The quick torrent of rain swept me from my plans tonight and has me staring at the window through a wine glass half full of terrible wine. The waves of rain coming down in sheets across the road has me thinking that I need to go to the ocean and soon. I like being consciously consumed by something so much bigger than me, tossed by a gravitation pull of the moon and collected in particles that touch me, touch millions of fish and crustaceans and creatures in the deep and kids off the coast of Africa and seabirds of all types. I like the thrill and terror of a good rip tide. It's less predictable than skydiving, but still the same amazing floating feeling.
I like ocean much better than politics, which gives me a similar feeling of being thrown around, but the ocean doesn't have any motives. It just is. Swimming would be my version of Zen.

I'm having trouble breathing today. Could be the 90 degree heat or could be the crawling in and out of pesticide laden grapevines. Tonight is like my Friday night as I'm off tomorrow, so the rest of this turned bottle of red wine is coming home with me along with a pit stop for some D batteries for my crappy keyboard. It's time to create, to write, to play.

And I love my new house. I feel terrible about it, like I'm guilty of treason, but I come home to my stark bare walls and minimal furniture and I feel right at peace. I'm developing new habits: where to take off my shoes or throw my keys, shower, brush my teeth a new way, clean out the cat box. It's all new and so therefore, I have tabula rasa. Each day I continue the sketch. With a fresh journal at my bed, I write before I go to bed and as I'm sleepily waking up. I listen to the birds outside the window, the sirens, the muffled conversations. I write. I read. I love it all.
I have a clear head, or a head that's clearing.
I have Parisian breakfasts of baguette chunks with some fruit and delicious cheese. I have fresh almonds to snack on as I pace around, nose in a book I've been meaning to read for years now.

Now I just have to purchase a vacuum and a drill. I never realized how much indoor cats get on my nerves. But she's pretty cool for a cat, so I guess I'll push out of my brain that part of my day involves scooping the manure of another creature. I swear she's whispering to me and changing my dreams. They've been about talking cats recently.
I need to sweep up around the catbox. That's the point.

And I'm drill shopping. Nothing makes a girl happier than a nice power tool. Don't be fooled. I'm serious.  Diamonds? No thanks. Unless you're talking about a sharpening stones. And platinum comes in chef's knives only. Silk is still ok in my book. As long as it's not underware. Those ride up and were invented by someone who hates women.
Anyway, I'm having trouble staying in my budget with a decent Ryobi or Black & Decker. I want the Dewalt cordless compact drill with extra battery. I'll probably get my girlie card taken away from me if I get a crappy vacuum and a super nice drill. Eh, I'm fine with that. My priorities are right.

I guess overall, I'm happy. The rain finally came so I don't have to water. I had an awesome week last week. I'm immercing myself in music and proper sleep patterns. My garden is about to produce for 10 families. I'm planting up a storm and lovign this June heat.... or so I try to convince myself. I night swim. I dream of what meat to grill. I am deep breathing, or trying to. I am centering myself as though gathering my footing on the starting block of a swimming pool, ready to jump....