Grounded

My dog bite is healing nicely and even though it left a scar, I didn't get rabies or gangrene, forcing me to have my leg amputated. Wow. How fortunate am I?

Needing a little gounding this morning (I have determined to write at least one post each day over my spring break. Very concrete. And how lucky are you? You have seemingly endless reading from now until next Tuesday.) I will not beat my head against The Wall by thinking about the seriously misguided Bush administration or alter my state of consciousness by going to that place which "is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits". I have felt so drawn to that place of late, but perhaps I have lost myself in translation. How good is it that I have scattered bread crumbs to point my way back to my own garden?

You know, I am very sick of flowers. Searching for the wisdom of cycles this week, a sort of contented acceptance of the changing of the seasons, birth and death and the revolution of the planets, I admit to a little problem with repetition.

Once Cookie said, "I'm having trouble blogging because it's beginning to feel like something escapists do when they want to pretend they're engaging in life," and now, a few months later, Cookie is gone. I wonder if she feels more engaged with life. Gene has mysteriously, with some of his posts and part of his name, disappeared. I hope he's writing a novel. ("It is interesting pondering writing and a novel and how much it entails. Coming up with 50,000+ words that people would actually want to read all the way through seems daunting, but it seems like something I need to try to do to see if I come up with anything good.")

How strange that I, with my aversion to sameness, walk on, now posting flowers from the gardens, looking for a middle-of-the-night comment from Best Ryan, empathizing with the dramatic, smart and infamous Melina. Tomorrow some political raging and then comes time for poetry. Have I escaped from life? Have I found a fantasy half-way house where the characters' foibles make them more endearing? They don't shit, have bad breath or find fault with me. It is the perfect world. Whew! Isn't it lucky that I am so grounded in "real" life that I can balance here in perfect perspective?

AJ sleeps upstairs, still on New York time. She is so able to make decisions with no regrets. Something breaks? She lets it go, a very healthy quality to possess. And I can let this blog go (strange, but it feels like real life), if need be. I am closer than ever to accepting change. Man! Isn't it great that I can let you go? How lucky am I to have you for a moment!