Monday, November 3

Mondays have a habit of feeling just like Monday. Woke up groggy from a weekend of book fairs. Unhappy with the house, not feeling well, no idea how to begin the day. Forget eating, no good food. To market, I decide, but first clean the kitchen.

Dishes books paper yarn. No dry cat food, Gata is mad. Vacuum the floor then mop. Leave it drying with paw prints all around.

Stop on the out to see Charlotte and her new knee. People in my family replace parts. My dad's up for new lungs again, it's got me in a state. I've got his car now and in it I can listen to cd's. Damien Rice makes me melancholy, one song makes me think of someone in particular for no particular reason. To Rowley past sewer work on 133.

At the market I try to use coupons. I stare like an idiot at toothpaste and canned soup and tissues and the like, calculating discounted unit prices. Stopping grey-hair traffic, those ladies can barely push the cart anyway. Give up at the kitty litter, too depressing to eke out the pennies. I'd rather work more. Hard time buying produce with my new rules about the ten most pesticide-ridden fruits and veggies. Leave not sure I have anything I need but still having spent plenty.

At home cook dinner slowly head hurts and body aches. Blacken tomatillos, roast garlic. Chicken in the oven. Rice on the stove. Puree tomatillos with chipotles and cilantro. Tortillas warming. Roast summer squash and zucchini. Re-fry beans.

James gone now, I stay home. Trying to get better so I can see my da tomorrow. Bringing him lunch. Want to spend some time.

I don't think I have crushes this week. I have worries and cares. Some nice thoughts of people in particular and some guilt for missing readings. Happy to have made guest appearances in dreams but unhappy with the dreams I am having. Add them to my list of worries.

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