Sunday, July 10, 2011

We Threw Away the Baby Mattress

Bird song while the family sleeps. Still too wet to write outside. I make coffee, trying to be quiet. My teeth hurt and my shoulder has been hurting me for days. I am always looking for time to write.

Your shallow stream is my trout hole. True or false: composed of differences makes love impossible. Certain ideas - like driving to Vermont or listening to God - are not valued.  Lately I suffer. Yet forgiveness does abound and real miracles do fill our lives.

In my dream, roses, computer screens filling with pop-ups. Screw the diet, those muffins look heavenly. A rooster, a whole ranch of them. Should I reach out to you or not? Is understanding one's motives important ever?

Never say that life is a game unless you understand rpgs. You have always been the one who makes me laugh and I don't tell you that nearly enough. We threw away the baby mattress without talking. Someone always wants to talk to me about writing. Naturally we wake up.

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