The sun is shining on the stubble (one of my favourite colours but this pic doesn't show its brightness) and I'm just returned from a walk across the field under all its sunny gloriousness. Gloriosity. Glory-illiance. Whatever. It's nice out. Oh I wore a heavy plaid jacket and had to take it off and put it back on a hundred times when the cold wind would come up and bite, but still ... as fall days go, this one is turning out to be a treat. Not shorts weather, but close enough.
Oh, am I boring you? So sorry. I should talk about how my husband is drinking, chasing women, and beating me when he rolls in with a hangover the next morning — something a little more dramatic — but since none of that is happening, I can't. Or maybe I should tell you about the life-threatening disease I've just found out I have? Can't, healthy like horse. Or maybe how sick I am of doing all the dishes by hand and by myself -- which would be true -- but no less boring for you. Besides if I put on good music I can actually enjoy the time spent with my hands in the sink. If I don't pressure myself to hurry up and finish, it's relaxing and pleasant.
Sigh. It's not that I don't have my frustrations, believe me; or that I don't think folks of a certain political or religious bent aren't complete nutbars; there are disappointments in my life, of course, and people are usually the cause of them, and I do talk with my close friends about them, get things off my chest that way.
But damn, it's turned into a gorgeous day out there and at the moment I'm just feeling pretty darn lucky.
