(no subject)

I began another round of mowing this morning. Since there is this strong sense that we are only talking about a few more days, I might have been forgiven for letting the lawn go. However, I didn't edge the lawn the last time I mowed, and it looks very bad, with tall grass-stems overhanging the curb on both the front and down the long-side against the street. So, I reasoned, I need to shower anyway, why not put in a half-hour of work to work up a little sweat. Once I got going, though, it became a good hour. I feel better about it.

Besides, the neighbors think ill enough of me, I'm sure. They will probably count themselves lucky if I don't turn out to be a serial killer, with dozens of bodies of children and prostitutes buried in the back yard and stuffed in the crawl-spaces of the house. Also, I am not entirely without hope that this might go on another week, and that we might come out of this tailspin yet. I cannot help thinking, just one good call from Arthudo and everything could go back to the way it was - with me much more appreciative of the time I am given.

(no subject)

I tried a pork chop. Remember, I tried pork chops once before, a little over fifteen years ago, not too long after Teri died, when I was missing her pork chops and mashed potatoes. I fried them in a pan then, like she used to do. This time I googled how to cook pork chops, and from Wiki-how I used the instructions for baking them in the oven. They came out better this time for me, but they are still not the treat they once were, and even if life returned to normal, I don't think I'd make the addition to my menu. Nevertheless, under these pressing circumstances, I am only happy to have them on my menu now. I got two more meals worth of chops in the freezer.

(no subject)

I want to shut up shop for the day, but I am having a super-tough time coming up with a third take. And I want to stick to this discipline. After all, I remain fond of the exercise of writing, and to me it's not like cleaning the toilet or mowing the lawn. Though, it can be hard at times, like now.

Maybe I will just make a confession. For a while I have been able to convince myself that I am feeling pretty cool about my fast-closing fate. I made my bed and I'm ready to jump in and pull the covers over myself. However, for the past couple of days, as my food stock dwindles and my time grows more scarce, as this becomes more real, my feet are getting colder. I kind of wish that I could run away from my fate. But I have really painted myself in a corner. Where to run to?

I wonder, if somebody offered me today a job flipping burgers or doing janitorial work, so that I can support myself, would I take it now? I don't know. Maybe? I'm scared enough. But I don't know and am still inclined to doubt it. But I wonder.