3:25 pm

been sleeping most of the day, when i could drop off over the noise of dishes being done in the room above my head, or barney coming in to give me the phone or tell me he has a finger wound so it hurts to put his hand in the dishwater, or to bring me the phone instead of telling the caller that i am asleep and taking a message instead.

so now they’ve gone next door for a potluck and i’ve gotten up to eat something. heated a tin of chicken noodle soup, ate half, feel crappy but will try to sit up long enough for it to make any difference it’s going to.

i could hear barney singing away in a high-pitched voice while the two boys did dishes. don kept asking him to stop. usually it’s me doing the singing and it’s barney asking me to stop because he can’t concentrate on his homework. or it’s farmbeau asking me to be quiet because he’s on the phone and can’t hear.

back to bed i go

6 p.m.

went to the garden to cut a bouquet of pink cosmos for grandma. was outside the kitchen window before coming back into the house to wet a paper towel to keep the cut stems moist, and could hear don inside repeating over and over, “holy fucking shit, holy fucking shit,” and giggling, thinking he was alone.

“i could hear you, you know,” i told him when i came in.

i phoned barney before i went to grandma’s.
“are you homesick?” i asked.
no, he said.
“then i don’t have to come and get you?”
well, i did miss you a little bit.

when i got to grandma’s he was watching yosemite sam and bugs bunny and laughing his ass off. i told him bugs bunny cartoons were the ones i watched as a kid. i bet they’re better than anything you can watch nowadays, i said, and he agreed with me.

back home, as i was putting pizza bagels into the oven for supper, don came over and said “i apologize for talking like that, mom.”

i’ve been laying on the couch reading milton’s elements, by cordelia strube. it’s a bit dark, but the main character, milton, does have a lot of thoughts that i have had. about how some men don’t want other men to think they are pussywhipped. about how some women stay in abusive relationships, foolishly waiting for the good side of their spouses to reappear.