Yesterday, after I had 3 hours of sleep, my neighbor fired up his belt sander. His project for the last 4 years is to paint his house that faces my kitchen window. He sands a piece, primes and paints it. It looks like a patchwork quilt. The sander is incredibly loud. His house is blue. He's a nice guy but yesterday I wanted to kill him. I thought of some ways. I won't write them because if one of them came true, I'd feel awful.
Sleep was futile so I went to breakfast with my gay boy buddies. Richard had a birthday party for himself in some of the gardens he designed. He posted poems all over and had food. We went from garden to garden. The last garden was fictional. There was a huge red cedar in the center and terraces and water features and flowering plants and daphne that blooms all year. In Wallingford. From the front of the house, you couldn't even tell there was such fabulousness in the back. Oh, there were no weeds. None. My garden has weeds. I hum along and then I notice that there is a monstrous weed right in the middle of a bed. It feels good to pull it out. Satisfying. So a weedless garden is interesting but impossible. He wants to have dinner at my house. Between what I'll cook for him and what he'll think of my garden, I'm a bit worried.
I have gay men in my life right now. I like it. They treat me with deference. I'm not sure why. Is it the breasts or because I sit down to pee?
I went to see baby Alice yesterday. She lives across the street. I attended her birth. I love her family. Brenda had a girl. I love knowing there is a brand new baby in close proximity. I'm going to get her some frilly girl clothes. Can't help it.