thing I've ever understood about the other one is that it's very stubborn, loves to find new ways to humiliate me, and resistance is futile.) The cardiac organ gave me some trouble during and after my last pregnancy, but I thought it'd calmed down. Whatever. It's fine today.

I was reading a book where they ask you to find the common denominators between the people you've been in love with. I had a really hard time finding any. About all I could come up with was intelligence, eyebrows, and gentleness. Eyes and hands are nice, but I can't really draw any definite preferences; blue, green, brown, strong square hands or long attenuated ones. All that seems to matter is that the eyes be intelligent and well framed with expressive eyebrows and that the hands be gentle! Oh and smell: scent is a *must*. But it's such an ineffable quality. The book's premise seemed to be that loving someone is a disastrous state of affairs that should be avoided, and I'm not sure that I agree with that. It definitely takes one past the comfort zone at light speed, but isn't life all about pushing boundaries and reaching new discoveries and conclusions? Doesn't taking the safe route lead ever more to stagnation and inertia? I can't see any point in living a safe, predictable life where nothing new or interesting ever happens.

I guess that's been part of the problem with things here. There must be more to life than just schhlepping through it day after day, never really having a deep or meaningful interaction, just dealing with one dirty diaper or non-functional homestead component after another. Even if everything worked, simulataneously, it'd still be boring as hell, and lonelier.

On that note, my deep and meaningful task of the day is to go to the laundromat and get back in time to meet the goat buyer. *nirg*

Man, I feel weird tonight, kind of woozy and lightheaded; sort of like you do if you lose a lot of blood, only I haven't lost any. Managed to milk the goats, though. I spent most of the day cleaning up trash and getting a load of stuff together for the thrift store, and then we donated the stuff and ran to the dump, where we found a bunch of perfectly good children's outdoor toys. Most of them are better than what my kids already had, so we brought them home. Oh, I can't think. Brain feels all befuddled. Tomorrow a gal comes by to buy up 7 or 8 goats. She's a meat buyer, and I hate to do it, but that's just the way things are sometimes.

I was looking at my paintings tonight, remembering what they meant/mean when I did them, trying to imagine another one. Putting my thoughts/feelings into words, especially verbally, is never easy for me...it always seems to come out half hearted or not quite right somehow, lacking force, or if it is fully expressed, tends to embarrass me. Expression is definitely not a strong point here, which is why art and music mean so much to me. Actually, it's probably why I like Elton John's music- because it's soooo expressive. Anyway, where was I headed with this? Oh, yeah. If I could make a painting now, it'd express that people are like onions. Or nuts, maybe. What I mean is that there is this facade, this shell that gets presented to the extrernal world, and it's like a protection, but the inner person is underneath all that. Some people have a whole lot of facade and not much under it. Not infrequently, the outward identity doesn't match with the inner one. Artichokes, they have all these layers and layers of leaves (petals actually- it's a flowerbud) and only the barest hint of its true nature at the base of each leaf. And then, after a lot of work and perseverence, you encounter a rosette of prickly. spikey thorns, enclosing the soft and tender heart. To look at the plant, it's hard to believe that something so weedy could possibly yield anything like an artichoke heart. It looks for all the world like a thistle on steroids. Anyway, I've been rambling again...but it just goes to show that appearances can be deceptive.

Then there is role playing. People play their little roles and do what they're expected to do because after all, it's the acceptable thing (acceptable to others, that is...) and between that and the frigging facades, they could just about forget they ever had any other kind of an identity. I'm so sick and tired of living by someone else's script. Let them live their own roles if that's what they want. And why would anyone want to deal with other people on a daily basis with whom they have to constantly maintain a kind of protection? It's a strain and a pain, and it's why I don't have more than a few friends. If you can't be real with someone, why bother at all beyond the barest necessities?
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So that's my rant for tonight. I'm lonely. I don't think I've really given anyone a hug in.....you know, I honestly can't remember. Probably one of my kids or a goat. It's been a long time. :-/

I'm not depressed though. Things are definitely changing for the better. Today I passed the driving test and finally got my license! It may seem like a small thing until you consider I've had the instruction permit for about 7-8 years and renewed it several times. Finally having the license is going to be a huge difference. Next I need to procure a job and living arrangements of some kind. Also, to streamline the goat herd and trim it down to only what is needed for the breeding program. It looks as though there are at least seven that can go immediately, plus two to butcher, and two being boarded temporarily. So that's -11 right there. I have no idea how many are out there at present, about 30? Too many. Which reminds me- I need to milk and feed them now. ;-)

Current mood is fairly upbeat: I just got back from the Interstate Fair where I showed 16 of my goats. They did well enough, all things considered, and I had a really nice time. A friend came with me, and I have to say that it made all the difference in the world in terms of actually enjoying the fair. The years past seem incredibly stressful and...well, sort of hollow and empty by comparison. Being alone in huge crowds of people isn't much fun.

Ah yes...the serotonin levels are still soaring (it's truly amazing that the sort of blows and downfalls that'd normally crush me, for days maybe, glide right over me at times like this). I expect that pretty soon it's going to drop significantly, so I've stocked up on dark Dove chocolate to cushion the landing somewhat.

Problems always seem harder when you're right in them, and being away has given me the perspective and objectivity I needed (well, maybe not all of it, but enough!) to go ahead and make some decisions and move in the right direction. Live surrounded by problems long enough, and they begin to seem insoluble (is that the right word?), and in time, one comes to accept them as necessary. It's a nasty trap, and the only way I've found combat it is to physically leave until the monster shrinks to mortal proportions, after which it can be dissected and solved.

Despite having a very happy week, I've actually gotten only a little sleep, having had a teething baby on my hands pretty much all the time. Poor kid- like all my children, he cuts his teeth in pairs; by the time they get the first four through the gums, their patience (and mine!) and has worn verrrry thin. So I think I'll catch some sleep now. :yawn:

So I've been wrestling with my new website this morning. I'm not sure exactly what I'm doing wrong, but I *cannot* get a seperate area for text on the right hand side of the page. The left side has a list of links, and anything added after this ends up after the links. I've tried all sorts of commands...and none of it has any effect. It's really irritating, because I know that the reason must be something fairly simple that I've been overlooking all this time.

Also dysfunctional today are: my main e-mail account, the group of forums that I hang out on several times a day (and had posted some time sensitive questions on), and my yahoo mail account, which seems to be so riddled with viruses that I'm going to have to cancel it. I am cut off from the world, like a withered branch broken from its tree! It looks like I'll have to rediscover whatever it was I did before we got the computer. :-P

Well, so much has been going on lately, I hardly know where to begin. My birthday has come and gone; I'm another year older. The past year hasn't been an easy one for me, and it looks as though the one to come is going to involve a lot of restructuring. The time of my birthday also marks the general anniversery of my partnership- seven years now. Seven years is a long time. It's a major chunk of my life. Seven years ago, I was considering medical school. Had I done that, I'd have one more year to go before my internship (assuming I'd made it that far). I don't regret not doing that, but, three more children later, I do wish I'd taken the opportunity to go to school. I've devoted seven years of my life towards trying to make this thing work...and it isn't. The difficulties that were present at it's inception are still present for the most part, and more aggravated for having been there for that time; and then there are others that I hadn't considered or even dreamed of. I like my partner as a person. We've shared some good times together. So I honestly don't see much sense in our tormenting one another any longer, until we can't stand the sight of each other.

It's not an easy conclusion to come to, but I don't know what else to do. I've tried just about everything I can think of. Meanwhile, I've dropped all the religious dogma that made it possible to tolerate the intolerable; which makes me more assertive (difficult!) and outspoken (militant!!).

Other than that....the fair is coming right up. I've been getting ready for it; my clippers are nonfunctional, which means A: I can't clip the goats and B: therefore, there is a lot less preparing to do. I can't help wondering if it'll be the last goat show I ever go to, or maybe the last for some time, anyway. :-(

For my B-day, my friend gave me a book about the artist Aubrey Beardsley. This guy's work is very talented, and oh, so funny and entertaining. I love satire. Drawn by another artist, the subject matter might be offensive. But this guy has a way of making what should be perceived as naughty, elegant and beautiful (while still naughty, of course!). It isn't all that way, but even the 'decent' work tends to have an acid wit interwoven with stylized flowers, vines, and women. Google for him...you'll see what I mean.

Life has been good. I advertised some goats for sale in the newspaper, and sold two today, as well as arranging a barter for another, and it looks like the others have buyers lined up, too. It's a relief, since I really didn't want to send them to the sale barn. When you do that, you never know who is going to buy them and what sort of life they'll have.

I just finished another painting- this one of three plums. I'm not sure why, but I'm having a difficult time blending one area of color into another. It's not that it can't be done or that I cannot do it, but it doesn't agree with me much. Plums don't generally have broken color, as would say, a peach or nectarine. The colors in a plum flow smoothly and subtly. Not my plums. Oh well. I like them. It seems that I've blended and gradated colors in watercolor before..,maybe not much though. I tend to break the subject down into shapes dictated by the color areas and natural lines, and then fill these in with solid colors. They make have slight variations in tone, any more than that is broken off into another fragment. Anyway, I like the plums. They've got personality, more than the actual fruit did. Which remings me- painting fruit is almost as bad as painting cyclamens! It doesn't move and twist, but it *does* change color, appreciably, from day to day. I'd expect this from a banana, but never before realized a plum did it until I looked, carefully, at the same three fruits over a weeklong period. By the end of the week they were hardly the same, because the shape changes too as they ripen and soften.

The lady at the library really wants me to bring in my art so she can take down some of the other stuff. ;^) And, my friend found a horse trailer I can use to haul the goats to the fair in. Yeah!

Well, I've got about a gazillion things to do. There are goats to tattoo and clip before the fair, as well as other preparations in that arena, a chapter of a book that I got drafted into assisting into editing-the deadline is sometime soon, a very banal piece of cross-stitch that I owe as barter, and the list goes on (and on, and on, and on, like energizer batteries). Therefore, what am I doing? I've been painting. Yeah, been painting up a regular storm here. I actually like some of it, too. And I don't think I've felt suicidal even once in the last, what?, four or five days. And that, my friend, is progress! No, you don't need to call the funny farm for me. For one thing, I'm fine right now. For another, melancholy seems to be a normal state of mind at least part of the time, or maybe I've become accustomed to it. At any rate, I've lived until now with it, so.....

About the paintings- most of the recent work is fruit or botanical. There was a library book sale last weekend, and we bought up a _lot_ more books. More on that later, perhaps. While there, I checked out the art that is displayed there, as well as the library books in that vein. The art on the walls is for sale. Some of it sells for upwards of $150, which surprised me. I mean, this is rednecksville! To behonest, the work was of that genre. Which is to say, it tends to be trite and shallow, without much depth or thoguht into the subject. Some of the artists have their technique down better than I do. I only started oils this year, and being self taught, it's pretty much trial and error for me. Apparently these artists have a club, as the quilters have a quilt guild (which I'm still part of although I hardly ever quilt these days), and they display their art in the library and local businesses and sell it. There is no commision taken and there is a high turnover- most of the work gets sold! (This is truly incredible to me, having seen the work. Sorry, but it's the truth.) I'm going to have to look into this further.

Other, extraneous thoughts: I wonder how other people think. How do their minds work? It's become apparent to me that my mode of thought isn't at all standard. For example; a single thought or subject can (and often does) torment, niggle, and weigh heavily upon my mind for days, weeks, even months or years on end. People tell me to 'quit thinking about X'. Huh? Quit thinking? How do you do that? The only easy way for me to quit thinking about one thing is to adopt another, different thought, and the new thought has to be pretty captivating. Then, I'll think about that for a long, long time, wear it out, and move on to something else, or mull over one of the old subjects again. What do other people think about? Do they not concentrate on one or two subjects? Their minds simply flit from one thing to another, never delving deeply into any of it? Do they *think*? Or do they react to whatever external stimuli they encounter throughout the day and that's all? Wouldn't it be sort of annoying to surrender one's thoughts in such a way? I mean, I react too, but only if it seems more important than whatever is on my mind, and even as I'm reacting, my mind is likely to still be churning over some interesting subject while my body deals with the humdrum everyday stuff. Ahhh...introverted thinking. Absent minded professers are not at all absent from their minds. Absent from conventional reality, perhaps. But who gives a damn about conventions, anyway? Not me! ;-)

Music- Today I painted a peach while listening to this song. It's perfect, the song that is. The peach turned out well too; nectarines are OK but they can't even approach the passionate luciousness of a peach. I love that song, it expresses everything so perfectly- the wistful, breathlessness of it all. :sigh:
Where was I? Oh yeah; so that was what I listened to earlier. Right now it's this. I can certainly relate to _that_. Sometimes I think we've been led astray and ripped off by our culture. I mean, maybe love is a pipe dream that most of us will never realize for any appreciable length of time. Perhaps if people weren't brought up with stupid fairy tales and hopeless ideals, they'd be better prepared for happiness in the real world. It could be asserted that the problem has to do with so many children growing up in broken homes and longing to find healing and fulfillment in a mate; however the truth of it is that even at the beginning of the last century, it wasn't uncommon for one of the parents to die due to various reasons, and of the ones who did have two parents, who's to say their life was actually happier than the average single parent child today? The fact that these fairy tales have been around for so long tells me the idealized love isn't a new fad, yet I still maintain that our culture weights love too heavily with too many expectations that it can't even begin to fill. Companionship, for example: if you can't be close friends with someone before falling in love with them, why in the heck should it be assumed that hormones will result in a friendship? And there are all sorts of other considerations and criteria necessary if a long term bond is desired. OK, so maybe I'm cynical. Whatever. Unfortunately for myself, I do still believe in love (Hey, yet another Elton JOhn song). It's just that, to borrow a line from another of his songs: "Tell me how does it work? How do you make things fit? Spent all my life trying to get it right, I put it together and it falls apart..."

Current mood? How about a weather forecast: Severe storms culminating in hell and despair through Thursday and Friday. By early Saturday morning the storms had abated somewhat and the skies remained darkly overcast with frequent showers of anxiety throughout most of the day. Saturday evening showed us a few lightning strikes and thunder in the distance. Overnight, a northern front moved in and the temperature dropped resulting in cool, clear resolve throughout most of Sunday. Forecast for the next few weeks: the cold front is expected to remain for some days with a high probablity of ice storms. Preperation and precautions for this are advised. As the cold front and severe weather recedes, we expect to see partly cloudy skies turning to mostly sunny after several weeks. There is a possibility of more hellstorms around that time, but currently it is too soon to tell.

Finished the nectarine painting. It isn't perfect, but succumbing to the temptation of overworking a piece tends to ruin it completely. The essence of the idea is there, which is what counts (I guess). The other oil painting, the one with the tree, may have to wait a while longer. I want cerulean blue for it, and can't get the color locally. I could settle for lightening up the cobalt blue, but it wouldn't be the exact color I want, so i'll wait.

I've reconnected with several old friends/family members in the past week and a half. It makes me feel profoundly depressed and lonely; they have so much feeling and richness to their lives, and here I am like some sort of an emotional retard. I mean- they gush, they've missed me, one of them had been 'mourning' for me, and what do I feel? Very little. It's hard to know how to respond to that sort of thing, but it does make me feel guilty. I try to think of the people I do care about enough to really miss (more than momentarily), and I can count them on one hand or less. It's true that there's a depth there that could be missing in those who have many connections, but who am I to determine or compare that? Can one go through life like an android or the Tin Man? Sometimes I don't like myself very well. :-/

Full moon tonight, and meteorites, too. I'm getting tired of the banner ads here. They're boring. Let's see if I can change them: Renew rational thought process! Revolutionary breakthrough proves herbal formula causes impotence! Jungian type tests show that there aren't nearly enough NT's in the world, and altogether too many extraverts! Self help manual for over sexed INTP s! Ancient formula for love and aphrodiasiac capsules has been proven to be as ineffective as we all suspected in the first place! MBTI and IQ analysis indicates intelligence can be a contraindication to romance! Better than viagra! Meet sexy nerds now!!!

Let's see...did I miss anything? ROFL.... I get such a kick out of spam even as it annoys me. There must actually be people in the world who fall for it, or it wouldn't still be around.

Well, it's 1:21 AM and I'm still up and only moderately tired. The pony arrived today; he's quite small but very gentle. I don't think it'll be any trouble at all to train him. I cycled into town, got groceries, and after dinner and milking started on two oil paintings. One is of a tree/landscape, the other is a large nectarine. I used to think of nectarines as sort of androgynous, but I've revised my opinion of them. They're quite sensuous fruits that simply get overshadowed by their very female sister the peach. They've got a little more acidity and firmness to them, too. Maybe I could actually grow to prefer them to peaches. Perhaps.

Random thought for tonight- when people feel driven to fulfill societiy's expectations and demands, why do they do it? Do they feel obligated to do so out of duty? Who defines these epectations? Consensus. Why would anyone want to live that that and how can they bear to do it?? If they want to do XYZ that's fine, but simply to do it because everybody does XYZ and that's the way it's done? What do they have to look forward to or to strive towards? Why don't they ever question it? Are they afraid? Or merely complacent?

My dad always told me I had to be conventional. I couldn't do it and never actually tried...He used to say that wherever I went, it'd be the same, that people wouldn't accept me, that I'd have to jump through hoops and do things the normal way. Being stubborn, I had to try to prove him wrong. The truth of the matter is that I've got no tolerance for people who don't make the slightest attempt to think for themselves, and I care very little whether they approve of me or not! Except, he was right. in a way. It is lonely, and I don't fit in anywhere. His mistake was in thinking I could be anything else.

Yes. The reason they do it, the reason they conform, is that life is less kind for the outsider. They're bound together by a sort of permanent, pervasive, and lifelong peer pressure. Herd animals.

Something lighter for a change. ;-)

Coral Castle
Luna Parc
Forestiere Baldasere

Three inspiring dwellings; They're all neat but I tend to prefer Baldasere's underground gardens.

Somewhat less inspiring: In my old home town, Harvard, Illinois (former milk capital of the world), they're going to build the nation's largest indoor water park. It'll be six stories tall and include a vaariety of other diversions. The site where it will be was formerly a Motorola plant, which I didn't find all that inspiring, either. I remember the area for corn and soybean fields and Holstein cows, not tourist traps. :-/ It could be worse: the Motorola plant can be seen easily from my Grandma's back yard. The last time I was there, she insisted on driving me to it and all around it (why??). She was quite proud of it. Then, it almost got turned into a state prison facility and she was pretty upset about that. So she's thrilled about the water park. Maybe I'll go visit it the next time I'm out there. Since it's there, you know (or will be).

I've been looking for a picture on the computer, and somebody moved it. :snarl: I know it's here somewhere. It doesn't matter. I've got a practically photographic memory. All the same...irritating! A person can become accustomed to physical objects being moved (mostly by children), but you still expect things to stay where there are, here, at least I do.

Anyway, moving on to other subjects; on Monday we'll be getting a pony in exchange for boarding a pair of goats that I just sold a few months ago. It's only a year old, so it will need several years of time and work before it can be ridden. Right now it's no bigger than one of the goats. I've wanted a horse for some time, but if the kids were to ride it, it has to be tame and gentle. This way I'll be able to do that myself and there will be no bad habits to break. I actually wanted one that I could ride, but there's not really time for that now. Someday...there are a lot of things I'd like to do someday. If I don't start on it none of them will ever happen.

Some aquaintances with a whole herd of children are getting a divorce, and it's been really messy. She calls the cops on him, he denies charges, they go to court, it's a real disaster. I can understand that it's not always possible for two people to get along for their entire life together. What I don't get is why they have to end that time in such an angry, negative way. I mean, why don't they just sit down and say, 'this isn't working anymore, we've had some good times togther, let's part as friends' ? Particularly when there are children involved, why does there have to be such an excess of hatred? I suppose they're defensive. Divorce still carries a stigma and each party wants to blame it on the other person. Or, maybe they postpone the parting until they absolutely, positively cannot stand the sight of one another and are *really* angry and bitter. Waiting one is overwhelmed with irrational rage and emotion to make a life changing deecision seems very unwise, but that seems to be the way it's done more often than not. :-/

What else...we finally got an amplifier for the record player. It's laughable- everyone else is out getting the latest technology and here I am buying up old Peter, Paul and Mary albums. Having bought them, I needed a way to play them and two years later, I can. There are also some classical records including one of Bach. I put it on today- talk about a blast from the past. I recognized almost every piece, I'd heard them since birth and quite possibly before. My dad is a musician. My earliest memories of him are of his music, of him practicing the organ while he played in the church balcony. As the music played, I could hear the soft flapping of the pipes in the little room they occupied, smell their scent, the scent of music, feel the vibrations of sound through my body. It took it all for granted then. It was a part of my life and at times I grew very tired of it. I miss it now. When other people play the piano or organ, I just smile and nod. They're good, but not like dad. Other people's music is jumbled, emotional, the notes mess and slop against one another. When he played, it was like the sound of mathematics, every note clear, clean, precise. The notes were brilliant, they didn't just pile up against one's conciousness like a pile of debris. He played a lot of Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven, but I think more Bach than the others. The highest compliment I can pay a piano or organ player is that they sound like my dad, and it's funny because in his mind he's not good enough. I miss his music, and I miss him. Unfortunately we don't seem to get along well enough to spend very much time together. I'm too opinionated, too strong, too unconventional. Regardless, nobody can substitute for him.

And that's the way I am: within me there are compartments, and once a part of me is set aside for someone, nobody else can fill that place. Is everyone like that? Maybe I'm just more stubborn and adamant about it than most folks. Will have to think about this.

Life is better tonight (although somehow, everything is pretty much the same. It just doesn't bug me as much.) I did another watercolor, and this one turned out well. It wasn't the disembodied sort, for a change.

I sent in the entry forms for the fair, so it looks like I'll be taking about 16 goats for a four day vacation. Sort of...if you call camping out and showing dairy goats such. It'll be a *lot* of work. But, it'll be fun, I'm looking forward to it, as long as it goes better than the last show. That time, I was simply unable to do the amount of work necessary in order to give the girls a fair shot in the ring. Half of them were not clipped, and....there were a lot of things that went wrong. It was really embarrassing, and being a public performance made it worse. :shudder: I'll have to do better this time.

What else; I found two fairly amusing origami sites. This one is simply hilarious! If you're sensitive or prudish you should probably skip this. Honestly, I would never have guessed...lol! I like origami. It's cool. I've been meaning to make a mobile for my baby boy (Noah), with a variety of origami animals. I'll have to look around for some ideas. The ultra simple ones aren't any fun.

Current mood: groggy and tired, the detritus of dreams floating around in my dehydrated brain. Some are like jewels fallen from my grasp, others like faded shreds of old cloth or sinister nothings hiding behind a dark corner of my mind.

I've been watching a movie about Jackson Pollock (the movie is, appropriately enough, 'Pollock'), mainly because I wanted to better understand his work. In all truth, this is one artist whose work I never understood at all. In short, it looks like a mess. Actually, the impression I had was that the guy has chewed up a bunch of paint and then gotten sick and vomited all over the canvas. Why anyone would want to pay for it was clearly beyond my comprehension. Now that I'm halfway through the movie, it comes into focus. This guy was a mental and emotional _mess_. He was an alcoholic completely out of control, unsure of himself, insecure and clingy. He was disposed toward sudden outbursts of rage and inappropriate behavior. His work only expresses his inner turmoil and confusion. We all- artist or not- express our personality in everything we do (or don't do). I think of Piet Mondrain- a precise, tidy, and rather ascetic man; his works reflect his personality. Van Gogh- a tormented dreamer and romantic bordering on madness; his paintings reflect that.

I've been working off and on, not as much as I'd like because I require a certain amount of solitude and time for thought and quiet in order to work at all. This isn't easily attained in a house with five children. Much of what I do these days, and indeed, for the last ten years, seems tentative and rather forced. I used to be able to work without really caring what anyone else thought, used to be capable of whipping out fifteen or twenty drawings before I came up with one good one, and didn't give the failures a second thought. They were necessary and I recognized that. Now, I'm afraid. I don't want to waste the paper. I want every stroke, every mark, every line to be perfect, the first time. If it doesn't work out, and it doesn't, because it's too planned, too staid, I pick it apart and it torments me. Every once in a while I let go and produce something confident that's actually decent.

So- of the work that I do have; the latest is one of a single walnut leaf. It's pretty hideous. The colors- bright green against a rose pink background, are simply awful. I wanted chartreuse against fuchsia/magenta, but the green turned out too strong and I had great difficuly attaining even a faint approximation of magenta. If you knw how to get this shade in watercolors (or purple for that matter), please let me know! Before that, there was the oil painting of the skunk cabbage flower. I'm happy with that one, except that again, I wanted some purple in the background. Before that, there were at least three with a double theme- two cyclamens (twice), and two segments of an orange, two failed oils (again with a solitary image) and an oil pastel with a single comet against a black sky, inspired partly by this song. My watercolors are almost always done in a very controlled style in which the subject is broken down into segments of color. The segments do not touch and are seperated by margins, the white of the paper. It isn't a very spontaneous technique.

A single leaf, bloom, or peach, I hardly ever draw or paint a group of anything; in some way perhaps the single theme expresses isolation and aloneness. People often tell me that I must feel isolated because I rarely get out or see other people: this is a line of crap. Whether I'm with someone or not, I'm usually alone, and it's much more pleasant when I'm also physically alone. There have been a very few times when I've felt close/ in harmony with another person, and they are some of the happiest times of my life. There is always the temptation to prolong them, to try to make it a permanent state, but inevitably the moment passes and I'm alone once more.

The margins and spaces- in a way these echo the single theme, but there is the added element of detachment, of seperation. The pieces fit togther like a puzzle, forming a whole, yet each retains it's own shape and individuality. The thought of being swallowed up into another's identity, of boundaries being erased, gives me a panicked, claustophobic feeling. So perhaps what my art expresses is this: there can be beauty in detachment and solitude.

Today I cycled in to town, washed some clothes at the laundromat, and brought home a canary melon for dessert. I finished reading Lucifer's Hammer. Several trips to the thrift store have yielded a new supply of books, and I am now working through a course in Latin. I finally found a source of decent music in this town- the pawn shop! Used CD's are just $3 apiece, and at that price you can afford to experiment a little. They have a _lot_ of CD's; it says something for the economic state of the area that people here are desperate enough to pawn off all their music. Another book- The Man Who Loved Only Numbers. It's about Paul Erdos, a great mathemetician. Apparently he lived for nothing else but mathematics; was celibate his entire life, cared little about food or clothing, and was quite an eccentric.

I guess most people would pity him, but to have that sort of a driving purpose, to be consumed with passion for one thing and devote one's life to it, to be enamoured with something he could have, that nothing could take from him, and to be satiated with it...I sort of envy him. If only life were that simple for the rest of us.

I've been cycling into town the last few days. Yesterday and today I hit the thrift store and loaded up on books. A partial list: a lot of Discover magazines, an Algebra book that looks better than the one I've been trying to work with, Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook (an old one), one about names (can't say why but names fascinate me), More Games for the Super-Intelligent, an Internet book that seems geared pretty exclusively towards IE and the like, one about MBTI types and careers, an art book of photos by Edward Steichen (one of Abert Steiglitz's proteges), and a set of work/text books on learning Latin. I'm pretty pleased with this last find; I've wanted to learn Latin for years. The Games book is what it sounds like, math, logic, and word puzzles compiled with the help of Mensa. Speaking of which, somebody mentioned an online Mensa IQ test, which I didn't think existed, so I went and hunted around for it. I was right, they have a workout but they are explicit about it *not* being an IQ test. I ended up taking two other so-called IQ tests instead. The one on Emode was entertaining enough, but dropped my IQ by several points from what it had been in grade school. Of course that wouldn't do, so I took it again later when all the kids weren't making noise and distractions, got the same exact score. I then took another, which claimed to be scientific; this one boosted me by almost 20 points. So much for accuracy....it's a little scary when you consider that life changing decisions are sometimes made for small children on the basis of an IQ test score.

Now I feel bad: the gal I was fed up with just e mailed that she is going to pay for the does. I hate the way that money issues can take control of a person's life. The truth of the matter is that I'd be perfectly happy to *give* the goats away (assuming they went to good holes and were duly appreciated), if it weren't for the fact that the ones I keep incur expenses in vet bills, feed, medication, and replacement stock- also the yearly LN2 bill, which is coming right up.

Every so often I think that I should cut my losses and sell them all. Yeah, they're my friends, just about the only friends I have, and the only pets, at that. But they cost a lot to feed and I can't afford to do them justice so they can really hold their own in the showring. There are just too damned many of them. See, and that is the thing; when I'm really passionate about something, it isn't enough to have a token whatever and settle for that. One little scrub goat isn't enough, it has to be a herd of long, elegant, living sculptures with top of the line genetics. If I want concord grapes, one sprig won't do; a whole box might- two boxes is better! If I fall for a guy, I don't just like him, I totally lose my head and go completely out of my mind over it. I guess that the limited number of things that interest me is compensated for in intensity.

The thing is, if I sell the goats, it won't do any good. I'd just get a horse (or two, or...) or birds, or some non animal interest, and go ape over that.

Ooooh, I am ticked. Ticked, ticked, ticked! There are three people who've bought goats from me and owe me money. One of them will never pay me. Another might....maybe. The third one is what's got me seething. I went out of my way, bent over backwards to sell her a doe, and it was a last minute thing so she coudln't pay me before I sent it it her. I even threw in a free doeling, and the prices were _cut-rate_ let me tell you! She sent some of the money, came up with excuses, said she'd send it by X date, didn't, sent a little more later, and still owes me about $100, I think. Here is what burns me- she's already sold both the does, as well as the kid from one of them (she was pregnant), and has been buying pricey stock from across the country. I don't know who's been buying the does that came form me, but I feel sorry for them, because they've been scammed. Those goats will never have paperwork until I've been paid off, and it's a shame because they were nice animals.

Now I've been browsing a couple of benefit auctions hosted by goatbreeders for various good causes, and guess who's been bidding helter skelter? Yeah, she has! Grrrrr!!

But mostly, I'm mad at myself for letting three different people get away with this sort of thing. I hate confrontations, and I hate hitting people up for money. I hate dealing with money, period, to be honest. I wish I could just breed goats, have people call me up and say "I want that one", pay me in full and go home happy. Or, if I could just keep goats and not have to worry about the money end of it at all.

In the garden- the lavender is in bloom, as I think I mentioned before. I counted six different types of bees pollinating it: honeybees, bumblebees, huge elongated bumble-type bees, small fuzzy golden bees, and two sorts of small black bees. It's fun to watch them; they treat each sort of flower differently; but they seem to prefer the lavender. I'll have to plant more of it, it doesn't need much water and has been one of the more rewarding plants we've put in so far.

Lately, I often think that I don't know what to believe in anymore. Is there such a thing as truth? What is it, where is it? Are there any answers at all, or do we simply deceive ourselves into believing what we feel most comfortable and secure with? What irks me is that when I ask questions like this, I don't ever get any straight answers. More often than not, I get a bunch of rotten, worn out banalities and platitudes, or a heartfelt emotional reassurance, which leaves me with the uneasy sense that the person in question is actually attempting to reassure themselves rather than me.

I think I still believe in the golden rule; it seems like the only sustainable way to behave, since everything else would eventually backfire in one way or another. Perhaps sustainability is the measure? I find that I am often plagued by a feeling that I should be doing something, that I've been idle. But almost everything I consider, when I draw it to its conclusion, seem pointless. When I was a kid, I used to draw mazes, really involved, elaborate mazes. And that is the way it seems- like drawing into one dead end after another, finding a lead that looks workable, and it's not.

I can kind of see where orgnized religion comes in handy; it takes all the guesswork out of it. if you have a question, just look it up in the bible. Can't find it, then ask your pastor. So simple! I can almost envy them.

Current mood- Really tired. I'm a night person, staying up until 1-2 AM. My baby is very much the early bird. It's not a good combination. He wakes up and cries, not because he's hungry, or wet, or whatever; no, he cries because he's bored! When I sit up and look at him, he smiles. Try to go back to sleep again and the crying resumes. :groan:

My latest interest has been codes. I've got one that I think has the potential to be nearly unbreakable with a little more work. It's handwritten though, and I can't figure out a way to use it on the computer. The same characteristics that would make it difficult to decipher also complicate using it with a keyboard, even if I substituted conventional letters and numbers for the symbols. It's kind of funny that I spend so much time on it- I've been working with it for years- because when I first started I wanted to share it with someone and nobody else had much interest in it. And now, it's not as though anyone is threatening to crack it; it's simply fun to work with and I want to make it stronger just in case. Heh.

In the garden- hardy gladioli and daylilies are blooming and the raspberries are starting to ripen.

I shouldn't be up at this hour, but I am. Of what use are the shoulds and shouldn'ts of life when they don't mesh with reality? So- I found two more verses to 'You are my sunshine'. The goats will be happy for a little relief from the old version, methinks. While I was perusing the search results, I also ran across the chorus from an old Statler Brother's song. I used to like it when I was into country music as a teen.

Do you know, you are my sunshine
Do you know what your smile did to me
Do you know you are my sunshine
And it looks like you're always going to be.

Nice song. I went in to Newport today and spent entirely too much time trying to locate some decent music. Ben Franklin's didn't have what I wanted, they referred me to Radio Shack (which seemed dubious, and it was- NO music at all), then I found a better selection at the pawn shop, including 2 CD's that looked good- the actual CD's were different from the cases. Arrrgh! Culturally speaking, this place is pretty pathetic. The speakers aren't hooked up to the computer or there'd be a little more variety. As it is, I like the library CD of Art Garfunkle depresses me almost every time I hear it, even though it's hauntingly beautiful and I can relate to it, and the Elton John tape is great but how many times can you listen to one tape before you get sick of it??

Speaking of Elton JOhn, one of his songs has been running through my head. Here is a snippet or two of it; the lyrics for the whole song can be viewed here

Love hurts so much
Love leaves a scar
'I don't love you' is like a stake
Being driven through your heart
:snip:
I have no feelings, I have no heart
Love always cuts out the warm and tender part

I guess that subconciously, I sort of believed this. While butchering the goat the other day, I came to the part where you remove the viscera. As far as I'm concerned, organ meat is either dog food or compost material. DH doesn't agree. So as the mass of stomachs, intestines, etc were about to fall into the bucket, he quickly reached in and grabbed the liver. Yuck! Just as I was breathing a sigh of relief and about to can the rest of it, he goes in for the heart, but it wouldn't tear free; I had to hold it while he cut it loose. I was surprised by the way it felt. It was- so soft, so tender and vulnerable, sort of squishy. I felt a sort of sympathy for the heart; somehow it seemed to deserve more respect than the brutal way it was being rippped out of the chest cavity. The texture and softness of that heart haunted me for the next few days, because for some irrational reason, I hadn't expected it to be soft. I thought it'd be, well you know- firmer, harder, sort of like a leathery football. That's how I've always thought of my own heart, as having a sort of shell or crust around it. After all, when emotional crap comes up, it does feel like stabbing/breaking. But contrary to the song, the sensation and actual state of the organ apparently don't have much correlation. Ack, I'm finally getting tired and not making a whole lot of sense, I fear.

Current mood: wired and frustrated. Which is sort of surprising actually, considering that I didn't get much sleep last night and it's past midnight now. Current music: none (kids sleeping) except for the Beatles song rolling around in my head- '...it's driving me mad, it's driving me mad...'

In the garden: the lavender is in full bloom, very nice and smells wonderful. A few of the lilies survived the gophers and will be blooming soon. The hay has been cut and baled.

The house is currently undergoing a lot of renovation and one of the next steps will be installing a floor. With that in mind, I've been looking through three sets of floor tile samples; there are about 40-50 in each set. There are a lot of similarities between the sets, and here is the amazing thing: none of the sets have pure, solid colors without some sort of textured pattern (the surface is smooth). I mean there isn't even a plain white, only white with flecks of blue and pink and grey or whatever. Perhaps they carry these but they are not in the sets. It's a little odd. So anyway, I am trying to come up with a color and or design for the floor. So far I am debating- midnight blue w/ pale yellow, medium light blue with a slightly stronger yellow, or maybe just beige (how boring, and I've always despised people who choose the ultra safe route, too).

LOL...Just deleted a spam email. It was titled, 'binoculars that take digital pictures!' And what would we use those for? To view the parties who've taken herbal pills to enlarge their breast or penis size? Oh dear...;-) You know I just don't get why there is the constant assumption that bigger is better. After all, there *are* practical limits.

Can't draw a straight line

Drawing the line is so hard...
Where is the line?
What is the line?
Dammit, where is that line?!
I can't see any lines
anymore.
Only greyness all around
Like a fog smothering me.


I hate goodbyes

To say goodbye
is to feel the door
swing closed
and to hear the click-
finality
Throw the key away
and then weep
in the black darkness.
Ever alone.

Some interesting sites A sidenote- if you're easily offended, don't look at these. I don't necessarily agree with them all.

Anarchist's wedding guide

About hermaphrodites

40 mistakes men make.... Uhhh, this is one of the sites I don't agree with 100%. But still, some of it seems so obvious that I can't believe it warrants being put on a list!

This article makes an interesting argument to the effect that nearly everyone is gay.

Another article, slightly different theme, same basic subject.

Then there is this, which I can only conclude is satire or a parody of the prudish. If it's not, well, I feel sorry for them!

By now you're probably wondering why I looked at and saved links for these sites. It's simple. My husband likes to leave windows and articles open on whatever browser I'm using. When I log on to the computer in the morning, I'm confronted with a page he thinks warrrants my attention. For a long time there were pro Palestinian and anti Israel sites. Then it was feminism, and the evils of it. I haven't listed or saved all those. Actually, the ones here are a mere sampling. If they amuse me, I save them. I have an idea that not all of them were posted with that intent!

And here, to top it all off; the sort of wife I will never, ever, be.
The Good Wife

The following letter appeared in the local newspaper. I have retained the misspellings...

Their out!
The bicyclists are back and thy are in very long lines!
Recently, I had to drive my recreational vehicle (RV) to Sagle for repair work. I decided to drive Dufort Road, south of the river at Stimson Mill.
RV's are wider than most sport untility vehicles (SUV) and autos; therefore, a driver needs to pay closer attention to driving especially when on a narrow windy road. In my opinion, Dufort Road us narow and windy, so the 45 per hour speed limit is there for good reason.
As I was rounding a curve with a double yellow line, I came to a group of bicyclists. To top it all off, there was a hill I had to travel up as well. I slowed down to what seemd like a crawl and noticed a car in my mirror.
The driver sounded the horn, which I assume was aimed at me for slowing down so quickly. I also had to cross the double yellow line to avoid hitting the bikes.
The bicyclists would not get over or off the oradto let us pass (yes, I was cursing loudly)! If a car would have been coming, or a truck, I would have had to get back in my land and probably would have hit a biker.
Hey, I'm not condemning bikers, but am asking them to please use their heads when navigating a route, especially on narrow roads, if for nothing else, for their own safety.
Maybe even getting off their bikes and steppign off the road to allow vehicles to pass. This might prevent serious injury or death.
I wonder who would have been at fault if a biker was hit in a situation similar to what I described.
I think the Sheriff's Department should take a good look at Dufort Road and maybe post signs to prevent bicyclists from riding that route for everybody's safety.
Hope this letter stirs some thought.
Les Wylie, Priest River

What an a**hole! This jerk was willing to hit people rather than slow down and take his time. I was seething (having encountered his sort before while cycling). Here is my reply.

A bicyclist responds

The letter from Les Wylie regarding bicyclists caught my eye. It shows a frightening ignorance of the Idaho Dept. of Transportation laws, which can be readily accessed in the driver's manual. As one who has relied heavily upon bicycles for transportation, sometimes hauling my children in a bicycle trailer, I am well aware both of the regulations and the fact that many drivers seem to be unaware of the law. In Idaho, pedestrians and bicyclists have the right of way. They do not have to get out of your way, or dismount to make room for you. The law states, "To increase the safety margin when passing a bicycle rider, move into the left lane if possible. If you are not able to chnage lanes, pass with as much clearance as possible. This may require waiting for a break in oncoming traffic if the shoulder of the roadway are narrow." (italics mine)

Regardless of the size of your vehicle, the inconvenience of considering the bicyclist's safety, or the urgency of getting wherever you are going a few minutes faster, you must observe the rules of the road! In today's fast paced life and culture of instant gratification there is a tendency to get there NOW and if someone else dies because of it, too bad! Mr. Wylie writes: " I wonder who would be at fault if a biker was hit in a situation similar to what I described." The driver would be at fault, and possibly subject to charges of manslaughter, particularly if there were witnesses. Most of the time, there aren't. I've had some very close calls. I think the sheriff's department should have a few plainclothes policemen riding bikes. Oh, the tickets they would rake in!!

Rebekah Leaf

Priest River

My thoughts are pretty disordered today, partly because I've got a headache. I keep neglecting to eat, because I'm not hungry. Other than fruit, cheese, and chocolate, nothing seems appetizing. By the time the headaches start, it's too late. :-/

Flotsam: I kind of liked this- 42 The strawberries are ripening. I don't care. They're as tiny as the wild ones, from lack of water, but without the sweet intensity that compensates for the diminuative size of the wild ones. The daylilies are just beginning to bloom, including a few that I started from seeds when I was at the height of my daylily obsession. Seductor and Nivia Guest, also purchased at that time, are going to bloom- finally, a couple of years after getting them. I've been painting, but nothing I do seems to turn out well. However it is still highly satisfying, which I don't understand at all.(?) Reading- Lucifer's Hammer. I don't know what's the matter with me; I feel quite whole in myself but it's as though all the world around me has gone colorless, dry and lackluster. I hate it.

For the fourth of July: I butchered a goat kid and we took it over to a friend's mother's place. There were a LOT of people there, near a hundred. Even my husband's ex-wife was there. it was a lot of fun just watching the various people interact. The goat was barbecued, and after eating there was a parade. Now, here is the interesting thing: at this parade, there are no spectators. The entire party of people marches down the county road, turns around, and marches back to the house! They ride tractors and horses, carry signs, sing songs and dress in costumes. Last year there were a number of handsome young men prancing around in bosomy dresses, constantly clutching at their fronts so as not to lose their breasts! So I was a little disappointed this time, but the crowd was still pretty lively and entertaining.

I was walking down to the barn tonight, in the dark as usual. I've no use for flashlights- they only ruin one's night vision. And out in the distance, I heard the sound- lu-bump-lu-bump-lu-bump- of a freight train in the distance. Suddenly, all the memories of transcience came back to me, clammy and chill in the night air. They were as clear as if once again, I were waiting for that train, expectantly.

I've joked and made light of having been homeless, well the truth is this: living on the streets is hell. The constant anxiety, never certain of whether you'll eat today or not, whether it'll be something more than a few slices of day old white bread, sleeping always with one's ears open, alert to the sound of anyone approaching, the ecstasy of a hot meal in a union gospel mission, even though it's the same damned thing every night: macaroni cooked with cheap hamburger and tomato paste. The grease isn't drained off and floats on the surface. It doesn't matter; the fact that it's food does. Countless other haggard faces, rarely seeing the same one two nights in a row. Always tired and run down from having slept on damp, lumpy ground, vigilant against being discovered. The contempt on the faces around you, and which you feel for them, dressed in nice clothes, driving their nice cars to a store two blocks from their house. They're so lazy and complacent, why should they care if someone else is struggling, and hate him for it?
Riding bicycles 7-8 miles to work as a temp in a steel factory. The ground is hilly and steep, so you're sort of tired by the time you get there. Even so, it's amazing how these people with regular jobs laugh and talk when they should be working. At the end of the day, you still have to ride all the way back home, catch dinner at the Salvation army if you're not too late, and then sleep in the stickiness of the tent. And always, there is the pervading, cold sweat of desperation.

I think being homeless is where I learned to read people; to pick up on the myriad clues every human betrays. The tilt of a head, the gait, a movement, and most of all, the eyes. The eyes, they tell so much. Even now, I still read people. The ones I dislike most are the phonies. If someone dislikes you and is honest about it, that's fine. But shallow fakey ladies who giggle too much and act friendly when they don't mean it turn me off. But mostly, to be honest, I read men, because women aren't often a physical threat whereas men can be. Several times I've taken an instant dislike to a man for no other reason than his scent: he smelled aggressive. Then there are the ones who smile while their eyes say something else, and those with eyes glowing with religious fanatacism, and the ones who don't seem quite right in the head. So many memories- they lie dull and heavy on my mind.