Posting a few hours late. The Saturday consisted of a milk run into town for cash and grub. I only spent a third as much this time.

It was a very odd little week. In the middle of it I got sick, but not at all in the corona way; something much more familiar. My gut felt acidic and my head hurt in the stress way coming up from the shoulder. I am still trying to shake the old life, as stupid as that is. It seemed so important to wrench the schedule back to something normal, but I failed at that until now. I slept and slept at odd hours in five or six hour chunks. I got things done but not much that mattered.

Partly I think all this was based on finding my old pipe and a bag of ancient tobacco. I didn’t take much of it, but it’s hard to measure, and I think the damage was out of proportion somehow. It’s gone now and I didn’t buy more. So I will begin another round of cold bird abstinence.

I’m back to where I should be now or so it feels, rising very early in the morning and rested. If I can resist the urge to nap during the long day I’ll be happy.

Start outside where it is now dark; there are weeds and things for the car on a backlist. Coming inside I rise and strip the bed and the bath rugs are next. A clotlike set of chores in the kitchen and then face the paper once more. The stacks that matter and the larger ones that don’t.

I love this life even when it’s not going well.