so blame it on me; I really don't care, it's a foregone conclusion

I was outside today, waiting, looking at my phone under a crabapple tree, and I realized the apples had finally turned candy red. Last year at this time, I was under the same tree, whipping them at Isaac as hard as I could.

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I re-read some of this blog tonight, mostly stuff from last year, particularly last winter. Even in the midst of it, I left myself such funny little love notes.

But god, I'm so scared about this winter. Last year, I was a mess, and seeing it with the remove of this summer, I can see the ways it might set up like that again, and it makes me want to hibernate. I know that a lot of my circumstances are different now, and a lot of the things I was so upset about last winter have changed, it's just that lingering worry. Last year, I felt fine going in, and then it ran me down like a freight train. I don't know that overthinking and worrying about it before there's anything is really a better approach, but I guess it's what I'm already doing, and the equinox hasn't even happened.

I think the thing that saved me last year, that I have to keep in mind, is to keep my focus on the vast capacity that every person (even me) has for compassion and inclusion. To seek, propagate, and celebrate that in all the forms it takes in my life.

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New moon in Virgo. Virgo is my moon sign, my heart sign, so I always feel a little touched during Virgo season. It's a good excuse to feel the part of myself that aggressively works and doesn't give up, and gets off on it. It's tenacious energy. So I like that, but I also feel like, mildly insane just now.
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I have a little poetry reading at a bookshop in Staunton coming next month. I don't know if anyone will show up, or if anyone much cares--the response among my loved ones has been about the level you'd expect from proudly announcing my plans to re-heat an old burrito (One had forgotten I was a writer, and literally said "I hate poets" which made it awkward to follow up with news of a poetry reading)--but all I ever wanted from my writing was to read in a little local bookshop in my own beloved town.


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At the wedding this weekend, the groom came up and explained how, despite it being a small wedding, the bride wanted to invite me in particular. I met her only once, years ago, when they had come to Legends, stayed for about thirty minutes once, had a bad time, and decided to go, so this was a surprising thing for her to think. (I barely remember it, to be honest, I was on my PC block and distracted.) But he said that she'd told him after they left the game that she'd admired me so much, that I was the kind of woman she dreamed of becoming. I was touched, but incredulous, and my next thought was, "oh no, girl, no, I'm so small and desperate and alone." But maybe it's like that--maybe I exist best as an idea, a template experience.

But anyway, here's a picture from said wedding where I love how I look.

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And some cole crop dreaming. Tonight, in the furtive hours between dog walking and dinner, I bought kale, collards, and butter lettuce, and reader, oh pretty reader, tomorrow, I'll strip another bed of tomatoes for them.