I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me.
Stumbling around in my private journal this morning, so late—and limited—here.
Writing and reading for a good part of today and, later, a trip down the hill to the garden and the library.
Perhaps, too, a trip up another hill to make a decision about a piece of furniture.
Yeah, that’ll be fun, she says with sarcasm dripping like slobber. (Sorry for that visual.)
So, on this Tuesday that feels like Monday we begin again.