Late January warm rain and not killing kin

The windows are open and the rain soaked air is lilting through my apartment in waves, each chasing the one before it through the bedroom window and out the kitchen door. The dull taps of water on soaked and frozen ground persists only out done by the collection of pots, pans and bowls on my kitchen floor catching the leaking roof water as the great pile of ice on top a flat roof in Ohio melts slowly.
The sixty degree wet breeze feels like spring. The slushy mud with random small tufts of grass seems like march.
I fleshed my fresh sheep skins yesterday. I feel like I'm completing a puzzle or those sprints in gym class where you continually go back to the beginning and each time you get a bit farther. Round one, I collected the skins but didn't flesh them in time so they got tossed. Round two I got the skins and fleshed them but then I wasn't sure the next step and so I spent more time shopping for battery acid than I did completing them.
This time they are fleshed and I have my tanning solution of kerosene and baking soda. They need washed a couple of times and I'm debating on taking them to the laundromat. I probably wouldn't be welcome back if I did that. So hmm.... Maybe grandma would let me use her washing machine, despite all better judgement.

I have a busy day and a half cup of coffee to start. One pear and a grapefruit but the rest of my fridge looks like a bachelor. Well, a bachelor with an affinity for roll butter and good cheese.

Then tonight, I party with my youngest kin, returning home from a month or so abroad, hopefully a bit wiser. I will try to be nice. Maybe I'll bake something. As long as I'm moving, I'm fine. It's just sitting there watching livers get pickled and philosophies spun that gets me angry sometimes.

It's blue, of course!

I'm curled up on the couch with a new cup of blonde roast coffee, enjoying it thoroughly as the soft pounding of a homeless man deconstructing a reclining chair for the metal inside reminds me of a fucked up version of the pitter patter of little feet. And im wondering where the hell he got a hammer.  Or maybe it's just a sign of the times, where recycling isn't just socially conscious thing for the rich, but a thrifty necessity for the unemployed.  I'm just glad he's breakin it up as some times my parking space gets taken over by thrown out furniture, who once one is abandoned in a spot, usually it calls all of its friends. Then I get sicck of staring a the pile and one by one on trash day I hoist them into the dumpster they sit beside. But by then, they always oddly smell like urine.

Anyway....

I start yoga teacher training tomorrow. Just to see if I'll like it. I just know that I'm quite at peace and I really like the instructor. He teaches a very engaging and I formative class that pushes me just far enough.
And I don't know if this is the "back to school" people always ask me about but I figure it's just as good as anything else. Maybe better as its quite better than drugs. I just hope someone snaps me out of it if I start chanting on a daily basis or posting positive thoughts daily on my facebook. Yeah yeah yeah, we're all connected and life is beautiful, but maybe I don't want to bless the soul that just cut me off or didn't tip me because of Obama. Dicks. I'd bet Obama still can afford to tip.

I went to a wine pouring benefit for autism. I hung out with nicks girlfriend and tried to instill some wine knowledge to a non drinker. She's cute and blonde a
nd bubbly so that goes a long way. I eventually just shrugged and told her to send the hard questions to me.
We were pouring a couple tables away from this other local farm winery. I've been to it a couple of times and watched the goats get out and mow down a row of grape vines, had some really delicious mustard with my meat an cheese and once accidentally bought a wine that I didn't hate that turned out to be $35! That's like 4 hours of work. Sigh.
You know how you have different ideas about how people might be. So from two tables away we were kindly talking to the other local winery people, the grumpy dry red distributor, the guys with more money than sense who have grapes planted that I've dealt with but they don't know what to do with yet. And the farm boy.
He came over and introduced himself. At first he was funny and engaging. He likes india pale ales and stamping his own leather belts and it looks like he's the farmers son who I could probably lift more than he can. We wine chatted about grapes an fining agents for a bit and he said he was going to steal me, which at that point I started weighing my options. But then it all went downhill from there.
It was about then I started getting poked at for going to strip clubs or my possible stripping past (not  true) or lesbianism. Then it turned into guessing my underwater type and color. Sigh. Then i uncontrollably blushed and  clenched my jaw into a snarled smile just like standing out in a rainstorm hoping it will stop soon.

I guess some people don't have filters or don't know how to talk to people. And then I got really sad that possibly he was the most honest person there.

I loaded up my car with whatever wine I didn't pour an went straight for a beer or two or three.

But after the shock was over and I texted my friend about the weird encounter she responded with "blue" which I thought was hilarious. She was right my underwear were blue.

Radio in my head

I wake up with an old radio head song stuck in my head. Stretch. Find the song while praising modern technology and I play it through the fender bass amp I borrowed indefinitely from my brother. It sounds eerier than expected as it echoes through the cabinet. The song stops. It's still in my head so I play it twice more while I clean the percolator and reset it for another lightly caffeinated day. Run water for dishes. Make leftovers for breakfast. The birds nesting in the raves are singing and I get a text from work. It's 9:30. I'll be there second shift to open.

I switch over to listen to the xx, my latest auditory obsession. Turn on the tea pot to warm the apartment as I go through a couple rounds of sun salutations. Lana del ray comes on. I get laundry together. The bird are fighting now. They sound like my impassioned neighbors who often fight over $5. The cat curls around my legs, and I put cat food on my shopping list.


I convince myself today will be a good day. I will go out tonight. I will have a good day at work. I will probably drink too much coffee and probably impulse buy some lotion or glovesand only mildly gripe about being broke. I will find someone to go to the brewery with me after work tonight.


I am only mildly cursing lending rent money to my vineyard helper. I was saving up for a new keyboard that works, but since that's on the back burner, I'm only mildly contemplating breaking into the church next door to play their piano.
At least this buys me time so I make sure I get the right one. And I'd feel like a spoiled little shit if I withheld money for a frivolous purchase while someone goes homeless, even if in the back of my mind I think 7-11 is probably hiring night shifts or something.  But I like him as a worker and as a person so I can wait.

Today, I will look on the bright side.