I'm tired deep in my bones today. Life's been pouring down all around us lately and it's making me sleepy.

Blythe's dad died. We went to see her this weekend. That girl has had more than her fair share of heartache. That family has. Right. No such thing as fair shares.

Saturday morning, before we left for Wilmington, the dogs woke us up barking like the demons had come to snatch us away. Turns out there were four tiny baby kittens out in our yard and one big bad stray dog eyeing them from across the street. Thank the gods for Basho's loud bark. When I ran out to get them (they were heartstoppingly close to that fucking highway), one ran behind a big rock, two shivered and hissed, and one bold fella came trotting right up to me to say hey. They are the sweetest, sweetest things. I love them.

Jeff is staying out of it. Ever since I've been pregnant he's just steering clear of all decisions that involve the care and feeding of baby creatures. That makes me a little bit mad (as if I'm behaving in some crazy pregnant lady irrational way). I told Blythe and she said, "yeah, like you would have drowned the kittens five months ago." That's why I love Blythe. Jeff is right too, though. I've not been able to pass a calf nursing from its momma without feeling deeply moved in months. We went on a farm tour a couple of weeks ago and I almost lost it over the baby goats. So. Yeah.

I've not completely lost my mind about the kittens, though. I'm just getting them old enough so that they can be on their own (without each other, I mean), then I'll try to find homes for them. I think they're about 4-5 weeks old right now. I figure 8 weeks old is about as early as I'd feel all right separating them. My mom already has dibs on one, but I'm not sure if she's serious. I'm going to write Clara at the library to ask her to spread the word over there--library folk are the best when it comes to finding homes for creatures in need.

Other life things: the dang truck quit working. That was last Wednesday. Jeff's been driving me all the way to work (one hour) and then driving himself all the way to work (two hours). Which means he is commuting six hours a day. We're getting a new car as soon as we can find one. A station wagon, I think. I liked my truck, too. Damn.

I been up since 3:30 am grading. I'm exhausted. I have stacks of shit to do, things I didn't get done this weekend, and all I can think to do is tape up the window in my office, turn the lights off, lock the door, and curl up under the desk. I want to go home. I have to wait for Jeff. I'm so. damned. tired.

Jeff stayed up late last night and I saw why at 3:30 am this morning. He made a great big wonderful fantabulous miraculous lift your heart and sing because life is so possible drawing/collage of the new house he's going to build for us. It did the opposite of take my breath away--it filled me up all overflowing with excitement and joy and love. Life is hard, life is so hard (especially when you remember the parts when good, baby-loving daddies like Blythe's die so damned young), but it's worth it. It's worth it if you let it be worth it.

The kittens are just learning how to play with each other and they're so uncoordinated and slow. Watching them trying to use their small bodies, knowing Jeff is making things again, Basho & Peaches and Harold & Miss Blue, my baby's heartbeat, a man namned Mike Ferguson who lived and raised my best friend, watermelon and grapes, sunshine and wild mustard. It's worth it. I'm delirious with tiredness and sadness and madness and love. Better go.