The first day in forever when (I thought) I could lounge in bed, catch up on the NYT from last Sunday and contemplate the whole day. So, of course, my midwifery partner called to ask if I can do clinic this morning because she is at a birth. The march of babies. Or the July of babies. 

This bucket is empty. Next life, I'm coming back as a long haired cat in a rhinestone collar. I'll lie on the couch whenever I want. Servants will carry me around. Someone else will do the cooking.

Tuesday and the sparrows in the stove vent across from my kitchen window are still feeding their babies. I can hear them.

Dears-

In the last week, we have had 6 babies. I am exhausted. No, I mean flattened. My eyes hurt. I want to go lie down. And I did go to the reading and I WAS THE LAST PERSON TO READ, the last. I think I was being punished. I walked out of a birth when the woman was pushing, bad midwife, bad midwife. Ok, I left another midwife and my students with the momma. But. I. Left. Gawd. To read at Town Hall. For fame and glory. HA! There was music. There was, ahem, poetry. Gawd, I am a slut for attention. Any lengths I will go to read. Pathetic, really.

Come visit real soon,

Auntie Em

Grayed over morning. Can't sleep past 5AM. Workshop tonight which I pray to the baby gods that I can attend before someone begins labor. So far so good. I need my writer's workshops. We laugh and eat delich nibblies and read poems and talk about poems. I don't get out much. This is the sum total of my social life. 

I used to be social. I used to be normal. Now I'm a bit squirrely. I even have a leetle tail. I think maybe my brother's suicide made a dent in my head. Now I walk crooked. Learning how to talk to people again. 

Oh, I'm supposed to read Saturday night. Very unsure if I will. The organizer has vetted the poem I wanted to read in consideration of the 'flow' of the evening. And she wants the poets to 'explain' their poems ( something I never do, never). And she doesn't 'understand' an epigraph in one of my poems, it doesn't 'fit' with the rest of the poem. *&$#@*!!!!! Who asked her? I have never been asked to read certain poems and not others. Blech. Argha. 

I'm at war with my desire to read to an audience and pissed at the organizer for trying to contain me. Maybe I'll be delivering a baby anyway and it won't matter. Ha!

I told my writing group not to come. Or if they do, they should be loud and rude and throw fruit. 

tonight I went to the raspberries and ate them, all I could reach, for dinner. I growled like a bear, the Ballard bear. Now I'm gonna sit on the floor and eat all the honey. the cats have disappeared. 

grateful for the cool the night cool small wind cool asleep on the couch cool can turn off the fan cool trees cool I can hear them reserving their cool wet in the leaves the trunk roots cool no need for a wet cloth cool cool night.

I asked for it, two babies in 2 hours, July 4th, rockets red glare and all that. Both girls. One momma had diaper covers with fireworks on them and a red/white/blue stars baby blanket. No, I didn't make it to both births. Hadda call a friend midwife to attend the other lady. I'll go visit the little darlings today. 

Muzzy air today, faint mountains, blurry fan sound.

Geoffrey, I hung on. You let go and I hung on.

I'm going to the pool where there are: large old ladies mooshing through the water to Motown tunes, men of a certain age who do massive walloping flip turns at the wall to impress, um, me?, women who get in, do their laps and get out, and a few children. The children actually have fun.

The day is bright and summery and Jim, who lives in my basement apartment, got the frozen nozzle off my garden hose so I can water my darlings, my lovely flowers and tomatoes and basil. The nozzle was misbehaving and spritzing water in a pitiful little stream sideways. Now I can blast it and run up my water bill. Seattle is strangely rain free, kinda creepy.

I wonder where the Ballard bear is today. I hope she's eating honey and blackberries and enjoying the sun. I hope she can put in earplugs for the fireworks which I DETEST.