Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Soreless

The other day, straining against the weight of the earth and the resistance of that one longer root, transplanting that camellia, I thought I was going to be sore in the morning. The bod was kind, and gave that a good miss.

Today, though, I feel another kind of sore. I'm headachey and tired at bone-depth. I keep scolding or just rebuffing Sid for things that aren't her fault, or for being scared of the storm I don't hear until too late. I mean - I'm a woman gruffly "NO"-ing at her because I'm not paying attention (especially to her), when she is scared and has had my love and assurance so abundantly so far this week.

Poor kid. (Then when I realize I've messed up, she's quite right to be like, "Where were you ten minutes ago, Guilty Nice Person?")

Geezit, and it's ten-twenty. What have I done with today? Well, I haven't stamped nor even signed that query I printed to send to the UK last night.

It must be time to go to bed.

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