Hi ho, hi ho. I adore early morning rain. Early morning cool air. Early morning trips to the lake. We are all damp and muddy and wide awake and tired in our muscles from the running and the falling and the fun. I am exceptionally clumsy this morning. I bashed my head in several times on our sojourn (I've got a nasty looking gash on my forehead even) and I keep bumping into furniture now. It's because I'm wearing a hat I think. My green Castro hat that everyone makes fun of but that I still like. It throws my balance off. I'm like a cat without whiskers, I am.

I thought the dogs might have worn themselves out, but no. They are 10 kinds of hyper right now and the veil of dignity that Basho has been cloaking himself in since Buddy Black arrived has just been lifted. He's a seriously goofy creature.

Yesterday I did write. I did I did. Yesterday I also spoke for a long while with Blythe, birthday girl extraordinaire (this entry should have been posted yesterday--it was written yesterday but I am such a suck ass friend that I'm posting it the day after her birthday. Grr.), indulged in some desperate anxiety times (the money situation is stupidly dire), went for a long walk with the pups, and generally lazed about.

This morning I've been contemplating new schemes. For instance, my grandmother has recently given my parents some land in Pennsylvania. My mom is going to take a look at it in August and report back to me. Nobody is quite sure where it is exactly. But this morning, in the woods, my sense of romance took hold and I indulged in a Walden-like fantasy. I could live there. I could get my brothers and my dad to go up with me and we could build some shelter and I could live there. What if this land were within driving distance to some university or other place of potential employ? I could work, too. What if? What if? I want some adventure. I want some obstacles to overcome that do not involve the mundane and cliched and middle class obstacles I currently face. I want some way to extricate myself from the ties to the life I have inadvertently and thoughtlessly created for myself. I don't want to live this way.

As you can see, and as I always fear, the difficulty in talking with me mum: we are both great dreamers. But we are both rather weak when it comes to follow through. Which is why I'm in this mess to begin with, I imagine. I change my mind about everything 100 times a day, always in mid-stream, always casting aside commitments, always paying for my rashness later in blood, in years of indentured service to the debt gods. Damn. I don't want this mess.

I told Blythe that something good is coming my way. I set the date for this good thing, this new greatness, for September or October. I'm treading water until then. We agreed that come next year, on Blythe's 29th birthday, July 13th 2003, if we've not got something good going on, we are chucking our respective lots and moving together to the big city. Any big city will do. Something must give here. Some new idea, some new great scheme with staying power, must take root. It is becoming nearly impossible for me to stay still. Stay. Still.

Oh. I almost forgot (because it was so forgettable)--I received rejection #2 in the mail yesterday. The Georgia Review says thanks but no thanks. The slip was yellow this time. Nobody wrote "sorry" this time. Sigh.

I want my friends to come home.