September 2, 2018

Thunder in the distance, the sky yellow and gray nearby. We could use a drenching. Wrenched my shoulder loading the last of twelve bags of mulch. Had to leave the store to vent my fury– get the gout cleared up enough to function and something else goes wrong, the universe not being content if you go through an ouchless day. Got nothing planted, nothing weeded, not even the mulch unloaded from the truck. The rain will be my excuse. Headed for the studio, but forgot my wallet and turned around and gave up. Did nap. Did achieve that.

The shoulder pain seems to be worst when I’m typing. Of course. That’s what I need to do the most of.

Is it just me, or is it universal to spend one’s maturity looking back and wondering if there was a single moment when one wasn’t goofy or selfish or awkward or petulant or disappointing? I barely have a memory not tainted by the suspicion that I could have–probably did–look like an ass to every other participant. My poor parents. . .