Oh Crap

I think I just agreed to go trekking with llamas tomorrow. How do I get out of this gracefully? On second thought, to hell with graceful, how do I get out of this? I am lazy and out of shape. It will KILL ME.

Pen Pals

I have a thing for pen pals. I love them. Like, literally, I have a weird tendency to fall in love with them. I have an uncanny and undoubtedly destructive ability to write my way into emotions. Since I was 21, I've had a string of male pen pals, with some of them I've exchanged long hand-written letters, with others long emails. And they have been, without question, my most satisfying romantic relationships. None of these relationships has worked out in real life. I have a long history of that too.

Some of them, most of them I destroyed. Without wanting to, helplessly watching from a distance as these men dared try to find a way to connect with me in some way that didn't involve the written word. I have snubbed my pen pals by phone and cold-shouldered them in person. Crushed the connection beneath my heel as soon as one of my pen pals ruined a perfectly satisfying and emotionally fulfilling relationship by wanting, like Pinocchio, to be a real boy. I think I've gotten over that. In fact, the last pen pal turned real person I actually gave a chance. It didn't work out either, but it failed in a healthy (um, maybe I should say healthier) way. In a real way. The real, non-written relationship didn't work, not because I wouldn't give it a chance, but because it didn't. And the real failure didn't hurt nearly as much as I thought it would all those times I was deliberately crushing budding romances. (I think, at 31, I'm finally getting over some of my heaviest romantic hang ups even as I've become enthralled with the idea of spinsterhood. What a . . . coincidence?)

Anyway, this is all to say that the original pen pal/love, the one to whom no other ever lived up, has gotten back in touch. And it's fabulous! He's hilarious and crass and he loves writing letters as much as I do. We could not be more different apart from our shared love of words. But after 10 years, we can still write pages and pages about nothing. And best of all, he's in love with a woman who desperately loves him back, so I can write my crazy, long, wackadoo letters to someone who actually WANTS to read them without fear of falling into that trap I've set myself time and time again. I hadn't even realized how much I missed having a person, as opposed to the internet, to write to, someone who will write me back.

Jinx!

Yesterday was awful. I got bad news about a family friend from my mother, and about three elderly relatives from my grandmother, and the final horrible thing that could happen to L, happened. Inexplicably I was already exhausted, and each successive wave of bad news made me cry and left me less able to cope with the next. By five o'clock I couldn't deal with one more human drama.

That sounds so horrible. My mom, my grandmother, and L had far worse days than I did, but I'm the one who couldn't deal with any more. It made me realize how fragile my current mental peace really is. Sure I can be calm and reasonably competent so long as I am well rested and facing only a mild, manageable form of stress. But throw me into a highly emotional situation when I'm a little tired? I become a basket case.

So I mowed my lawn. And I apologized, and said I just couldn't go out to dinner even though L needed the support. And I felt like a bad friend, but I sat on my newly mown lawn drinking iced tea and reading a mystery until I couldn't even do that any more and I went to bed at 8:45. I've been finding myself in the position of advice giver a lot lately, and I keep telling people it's OK to be selfish, necessary even. And now I know I'm right. Because this morning I'm well rested, and I feel capable of providing support if anybody I love needs it. Last night, I couldn't. Last night was awful.

Mercury Is No Longer in Retrograde. . . I hope.

I've got my fingers crossed that I didn't just jinx myself by writing that. The new battery charger/grass hog appears to be working so far. I've managed to plant a little herb garden for myself before the plants died in their pots. Which is huge because usually? I get excited and buy plants, get distracted, forget to water them, and they die before they're even in the ground. I also bought an old-fashioned rotary lawn mower, which I'm not sure will even work on my lawn/prairie what with all the weeds, but I hate relying on my neighbors so . . . worth a try. Despite my broke-ass brokeness. I've got to start looking for a real job. I started a cover letter to the law firm I worked for in Boise after my 1L year. And by started I mean I saved a file, found their address and the name of their hiring partner, and wrote a single sentence. A week ago. It's a start. But summer is so fun! I'm actually enjoying working outside, planting, watering, and grasshogging. I love drinking iced tea in my new vintage lawn chair while birds I can't identify dive bomb for bugs on my prairie/lawn. And walking down by the river is just fabulous.

Broken

So the brand new sewing machine my mother bought me randomly decides it will only sew in reverse and then just as randomly changes its mind. Oh, and it also changes stitch sizes every two inches. Which is clearly fucked. And now, the battery charger for my brand new weed eating grasshog decided to stop working after charging a single battery once. What the hell is going on in Chinese factories? I mean, I knew about the toothpaste, the tainted clams, and the lead paint, but those were just poisoned products, not non-functioning ones. This impacts ME and it sucks. Royally. I just discovered that I actually kind of LIKE this particular form of yard work and now it's barred to me until I drive 200 miles to exchange this broken machine.

I guess, if I felt like putting a positive spin on things, I'd say yay, I have an excuse to go down to Boise next week. But it's now summer, and really really pretty, and I don't WANT to spend the $40+ in gas and one of my days off to exchange a grasshog. Even if I do throw in a trip to Anthropologie and a movie theater. Damn.

Happy Days are Here Again, the Skies are Blue and Clear Again!

That last photo of snow on the june grass was just the beginning. The next morning we woke up to three inches. It was . . . disheartening. Every time I tried to exclaim over its awfulness, L would give me a disgusted look and say, with more bitterness than I have ever heard anyone but Zach express, "I don't want to talk about it." Thankfully it all melted during the course of the day, and by Saturday, summer was really and truly here. L and I went into town this morning for yoga, and by the time we got home that june grass, no longer covered in snow, was shorn. One of my truly exceptional neighbors had driven his riding mower down the hill, without warning, and cut my front lawn/prairie while we were gone. I couldn't speak. I have got to find a way to pay him. I'm thinking a check would be best.

Today has been a perfect alpine day. Sunny and in the upper 60s with a slight breeze I woke up with one goal. By the end of the day I wanted to sit on my lawn, content that I had made good use of the perfect weather, and sip a gin and tonic in the endless evening. After spending as much time as my poor arms could take raking the cut grass, after drying laundry on the line, and watering the peonies, I met my goal. Here's to small victories and days that last forever. (Of course, I've only managed to clear a small portion of what was cut. I'll still be raking when it needs to be cut again.)

June in the Mountains