Spout

Coming down. Slowly, and not easily. A steep descent. Up through the night, flashing hotly, a huge wave and nothing to do but ride it out. Remaining sleep a bit disturbed, but enough. Still up early, and walked over to get last remaining ingredients for Bread Pudding, mostly because I am carried away by the momentum of the past month. Washed far ashore, gasping and yearning - if no idea exactly what for.


Cooking for D's family is not a problem. They are kind, and grateful diners. I have never felt a word of criticism from them on my food nor my housekeeping. Quite the opposite. Still, I want to do my best, put on a nice spread. Positive reinforcement really works.


Out, then out again, then again. Restlessness of the exhausted. Too worn out to really settle, discomforts prod me to one more task, I clean inefficiently, dither over trifles, stop myself from starting what needs to be last minute tasks. Amazingly, some work gets done.

Moby likes grass, and drinking out of the spout.