I'm coming around to the old routine, if but a little slow, and that is absolutely fine. I say it is fine because one week I was sitting in a pontoon on a sunny Saturday in North Dakota, laughing at my friend in her wedding dress and reflective sunglassess, and the following Saturday I stood on the 14th floor of a hospital in Manhattan, next to the bed of a man so jaundiced that the sweat on his forehead looked like Mountain Dew. Last Monday I woke up in my big old bed on my Dad's farm, and the very next day in a twin bed overlooking Joey Ramone Lane. Jolting contrasts.
Today the reality of the next 13 weeks is starting to set in. David left yesterday, which is a sad way to refocus, and from this morning on I will be waking up in the cramped twin bed alone; not with him somewhere in the middle of the Adirondacks, or on a peaceful farm with my family, or with the Ponderosa Pines of Central Oregon, or in a fluffy white bed in NE Portland. This is it for a while (but only a little while).
Writing this blog is harder when there are more interesting events than the gross things I'm studying, which is a shame because I've had an eventful month and I would have liked to share it along the way. I guess the best I can do now is to go back and revisit it all.
3 comments:
You need to see MaryJane.
Chuck, you've introduced me to her before and you know I become a Beverly Latherop.
u do not become a beverly, one just naturally is, and you jon, are the furthest thing from one named beverly i cannot even tell you. beverly's are 1234's.
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