May 18th, 2016


Sunny Skies

Woke this morning to sunshine, an auspicious sign for sure. As soon as it warms up I'll be outside pulling weeds. Nothing to do in the house. All that's left in the living room is the love seat and an end table. Tonight we will move the last of the stuff out of the laundry room and we will be ready for the contractor, who I hope will show up as scheduled. Contractors have historically been unreliable in my experience.

Last night Erin was wearing a huge diamond. She didn't even show it to me, but I noticed it. Made the move all the more real and I felt a million tiny shards of pain from the thought. It's all very awkward at this point. She's so silent about it as am I. I suppose she hopes to lessen my pain with her silence, I don't really know. At least I didn't wake up crying this morning,  a few tears slipped out, but not a torrent.

I've lost them already. Even though they are still here, they are already gone. If Anah were as happy as her mother about it, I would be too, but she's not. She's already distanced herself. I believe she is resilient enough to adjust. Unfortunately I'm uncertain as to my own ability to do so.


Waiting for Hemingway

Well darn. I rushed to the door when the UPS man knocked yesterday afternoon hoping the package contained "Papa Hemingway, a personal memoir." I'm eagerly awaiting it's arrival so I can satisfy my desire to know more about his fascinating life. And undeniable talent. I also ordered "The Sun Also Rises."

I didn't like Hem when I was younger, but my old self relates in a much different way. I suppose I should be reading something lighter, but I might be falling in love with Earnest and I'm too weak to deny my desires.

I do have a copy of "A Good Year" by Peter Mayle purchased to give me a lighter take on life. Maybe I'll try it first or maybe I'll go to the library and see what they've got to offer in Hemingway novels.

From "Hemingway in Love" ... "It has been emphasized that I have sought death all my life. If you have spent your life avoiding death as cagily as possible, but on the other hand taking no back chat from her and studying her as you would a beautiful harlot who could put you to sleep forever with no problems and no necessity to work, you could be said to have studied her, but not sought her, you would possess her, and from her reputation you know that she would present you with an incurable disease. So much for the constant pursuit of death. She's just another whore."

Perhaps current life circumstances have brought Hemingway and I to the same place.