I cannot recall an independence day weekend in which the weather has been as gentle and mild as it has been. For three days, it has been either partially or completely overcast, the humidity is low and the temperature has failed to breach the eighties. Even the mosquitoes seem to have fucked off and died. It has been rather dry lately there was plenty of rain in the spring so everything is green and lush. A gentle breeze comes and goes. The waterfall in the pond babbles. Birds twitter. Cars woosh by in the background. Planes shush by overhead, descending to or ascending from one of the three regional airports. The dog pants in my face and whines for his ball to be thrown. I collect myself into my hammock and, for the first time in a rat's age, start to write something...
In the old garden the peas have been picked and shelled a month ago, having been eaten right out of the pod or stir fried into fried rice. As so often it happens, the spinach bolted before it was usable. Bush beans now have grown in their place and have started to flower. The Bibb lettuce I planted was neglected and also bolted and cut down. The Tuscano kale has grown tall and I prune several large leaves from each plant weekly to stew with French lentils, onions, carrots and soy sausage. I wish I had only half as much kale and twice as much broccoli, which makes prolific side shoots, but not prolific enough to make a regular meal from more than once a week. The onion plants have grown nice and fat bulbs. The plants will topple soon, I think, and be ready to harvest. Tomatoes plants are growing tall but the sauce cultivars are showing some early blight. Okra plants are still small, but they are healthy. I just sowed a couple of rows of carrots where the lettuce used to be and some basil around the base of the tomato plants.
I started my new job about 120 days ago at an plastic injection molding factory that makes small medical sub-components. My thoughts on the new job are mixed. I started writing about it but after about twenty minutes, I thought, "Why the fuck am I wasting my day off writing about work," and then I deleted it.
One thing that I will write about is that tomorrow is when I observe my eleventh year elapsed since I first quit drinking. I was about eight and a half years sober before I fell off the wagon. Between then and now, I had a few months of pleasant drinking in moderation followed by a months long periods of sobriety punctuated by solitary episodes of binge drinking and extremely miserable and near debilitating hangovers. Like, Your brain chemistry is now going to be fucked for weeks," debilitating. Not wanting to be in a state of near-psychosis, I have been sober for some time again. Alcoholism is a bitch.
Between the stressors of losing a long time job, finding and getting used to a new job, occasional episodes of poisoning myself, and the tedium of encroaching middle age, my troubles with anxiety have worsened. My wife feels that I have been suffering from depression. Maybe I am. I should probably see a psychologist and get my head shrunk.
I have been suffering from early-morning insomnia on weeknights. I started writing about it but after about ten minutes, I thought, "Why the fuck am I wasting my day off writing about not being able to get a full night sleep," and then I deleted it.
Company is over now to talk bullshit and grill steaks and drink beers. The dog pants and whines in my face and wants his ball to be thrown. A gentle breeze comes and goes. The waterfall in the pond babbles. Birds twitter. Cars woosh by in the background. Planes shush by overhead....