There is a particular way that my mind can get entrenched in a certain way of thinking. It took me until my twenties to realize that I was allowed to ask for substitutions and customizations from menu items. And it wasn’t until earlier this week that I realized I could use our pool without swimming in it. I can just sit in the spa and read a book. No one is policing this.

The backyard is shaded in the morning, and what would be intolerable temperatures become really pleasant when you’re submerged. This may get me through the summer, even though it’s a bit of a production to do. I’ll continue doing this on my days off, I think, until late October, or whenever the first real cool front comes through. It’ll also help me get my reading done, with committed time during which I can’t use my computer. Can’t do hardbacks, too heavy to trust myself to hold them over water for extended periods of time, but I have plenty of paperbacks on my TBR list.

News:

Nothing this week.

Works in Progress:

I’ve watched both The Awakening and The Others, and now I’m working on my Awakening/Others essay, which has proven a little harder than the Hannibal essays, but that’s okay.

When I hit a block because I felt like I couldn’t structure things properly, I reminded myself that I’m not doing this for anyone, just for fun, and I can write it as messily as I like. I’m not being graded, nor am I writing it for any particular call. After I finish this one, I’ll tackle the Mary Reilly retrospective, which will be more creative non-fiction, I think.

Books I’m Reading:

The Jackal Man by Russell C. Connor
The Devil in the White City by Eric Larson (finished)

Things I’m Listening To:

Fourth of July playlist
Blacklist playlist
Eurielle

Things I’m Watching:

The Awakening
The Others
The Kid Detective
Furious series
The Closer series
America’s Got Talent series
Criminal Minds series
Hawaii Five-O series
The Rookie series
The Following series
Private Practice series
All Creatures Great and Small series

Poem of the Week:

in each hand
red threads
a thousand strands
of memory
stretching to no end
back and behind
my bloodline stops here
no further
perhaps a mercy
to frailer inheritors
of threads than me
i shall hoard
the children
languishing
uneaten eggs
unsown unseen
if i fall ill
burn the roots