What a day, huh? I didn't sleep well; something seems to be badly wrong with Bailey and she spends most of the nights now screaming and howling. The vet tomorrow for sure. I also had bad dreams and managed to somehow open my shampoo in such a way that a big drop of it glurped up and landed directly in my eyeball. My eye is... burned? Or something. And it's been bothering me all day. 

Work was shitty, the grits were ruined, and the land lady texted again with more house developments. I wish I was a smarter person and knew more about buying a house. I really don't know shit. There might even be a closing date now, but I just feel slightly panicked like there's so much more I need to understand first. I'm falling down a hill of dumbness and just hoping I don't hit a rock. I want to be at the point where this feeling exciting, proud, and thrilling, but I think I'm still eying up the drop. 

Well. I made shrimp fajitas for dinner. I spent most of this evening trying to clean up the awful mess I'd made of the spare room downstairs over the last camping trip, food stores, Christmas decorations, and my general clutter. But now I just want to curl up on the couch with the dog and watch something stupid on TV. I hope I'm sent a good dream tonight. The cat is outside, begging to come in. 

 Tonight, I'm making soup. It's easy to be grateful for the little twinkling lights I've strung up everywhere. Do I write about food too much? Do I write about it not enough? 

I thought I heard a whippoorwill this evening through the bare walls of my uninsulated kitchen. It wasn't one, of course, but it reminded me of deep, sweet summer, the sound of a night bird, a field maybe, or maybe just the hay-sweet smell, and fireflies starting to lift up. It's hard to imagine that now in the very start of the dark, bleak cold season, but I could feel it almost exactly in memory, you know? Maybe that's the thing to keep in mind. That there are happy, beautiful things, and even if I can't touch them now, they'll be here again.

 I read a few of the older entries in this blog last night because I was bored and kind of drunk and it was strange. It feels like I was a better writer back then - more articulate, and more of myself came through. Sure, some of it was dumb stuff (I sure still write dumb stuff) but the level of detail and richness of it seemed different from now, when half the time I'm just talking about my stupid crows. Still, it gave me again a feeling about how much writing this thing is important to me. Having a record of myself at, say, 2015 that feels so different from just ...oh no, that was actually 7 years ago?! But I also think I've written the same stories in here literally dozens of times. It'd be funny and probably a little sad to go back and see how those things subtly shifted over the years. 

I had one of my "I still work at the coffee shop" dreams last night. I love them so much. I always think if I ever really lost my footing, I'd go back and do that again. In the dream, I'm just doing a normal shift: making people tea, restocking things from the back, wiping counters, being nice and cheerful. This one had a weird, bad twist at the end where my mom came into the coffee shop and told me that my dad had died. I'm sure it's because I was just up seeing them, and there are bad family health things going on. (That for once, don't actually impact my dad, but still.) 

Well, speaking of that, it was actually a nice visit. We were sitting out by the fire and distantly, a big pile of emergency vehicles were going somewhere, making the typical racket. Just like domestic dogs will sometimes do, the coyotes heard them and started answering, but in their wild, beautiful, terrifying coyote voices. They were just across the creek. I loved hearing them, but then, it did upset the dogs. Sven acting like the big man about it as if I didn't watch him completely flatten himself to the ground in terror that time they buzzed our campsite at Elkhorn. 

I have a little bit of a headache today because I boiled myself like a human potato in the hot tub after getting back yesterday and didn't drink any water. (Surely it's because of that, and not because of the aforementioned "kinda drunk." No, I really wasn't that bad.) But! I'm really excited to hit my run. Probably it's warm enough that I can break out the shorts. 

 A man and his wife walking by apologized as they moved around me and my murder of 12 or so as I fed them their thanksgiving dinner, and the man called out "I love crows, they're so..." and here he paused for a moment to think of the word and then told me "...sacred."

I felt a little bit inwardly sneering; it was a corny thing to say. But I was the one handing out chunks of chicken fat, dressed in harem pants, a long green apron, and hiking boots. And don't I feel the same way about the crows? What other word would I have for the feeling I get when they come to me? How special I feel, how blessed when their wings just brush my hair or I feel them inside my shadow, turn, and there they are. I'm really the crazy one here.

I can suddenly define the feeling: a little bit lonely.

 - chicken, roast

- cabbage, apple, and sausage stuffing

-mashed potatoes

-shitake mushroom gravy

-weird heirloom sweet potato, roasted

-creamed kale

-bitter herb salad

-bread and cheese

...listening to the Mumford and sons, which even though they suck, the first album is full of bangers and makes me feel like I'm 26 again. 

 Is it vacation mode, yet? Well, maybe holiday mode, not vacation. After all the release bullshit, I'm relieved to have the extra long weekend away from work, although the next four days have their own responsibilities and a few stresses, like family things that always tend to accumulate. As ever, a pervasive busy-ness. From my window at my desk, I can see my neighbor working in her yard and it makes me feel some mixture of jealous and guilty - I should be doing that, and will I ever have all the time I want to put into this place, to make it better, and will I ever know exactly how? 

At least tomorrow will be fun. I'm looking forward to getting up early and cooking the whole dinner. Later, winesgiving and not having to host it for a change. I should write myself a list of things not to say or think after I have 15 glasses of wine with my friends. 

My personality feels a bit dry this week. I want to post photos of the woods with vague text underneath. I want to read something, shut up my brain instead of being funny and thoughtful. At least there's a fire in my future in the next 3 hours. 

I'm gonna make a chicken instead of turkey. Everyone complains about turkey in a universal way that people also complain about the weather - "who actually even likes turkey?" - and I've even said it this week, a platitude to mouth like "how is it already November" and "cold enough for you?" (Of course it is.) I don't think that turkey is good, but I actually do like it, if that makes any sense. It's blandishness (yes I'm inventing words now) is somehow appealing with the other flavors. I think I like Thanksgiving because all those sides and traditional things I grew up eating a lot of, but I don't make them now, so it's a fun excuse to cook. My extended family was big on the "Sunday dinner" type meal with a protein, mashed potatoes, gravy, sides... I didn't like stuffing growing up, but I do like it now, partially because I think I make it better than I had growing up. That reminds me, I should take out the sausage. 

Well, what else for now? The crows are extra in my business with the cold weather. I've been reading this terrible book about the Shenadoah park murders in 1996 - by which I mean, listening to it on my run - and it's shaking me up a little bit, partially because White Oak Canyon and Dark Hollow Falls and all those trails around where it happened are well known to me. It's all about backpacking and women's safety in wilderness areas, which is something I think a lot about and maybe a reason I should have not started this book. Anyway, I was listening to it, feeding the crows like I normally do and this woman scared me so much by suddenly appearing in my route and wanting to talk about the crows. This interest in the crows from strangers happens a lot (and generally, women aren't serial killers) - but she really startled me and then she just wouldn't stop talking and asking questions. I went wide around to avoid her on my next lap. That's something I appreciate about running in the graveyard - I can usually see who is around long before I encounter them on my route. (When I'm not distracted by serial murder of course.) 

Okay, time to go wash my hair before I get it perfectly perfumed with backyard fire smoke at dog date. I should come up with some "grateful fors." You know, it's a generally good idea. 

 All of the sudden, it became winter. The air stings my face when I run, the Trash cat gets put inside during the early evenings. I'm sure those who love the cold are feeling pleased and maybe happy, but to me, it feels like my world is smaller, more limited. I want to sit on the porch, or prowl around my garden. It's not that I can't do these things, it's just that they take so much more energy and preparation. Last night, at friend's party, I crouched in my big jacket feeding small sticks to a bright green fire. It was good up until I realized I was cold in that way that goes as deep as your bones. I was also just tired, you know?

The cabin last weekend with friends was great, of course. Hard to complain about a hot tub in the middle of nowhere. It was a portable one my friend brought, so it required lugging so many buckets of water up from the pump. It made me glad that I wasn't really the old timey woman I enjoy pretending myself as out there when I'm lighting the stove. Afterward, my chest and arms hurt, so the hot water was welcome. There were deer all around - moving seen and unseen through the woods. 

Today, I have to drive out of town briefly to feed a friend's cat, then it will be the farmer's market and some time downtown. I have the heat absolutely cranking. I wish I could get outside tomorrow and wonder if I can drag my friends to the villa. This week was another shitstorm at work, and I'm hoping that the next week will be easier with the holidays and everything. I also hope I'll have a chance to write more. 

 The rain is coming down in tropical gouts. I move around my house in the dark, picking up this thing and that thing, moving pieces around. I'm glad it will be the cabin this weekend instead of camping in all this vast wetness. The way woods out here can hold onto water; you understand so much more deeply the fact that these are deciduous rainforests. Last night, hiking out toward the waterfall at Falls Hollow, the woods held onto the darkness that way too, seeping up and around me like a rising tide. In the half-light, the rocks looked like everything but rocks. 

I'm looking forward to seeing the little calfpasture river where it goes up near Daddy's Run, and actually recently read that there was a burial mound on the pastureland across the river. It probably explains the small scalloped bowls of rock that have accumulated on the cabin porch over years of people finding them and picking them up, as well as the blue chert partial arrowhead that was there, but has since disappeared. I'm going to pack a dress to cook in when I'm fixing up venison on the 1920s cast iron stove. Sven and Bean will be happy to see each other, and I've packed them nice big marrow bones because I love those boys so, so much. 

Kooser poem for just this particular moon I watched come up in November merely an hour ago:

 The thing that I never count on during these weeks I work all these extra hours is how burned out I feel in the middle of them, like my brain has reached its rather limited capacity. Today is one of those cold, dry winter-feeling days that feel almost colorless, but a lot of that is probably me being a husk right now. At least the cold makes it easier to sleep. 

 Two items left on my release news and then all I have to do is all the bug fixes. But it's after 9, I've been working straight since 7:45 am, I have to get up early tomorrow to meet with my India team, and this baby (me) is tired. 

Election day. I remember this one back in 2016. Sven had been adopted for a month; it was the first time he'd ever seen me cry and he curled up against my body like he was frightened. Today is strange. I had to cut around a candidate I knew personally as a friend (and now loathe) on my way to the polls. Both the women I voted for Congress and for my local city council have been to my house and complimented my garden. It feels very, very interpersonal - even if politics have been personal for me for a long time, since one side seems to think I should have less rights than a corpse. 

Augh. Okay. Okay. Enough about that. I'm already so tired.  

I was freezing, exhausted, and then I put on my fuzzy elk socks and felt so much better. How is everything so much better when your feet are warm? I was going to clean up around the house tonight but guhh, I'm just so worn out. I'm trying to get out ahead of everything because this weekend, I'm hoping to be at the cabin, and not stuck here working. My friend sent this in the morning from the cabin trip at the same time last year; she took it standing in the water as well (though it was November) and I liked it so much, I wanted to save it somewhere where I wouldn't forget, or accidentally delete it off my phone to make up space.

I see at this time last year, the leaves were already all down. 

 God, I've been so tired today. I don't think I deserve to feel this bad, except for the fact that it continues to be hot and daylight savings always messes with me. I hope I sleep better tonight. I hope I sleep at all.

Up to Hburg this afternoon to get my Costco run and this and that errand. I saw a good-looking young couple having very obvious sex in a most-deserted parking lot - her up on top, facing him, in the front seat of the truck - and thought about being young and turned on and wild. I went into the store and bought candles that smelled like "lodge" and "tobacco" as well as a particular pan for my dad's Christmas present, and when I came back out they were still going at it. The drive home on 81 was particularly dark with just a smear of sunset over the mountains. 

 I woke up in the middle of the night so hot that I had to open the window. It was such a relief to feel the cool, rain-smelling air coming in, though now I feel bleary and confused about what time it is. Rain off and on today. As Wright wrote it, "part of the rain has fallen and the rest is yet to fall." (I'm paraphrasing, he probably said it better.) I can already hear the crows outside yelling for food in my front yard - I guess it's still 9am to them and so that's about the time. There are oyster mushrooms to be picked in the graveyard. I've made a half dozen salads with all the greens that are thriving in my garden in this strange heat. 

I woke up to a recruiter reply to a linked in series of exchanges - looks like an interview Monday. It's nice to be looking for work casually while I have a job, although my job is about to be hell for the next several weeks as I try to wrap up two back to back major releases. Ugh, who wants to think about that, though? It's bad enough that tomorrow is Monday.

This morning is a show for a friend of a friend who got into a particular public altercation over Halloween with a loathed public figure. The friend's band got a lot of backlash and boycotting from the right-leaning community, so it'll be nice to go and show some support. The confrontation itself has lived rent-free in my head ever since it happened because it's so hilariously like a parks and rec bit: the friend, dressed as a cat, yelled at the mayor, who was dressed as Ms Potts the Teapot from Beauty and the Beast. Chaos ensued - including a former councilman getting involved (who was dressed at the time as US Grant). You just can't make that kind of small town drama up. 

I do love this weird town. A neighbor died last week - not someone I knew well, but a nice old man who always waved at me from his porch when I ran by - and it was touching seeing the whole neighborhood come out for the funeral. (He was buried across the street from his house, in the cemetery, next to his wife. I think you could do worse in life than to be buried across the street from your little house next to your wife.) Even some dogs that the guy apparently liked got to come. It turned out he had been some kind of firechief so the whole department came out in their dress blues and their massive truck that's the size of two tractor trailers. (Respectful awooga to them.) But there was such a big neighborhood community feeling about it all. It feels good to belong in a place like this. 

Creamy sky, hot weather again. I'll go sit on the porch. 

I was out picking arugula in my garden for a salad with dinner, and the local tween contingent passing by asked me what I was cooking tonight and enthusiastically wished me a great day. Perhaps my candy bar game made me some positive new alliances. The crows have been extra needy today, chatting and begging more than normal, even though the weather is quite fine for November. (Rabbit, rabbit.) The leaves smell good and spicy in the heat. 

Tonight, I'm cleaning the house, which is officially a fucking bitch. But it's gotten to the point where it's not just embarrassing, it looks like a crazy person's house. Too much chaos with the trip to Spain followed by camping and hauling out a bunch of grimy, leafy gear and piling it around the house. But what's that? I'm writing in my blog instead of cleaning it right now and it's almost eight? Awful. Okay, okay. More later.