I feel like a prisoner. Lynn is out there, chipping away at the dead wood, the overgrown plants, meticulously trimming, as she has been for - what? two weeks? Every time I go out, taking my car, I feel awkward, almost like I need to explain where I am going, or if I don't I feel weird. So I prefer to wait until she's done for the day. Which means here I am, imprisoned. This is so silly. We talk now, I ask her how she's doing, she tells me, we're friendly in our way. And yet there's this thing. Some kind of continuing hermit thing on my part.
I accomplished a lot out there, though. I got Karen's stationary bike inside the storage shed and the office cupboard inside the house. It isn't an ideal thing because these things need to be dealt with. But for now the driveway is clear of this clutter. That's cool. And the backyard no longer has an old shelf with cans of paint and other odd things on it. It is progress indeed. It just means I have to go through the stuff I have brought inside. It is hampering my good moods.
So Dr David & Michael are having phone sex and Michael is talking about moving to New York and Justin is feeling pain and ...
I am finishing my second glass of wine. Nice wine, Wild Horse cabernet, good stuff, good California stuff. And a hunk of bread, an herb parmesan type thing, moist and delicious. Boy, this is nice. I like it.