potato

It's like pick-a-thing today. Rain is coming and the humidity is 100%, which for whatever reason I can handle when I am outdoors but not when I am inside, preparing for winter, and have put the ac and all away.


I have almost completed putting up all of the aluminum foil transfer barrier, I was feeling quite impressed with the aesthetic of it all until a friend commented "it must be like living inside a baked-potato." But then that start a whole thing about me having a perpetual tan all winter. But, phase one is almost done, which will give me a week or so to concentrate on other things and then see about crawling into phase two. Money issues still abound but they are getting better. I got slapped in the face with reality yesterday with the off hand thought that flew through my head that eight months ago I had an apartment, a studio, a scheduler, two translators and a full deck of things to be done...and then....


but, standing (sitting and sweating) where I am today, there is a part of me that is glad. I feel like I have come through some strange kind of fire that has burned something out of me that needed to go.


Maybe by spring I will pop out of the baked potato cooked to a turn, you never know...


like a lot of people this week, or so it seems from the emails I have been getting (and if you have been trying to get a hold of me through loveandwords hang on, hopefully it will be back on line by the end of next week) that there has been this sudden shift and emphasis on meaning and effectiveness.


Its a good but frustrating place to be. Because this world we live in excels at dressing passivity as activism. In all the meanings of that word.


For whatever reason, the Mad Kitten loves the whole tinfoil process. Not when I am hanging it, but the inbetween when it is hanging in strips on the wall. She comes and weaves herself between them then parades across the keyboard with her gummy little paws.


She has a new 2am habit, when she switches from sleeping in the lady's chair to the upstairs of the other room. She comes and wakes me up, so I sit at the desk and then she goes off to sleep. I have finally caught on to this and go back to sleep too. Then promptly at 5:30 she is on top of me again wanting to start the day.


Buraco is the name of the game I am playing, that Brazilian version of Canasta. We are all juggling schedule so we don't miss the game because of the election.


Oh my god I want to go back to sleep, humidity just sucks the life out of me.


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