Enough

It is evening; am eating a stir fry of zucchini, onion, garlic, and chicken sausage. I’m just a little stoned on one, just one, glass of red wine, hearing nuanced thoughts. If I were a poet, I would have the poem already written, dash the sentence order! It is enough to hear my own thoughts.

A party is happening right now, to which I was invited. Once again, I forego venturing out in my gas-guzzling vehicle to join a group of people I never see, in order to toast a fellow I do not know at all on his 85th birthday. My thoughts go to my old friend who died a year and a half ago, who, had he lived, would be turning 85 next week, on the 21st of October. I would have been throwing him a party, had he stayed, and he would have been grateful but would have also been just as happy to be alone with his book. I hope T.J. is having a happy birthday, and is glad he has children who still wish to celebrate his being here.

I spent the day splitting wood. I am ready, for once, to meet the winter storms, thanks to my son helping me get in wood. My friend, Terri, gave me a rick of red oak, seasoned fire wood, which took me a few hours to split with the log splitter. I am so grateful she thought to give it to me, since she is no longer burning wood for heat. I should probably keep working on getting in as much wood for the winter as I can. There’s no telling what this winter will bring.

There are other chores I need to get done, besides bringing in wood. I need to winterize this cabin. The cats pulled out the insulation from the walls, and shredded some of the plastic I put over the windows last winter. I am such a procrastinator, none of this stuff will get done until suddenly a norther blows in and I am cold. That is how I roll: necessity dictates. Otherwise, I seem to be in la-la land, wishing I could remember the dreams I was having just before awakening from sleep this morning. It is a preferable state of mind, given how I could instead be worrying about the rest of the world. I cannot fix it, this world. I can only hope that it will all work out, somehow, for the best. It is sad that so many must suffer loss, but it is part of this scene, this dense third dimension. The suffering seems endless and ubiquitous.

I try my best to not let any anger build up within me, even though I know I could think of some things that could trigger it. I seek balance instead, without those feelings/thoughts that cause me to feel frustration. So I split wood all day, have a glass of wine when I stop, eat a simple meal, and then sit in the dark, wishing I had the wherewithal and energy to seek out others. Being here is enough.

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