5:47 PM (11 hours ago)

It’s raining…again. On and off. On and off.
I’m beginning to feel a bit British, dour at the very least.
And to be honest I am positively plagued with good ideas that clamor for attention. However, it seems I’m only in the mood to nap. Which is an impossibility given the children’s strange hostility toward the notion that perhaps their mother ought to take care of herself. They are occupied now. (My god it’s only 5:30.) I can guarantee that as soon as I try to do something that is difficult to do with children around, they will un-occupy themselves and demand my maternal attention.

So, I’m trying to think of what I should do.

Laundry (all clean, a mountain in my bedroom)

Finish painting the stairwell (requires ladder, which is currently laying on it’s side in the rain-delayed chicken-castle. Oh crap – I forgot that the hamster is still down there, possibly having finally passed away. I cannot deal with that right now. No painting.)

Sew a placenta. (Used the original today in Life Patterns, big success even with the absence of a discernible cervix on the Goodwill corduroy uterus I’d constructed.)

Play banjo for the chickens?

Draw. (Draw schmaw. I don’t feel like drawing.)

(Then again, I don’t much feel like doing anything.)

I am so obviously of two poles. However, my multiple polarities closely follow my hormonal cycle. Progesterone good. Estrogen bad. Full moon crazy. New moon tired. I am honest about my physiological idiosyncrasies. It’s not that I don’t think the human body is amazingly gross, it’s just that biology can explain away so many of our lunacies.

show details 7:22 PM (9 hours ago)

If someone would go and get me that pale-eyed brown kitten at I-26 exit 187…

I named him St. George, watched him skitter across the gas station lot. Starving for french fries thrown derisively from a fancy sedan. I’ve always been a sucker for a stray cat.
But the car was full of children and dogs, gentle though they be. (Wow, thou art a strange sentence.) Chickens were due for pickup that evening. The cat was 1/2 wild, his hunger made him brave. We were 200 miles from home.

I called my mom and though she told me today that she had noted the exit on the way back from Charleston, she brought me not a single stray kitten.

If anyone would bring me a cat like that, a cat I could name for a saint, I would love them at least for a while…maybe forever.

Strays are my heart’s Archilles heel.

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