okay okay okay

It is noon and I'm not working. I'm not going to work. I'm going to go out in my yard, prune a red climbing rose probably a little further back than my sweetie would like me to. Whack 'em, I say. They're roses. Portland roses. What could go wrong? (I'll get back to you....) I'll organize terra cotta pots on my old wood bench and stake the tomatoes. This one guy from Hillsboro says you gotta compete for the first tomato. Not me. I want the best tomato. So.... less water, more sun. Sweet. I'm going to water the yard, slowly, deeply, by hand, because that's the way I remember where I am, who I am, to feel my own two feet, bare and wet in close clipped green grass.

I am so displaced. Yesterday, my 17th Anniversary, was awful. I tried to do the same things with different people. It didn't work. I made dinner, and it was appreciated, but it wasn't the same. I don't think I expected it to be the same, but I thought I would feel the same. I did not. I felt as alienated as I ever have, here, and it only serves to remind me that time takes time. I am so happy. But it seems there is always one area out of kilter in my perfect life. My perfect life. And I look around at my beautiful home, my flowers.... I consider my husband, away at work, day after day while I make this home my own... make his home mine, and I am content. I miss my girlfriends, but, if memory serves, I'd about had it with my social condition. I was already gone. I moved to Portland a year before I got here, and it should come as no surprise that I am isolated. I isolate. I like it like that. I just want it all on my terms. Come here--go away. That's me.