Saturday, September 15, 2007

Peaches cooking on the stove...

Got peaches cooking on the stove, the beagle's asleep on some towels by my feet, a depressing western movie on the TV, and a terrific headache. About this time of year there is a particular weed, whose name and description I don't know, but whose smell I am quite familiar with, which gives me terrible congestion. Even with Claritin D, my head is so stuffed up I can barely stand it.

We had a nice surprise this weekend. Alex came home yesterday afternoon and stayed overnight. He headed back to Golden a couple of hours ago, but we got to take him out for a birthday lunch, a birthday movie and got him a "leather" jacket to wear riding his motorcycle. It was real pleasant. He got my chainsaw working, though it still doesn't work well. Now I can cut down the branches that need to go.

Still nauseous after a week and a half. Terrific. Can't quite figure out what that is all about. I assume it is something emotional, a response to stress or something. So I am adding some extra excersize to my schedule. I am assuming that even walking an extra block or two should do it. It can't hurt.

Tomorrow I have to do my Logic assignment. Hopefully I can find my notes, but even if I don't if shouldn't take too much time to find more flaws in logic during news-type television programs.

Well, I've been thinking about a few things lately. One, I have been wondering why we do such incredibly stupid things to mess up our lives. Observation leads me to believe that some people allow themselves to be ruled by their momentary desires and not think long-term. Also we have a bizarre expectation that we should not be unhappy--ever. How incredibly silly and vapid. How ignorant of the ways of the world both historically and in most of the world right now. We would be happier in general if we accepted suffering and disappointment as normal and not the extraordinary. Accepting that my life will have bumps and bruises and expecting that means that I am not so easily thrown by them. Accepting that my husband isn't perfect and cannot "make me happy" paradoxically makes me happier. It is the strange expectation that my husband will do all the little and big things that make me feel loved, in exactly the right way and in the right time and that he will never take his moods or problems out on me that make a person miserable. If I trust that a flawed person that loves me might say an unkind thoughtless thing on occasion or may not understand the things that drive me nuts makes it easier to love that person and deal with the inevitable disappointments.

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