Confused

Often get on a different schedule over the weekend. I'll stay up late, or go to sleep for a few hours then get back up in the early morning, get a drink and write some more. I'm liable to read a new John Sandford novel at a single sitting. There's no telling what or when I'll eat. I'll turn on the porch light and go outside to pee, have a swallow of juice, and just stay up, pursuing some line of inquiry I'd made a note about. I enjoy the unstructured aspect of parsing time in a random spread. I post notes to remind myself to listen to certain things on the radio: "Terry Gross, Monday", "World Cafe, Wednesday". My list is impossible for the next two weeks, no way to get it all done. I have some personal things I have to get done, taxes, laundry, and I have a theater that is a disaster zone and there's supposed to be a concert in there on the 19th of this very month. The Red Maples are budding, giving the sumac seed pods a break. Color returns That's not what I mean, what I meant was more akin to that spray of freckles, across the bridge of Kori's nose. A slight headache from reading all day, so I went out in the afternoon, hunting for morels. I need to pick up a small good steak, a New York strip, or a rib-eye, to have with them, mashed potatoes and a pan gravy I make with bacon fat. On a Tuesday morning, after a holiday weekend, I often find nice cuts of meat remaindered. Maybe a piece of lamb tomorrow. Some shoulder chops, probably, because they don't sell well, and I love them, for their marbling. It's still a lamb, technically, less than a year-old, but barely. A baby lamb, cooked whole, at Easter, just doesn't have enough meat to make it worth the trouble, it's good, but if you kill it at eleven months, there's actually something there, a leg, some chops, a rack you can decorate with little paper hats. Big clouds moving through, but there's no sense of rain. A false alarm, but it keeps me on my toes, where you use dead cars as rip-rap we call Detroit Riprap, works fine but it's hell on the environment. I'd rather just use large rocks. I've had some success, diverting small streams, when I could think like water. I usually fail. Even a simple ditch, most times, is beyond me. Water, moving downhill, is a powerful force.