Crabby

I had some crabby material here, but I deleted it. It just wasn't nice. I suppose you're here for the intrigue and the feelings I create that go against the grain, but I'm just not here to lambast anyone. Last night, I was rude. I was. So, I'm deleting it.

Sure, I was mad. Sure, I had a right to be mad, but I'm as mad at myself as anything. I'm fifty-five years old. I know how to get past that point where people who casually judge my life make me feel stupid, right?

I guess not. I still feel stupid and that makes me mad. I'm not stupid.

Today, It's cloudy. Thankfully. I'm ready for rain, but I don't think we'll be so lucky.

What else can I complain about? People keep chatting to me about this wonderful weather. It's not wonderful. It's dry as a bone. It's sunny and the plants I like best are suffering. I want to tell them that the river is as low as it usually is in August. If this keeps up, it'll be dry in August. I don't want to see the dry riverbed. I just don't. I want that dripping rain that makes the sword ferns and Western red cedars happy.

There. Did I distract you from what used to be sitting here waiting to be read? Did I?

Should I complain about the spiders, the early-morning sunshine glaring in my windows at 3:30 in the morning, the cat waking me up, the dead dry grass in the spot where the canoe laid for two months, the number of people on the trails. early morning pee on the floor? I could go on.

I do go on, and on and on and on.

Thank you for listening, jules