Bed ridden

I am  having one hell of a time getting out of bed today. I've been laying here awhile reading and then drifting back to sleep and waking up to various work texts or emails and then just closing my eyes and going back to sleep. 

I am not sure if I'm getting sick of if my body is just shutting down thinking about the looming harvest. .. Their words, not mine. I have hired some harvest help and now I just spread all my papers with calculated tonnage and man hours and ripening dates and pre harvest intervals and I just pace around and ponder what will be next. 

I think I might be over worrying. Or maybe I fear I am over worrying. 

The best thing I could do would be my Thursday laundromat ritual with a cup of gas station coffee and a magazine with a pocket full of quarters watching the dirt from the week suds off in he industrial front loAders. 

Possibly the worst thing I could do would be to check my email obsessively (stupid new smart phone)  and lay here in bed worrying about how this next month is going to go

I think I need a hug.

I just got back from a terribly unrelaxing vacation filled with empty wallets, new tires, and tons of mosquitoes and ticks. I learned something about myself though. I like to have a point to doing something. I like goals or mile markers or a specific destination for a specific reason. That's probably why all my vacations are working or helping a friend move across country or going to seminars on farms far away. 

Alright. Now my dog is pawing me int the face to go out. Good dog. Time to get my day started. 

Space

I'm listening to the early August noise of a Monday night,
Where the cicadas are singing with the crickets and tree frogs
 Courting lovers with songs they're too shy to say.
The neighbor kids are in the streets shrieking and playing, enjoying the last few days of freedom in the loudest way possible, like teenagers do. I am slowly decompressing, melting into my couch and a bottle of refermenting hard cider that is champagne fizzy.  This is the equivalent of my Friday night, just kinda hiding out and trying to find the right combination that will end my week long eye twitch. Is really starting to get to me.

I am inventing other realities where I branch off like the hardy boy books and imagine different paths and endings to my life.
Like chapter 12 would have been when I was 18, if  I should stay with my professor boyfriend and move to Taiwan, go to page 88 or if I switch schools and get into music and drinking, continue on page 54.
I imagine scanarios where I could be in the peace core in Africa or on a boat saving whales... My plans I hatched when I was twelve. Or I could be a writer in Nyc chasing down stories like my senior year of high school idea, I mean, when I wasn't acting in of broadway plays. Or a rock bassist or a bartender or a college dropout or a mortgage broker.


But as is, I'm in a quaint little apartment in Akron with three dogs, two of whom aren't mine, listening to te noise of the street while I try not to think about work or my future or my present too much. 


Ladies and gentlemen, we are floating in space.