Unsustainable.

I'm guessing that an awful lot of 'true believers' in the neighborhood who hired landscapers to put food gardens in their lawns just couldn't keep up with the actual work it takes to grow food, given the number of such dilapidated beds I see on my daily walks. What kills me is, not so much the wasted work, but the wasted produce. Would consider gleaning the knocked-down unripe tomatoes for pickles, the squash, the haricots périmés, but I live in HLS territory and I don't want to have trespassing problems on my record*. Also don't know what the hired folks used as fertilizer. Then there's the problem of stuff being bitten into by potentially sick animals.

Such a waste.

***

* Made my voting choices public when I was younger and stupider. Was swiftly and loudly denounced as a "Republican" by a career Leftist in Europe in a country where the label "Republican" can deny you entry (interestingly enough, is one European country where I actually do business, to add insult to injury). Now, sorry for the TMI, but I'm what's known as an Independent in the US - no such thing in Europe - I vote as I see fit, based on actually looking at the particulars (In financial/technology terms, it's called "drilling down"- essentially, you question the 'global,' then research the details that compose that view.) Not based on Party Loyalty or If It Feels Good. Unfortunately, an awful lot of Credentialed, but maybe not so emotionally mature folks think that this is threatening. I have to be careful of this now. This strikes me as paranoia and I really don't like this. Have enough hormone problems as it stands.

Have been feeling like garbage all day. I think and hope that it's just the old gut (I have IBS - sorry for the TMI) just stamping its feet and letting itself be known. If it's anything worse, I'm screwed, as I'm not insured.

The latest indignity inflicted on the new girl cat came from the vet and was itemized as "Express Anal Sacs."

Pavel's response being of course, "when they absolutely, positively have to be there overnight. (No third class for this girl.)"

The first memories of my mother, when I heard that she'd passed, were not the best. Have been trying like the devil to find good ones. Thank heavens for a friend who asked the all important question, "yes, but did your mother cook? Was she a good one?"

Have been focusing on that.

Just Got Word.

Kidneys shut down, unconscious. It's a matter of hours now. There's no way for me to get back in time for this. Am actually pretty relieved (God strike me down). Will have to go back to sift through stuff, though, but that's not immediate.

God protect her and keep her. I never hated her, though I'm still terribly afraid of her. I wish her the peace she probably never had in this life.

Faits Divers:

1.) Another batch of baby floofs showed up with the first sun. The racket!

2.) Paris is due in Boston early next week for the annual Summer exchange.

3.) Foss Park Pool is open! Really want to try it out this year.

Metternich, Bismark, Frederick William.

Garibaldi, Victor-Emmanuel, Cavour.

Second Republic, Second Empire, Third Empire.

Schlesweig-Holstein, Piedmont, Crimea, Sedan.

Oy - if only I'd have been born 1000 years ago. I'd have had much less history to learn.

I honestly can't say that it never occurred to me that I'd end up in shock from my visit to the Heimatstadt. Naively, I hoped that things would turn out differently. Of course, things were as they'd always been and now I'm left feeling flayed or burned or whatever.

***

The surface world, the world above the puddle or pond I'm skimming in right now (reality?) is kind of fuzzy, a bit distorted. Where I'm resting now has all the allure of a water world, an echoing, cushioning medium sort of separating me from the outside. Here I don't really feel much of anything. My nose is numb and I feel a slight pressure on the forehead and chest.

If I dive a bit deeper into this (and I really don't want to), all I want to do is cry. (What would that solve?)

I know that there are so many out there who have it so much worse than I do, believe me, I understand that. Still: I feel so. damn. awful.

Ugh.

Feels like I have a touch of what I'm just going to call "DeGaulle's Revenge."

This year's particularly bad holiday-wise. I miss my brother and want him to be okay. I can't bear speaking to my mother who's gone off the deep end. Dealing with her is just plain painful, as all I ever get is a semi-coherent litany of all the things wrong with me (nearly all of which being imaginary). Spam filters, meditation and rereading Pizzey only get you so far.

Friends keep telling me that it's not me, that it's her own self-loathing. I understand that. Still, I'm the object. I'm the one under siege as she attempts to make herself feel better. This is exhausting.

The Frenchie sounded well yesterday. I think that the year might actually be shaping up to be a good one for him. I certainly hope so. He deserves it.

Two Dreams.

Though I've been sleeping alright in this heat, I have been dreaming quite a lot lately. Last night left me with two weird but memorable impressions.

In the first dream, I grew a beard and a mustache. Now, admittedly, I have had to shave the mustache I grew while on the testosterone and this did bother me a lot. However, since I got off that stuff, the facial hair's calmed down. Why I dreamt of becoming all mediterranean-like (right down to the hair color), I don't know.

My friends were all trying to be supportive, but in the end, I shaved everything off. It felt good for the moment, but then I began to worry about when I'd have to start shaving again.

The second one was clearly my mind/emotions working something out: There was a man, a very handsome one with close-cut white hair and a lovely smile. His house, habits and things were all American equivalents of the Frenchie's life.

We were on a date, and though I found him affable and attractive, I also found him to be totally inscrutable. What did he want from life? From me? Did he even like me? Though I liked his voice (which didn't say much) and his caresses on my shoulders and neck, I was frustrated. Horribly frustrated. Upon waking up, my first thought was of how, no matter how nice or attractive a man might be who takes an interest in me, I do not want for him to be the "strong, silent" type. Strong, silent usually means walled-in. I neither have the time nor the patience to deal with that sort of thing anymore. Honesty and good faith are more interesting to me at this point.

Fertility Goddess?

All my life I've had a three week cycle which is kind of a shame, since it probably was never in the stars for me to breed. This has always been the bane of my existence - so much so that even as a kid I'd prayed for an early 'change' like my mom had (at 35.)*

I knew something was wrong when, after starting the male hormones, my period stopped coming for several weeks. It was then that the doctor put me on a half dose and the 'friend' came back, albeit in 5-6 week cycles.

Since I've stopped taking that dreadful stuff, my body's reverted to its original rhythm for better or for worse. Though initially I was relieved to see how quickly I bounced back, I'm back to thinking that the 'change' can't come too soon.

***

* My mom was shocked to find out that, at 37, I still was going strong in the fertility department. She was even more shocked to find out that one of my coworkers is in her mid-40s and six months pregnant, too. She just assumed that everybody was as lucky as she was.