a sip or a gulp? I prefer a schlorp.

There’s this weekend. There goes the week past. Friday arrives. Restart. reach reach reach. Okay now land.

I’m trying to but I can’t. So here’s a page, a frame, a snippet. My day began early. My shoulders don’t yet believe the day to be over. I am snuggled. Forest holds me. Insulation and planks and logs and rocks. The walls, foundation, and skylighted roof keep me cove-ed. The first quilt that wraps my feetz was dyed purple by my mother some decades ago. It belonged to a bed her & my father shared. My dad kept the purple quilt forever. he dared to give it to my mother a few months before I left for this job. Collecting all that I would need to succeed, my mom knew the quilt would keep me warm. So it’s layer one. Quilt #2 was a birthday gift for maybe my 14th birthday? My dog, Bailey (rip babygirl) chomped massive holes in it that ensure its spot as layer two. that’s all for the quilts, tho the colder nights have called for the pink fuzzy blanket to be thrown on as layer #3. I wake up looking a bit neapolitan. Upon awakening the purple quilt usually is wrapped around my chest, the bailey-chewed one half across my abdomen but mostly pushed off to the side, and then the pink one almost strangling my ankles and calves. Somehow the cheeks, and upper legs are commonly exposed. dynamic sleeper certified. The woodstove is just as I’d like it tonight. there was no trouble lighting the fire. despite the half foot of ash truly whining to be scooped and maybe thrown into the stinky outhouses. ah the Romans and their limey roads. ah the outhouses and their need for the ash from the woodstoves.