Couldn't sleep again last night. I tried to get tired reading The Fountainhead which was a mistake, as reading any Ayn Rand does the opposite of making me feel lethargic. After I put it away my mind kept walking through the grounds of the house I grew up in.
Incredible, how perfectly I remember the placement of knots on the oak trees, which ones my dad planted, which ones were there before. The color, shape, and general health of the rosebushes, which plots of grass were nice to touch and which were course, where the ground was always flooded, where I buried a dead baby possum. I haven't really thought of that house much since I helped mama move out of it into her new life.
All I wanted was to be outside. I grew up in woods and fields, which brings me to another point I wanted to make. I am allergic to California. The King of the Scorpios and I, last time he was here, journeyed to see Muir Woods, the celebrated redwood forest north of the city. We walked/ran around for the better part of three hours, and by the time we left I had itchy rashes all up and down my legs, on my neck, and especially on my elbows (presumably from leaning on things). Having been surrounded by molding leaves and earthworms as much as possible since the age of 3, I was horrified to have an allergic reaction to being in the woods. I don't even have a reaction to poison ivy, for fuck's sake. It must be California. Shaun's skin remained, as usual, impermeable to the effects of the elements.
Back to not sleeping. So after I coddled my younger self into quieting her blisteringly clear tour of my childhood sanctuary, I tried again to sleep. This time I was kept awake by the imminent, all consuming need to be on an aerial hoop. It has to be on a mobile point, double tabbed, spinning carabiners. If anyone reading has $400.00 to invest in the cause of acquiring said apparatus, I will give you 10% of all my earnings from performing on it for one year. I am absolutely willing to put this in writing. Trust me, it's a very good deal.
Of course, everyone's poor right now. I'll just dip a hula hoop in paper mache and hope I don't die. In case anyone is curious here is a picture of a beautiful hoop artist and her crotch. Here is another. There is a lot of crotch in circus. You get used to it.
On that note it's time to seriously commit to finishing my coffee and earning my paycheck.