Best Interests

Nothing if not aware. Watching water over the spillway. Napp. It might appear I suffer a disorder, something unnamed but commonly assumed, an illness of some type. In the Diagnostic Criteria, as a footnote, I appear as someone who watches water flow downhill. Mesmerized by almost nothing. Lately I sat on a five-gallon bucket of rainwater I had collected for a bath and watched a spider spin a web. One of those giant summer spiders, I don't know what they are, maybe four inches from foot to foot, the body about the size of a piece of pencil, colored weirdly, in yellows and green. I'd be paranoid, but I've seen these spiders before, and they're harmless. I can move them from one place to another by picking them up on a stick. Not that relocating a spider is any kind of a big deal, but I don' have to kill them, which is my first impulse, and it strikes me as a kind of mid-western zen, like taking box-turtles off the road, you assume which direction they're heading. Plagues me later. Which way were they heading? I'm not sure it matters, but I always move things downhill. It seems logical though I know logic is a trap. Still, downhill seems better, because uphill is always a slog, and you track mud inside. Truth is, you always track mud inside. No matter what. Best interest is served by attending the common good. Face turtles into the grass, away from the road. That's almost always downhill, I check my notes, pretty sure about this, the way water flows. Yes, water and gravity; runnels, riverlets. Rains all day, off and on, sometimes hard. Dark. Finish the Mankell novel, then immerse myself in Kit Smart and John Clare for several hours. Power off again, for a couple of hours, and I actually need an oil lamp, in the middle of the day, to read. I work out a rough schedule, for I what I need to get done next week; the show comes in on Friday, and I'll unwrap it on Saturday. Need to be as prepared as possible, because there is no extra time. Opens early and two events in three days, then cleaning up and restoring order, so I'm out of pocket until the second week in July. Terry wants me to cook, one night, over at his apartments; and Brenda would love for me to be in Florida, the first week in September. That might not seem like a very full calendar, but for me it is. Several things in two months is an overload. I'm used to watching eggs hatch, things that take a lot of time. I usually carry a thermos, a pad to sit on, and several interesting sandwiches. Don't ask, the explanation makes no sense.