Saturday, 6. September 2003
If I Never See Another Cucumber

2:34 PM
Saturday

I feel like shit. Shit shit shit. Cramps in my belly. Cramps in my legs. Ladies know whereof I speak.

Then there’s the dull nauseating cramp of the neck thing and what it does to my head.

My morning, in a nutshell.

But I got up at 9:30 when Don came down to give me a morning kiss. I read and wrote for an hour or two, ate toast, drank coffee and juice, then walked to the garden to uncover the onions pulled yesterday and laid to dry in the sun, then covered last night in case of frost.

There was a handful of young lettuce valiantly trying to make a showing among the tall old plants gone to seed. I picked the new leaves and brought them into the house along with the last of the fresh sprigs of dill.

Then I took care of the last pickles I am making this summer. That’s it, no more. The rest of the cukes I picked yesterday ... will have to find their own way in the world.

Now, a sinkful and a cupboardful of dishes to do.

All I really want to do is go to sleep.

I need a maid.

 
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