My Little Golden Book of Phobias

I'm on the deck and the apple tree, the wisteria, the dogwoods are all going crazy. I feel a little drunk on the fragrance. The sun is out, which, if you are a Seattlite is a minor miracle. We write about our non-weather because we have many much grayness. So sun startles us and makes us think we are overdosing on Vitamin D. Run for the sun screen! Get out the shades, help!

Ramey got a rod in her leg so in 3 months, she can walk!! Whoa, modern medicine. I think in the old days they would have sawn it off. There will be many screws and plates and groovy scars and a wheely thingie she can motor around on. Plus the sexy hospital bed in the house, yea! and the walker and the crutches. The CSI detectives actually tracked down the type of car that hit her by matching the paint and figuring out what kind of car it was. Then they looked up all cars sold in WA to which people, a hopeless task. It is a felony, apparently to hit and run. Just don't do it, I say.

The sparrows in the stove vent in our neighbor's house is right across from the kitchen window. The birds fly in and out industriously with nest stuff and then eventually you can hear the baby birds. They show up on the roof when they are fledging, all wobbly. Imagine learning to fly, opening your wings and taking off. Hopefully the bad cat Lupine won't get any this year. natural selection, whatever.

Last night was writing night with Rebecca. her new book is beautiful, awesome and the cover is soooo creepy and perfect. I'm so pleased for her. She should win awards and someone should give her a bunch of money so she could write and not work at her 'other job'. Her book is called Cadaver Dogs and it is a rare and wonderful thing.

I am not letting any of my icky emotions get the better of me today. I had therapy yesterday and it felt like someone took the steam valve off the pressure cooker. I an so emotionally labile, almost anything sets me off. When I said I felt angry, she said, 'but you don't sound angry...' ooo, I hate that, when they try to get to you by being all nice. So I started talking and then I was weeping, then sobbing and gulping and blowing my nose on my hands. Definitely un-pretty but I felt cleansed later. There is just too much suicide and injury and bad diagnoses and pain in the world and it sucks to witness and not be able to DO anything about it. I can sit here in this splendor and write poems, my poems in all their terrible and flawed beauty, I can do that much.