I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and take a moment to watch a fluffy grey squirrel traverse our back hill. He’s got a husked black walnut in his mouth, and I wonder if it’s the same squirrel from last week. I’ve yet to see a chipmunk since moving here, and bunnies are rare, so it’s squirrels and birds for entertainment around here. I should count my blessings…the black bear population should be bedding down soon for naps, which brings them closer to civilization for a decent meal before retiring.
Hormonal mood swings keeping me close to home this week, as the mountains turn to rust around me. It’s been a damp autumn, which means color not as vibrant as it could be, but it’s still nice to drive around and see those amazing flashes of orange, yellow, and the occasional red. No wonder I was so miserable in Florida…my heart was firmly planted in that John Muir quote: “The mountains are calling and I must go.” Every time we drive downtown, I’m struck dumb by the beauty, the layer upon layer of mountains greeting our eyes from the little valley that is Asheville. National Geographic named Asheville a “best city” in one of its new coffee table books, and I have to agree. I’m so glad we made the leap, instead of half-assing it in another city for want of a decent living wage. The mental health factor nearly makes up for how desperate we are for dough these days.
Finding my groove where that’s concerned…there are things I need, that I’m making myself settle into the “want” column, because other things must take precedent. It smacks against my hedonism rather mightily and makes me crave chocolate (since I can’t turn that craving into shoes, purses, books), and it’s a good lesson. If we had had kids, that lesson would’ve been learned a helluva lot sooner.
The power of suggestion is interesting…writing that, I notice my toes are getting chilly and walk out to the living room, to slide into a pair of loafers and step outside to toss last night’s litter cull into the dumpster and take a breath of fresh air. The shoes are an epically dowdy pair of Eastlands that I have christened house shoes for now, because my slippers are set for the trash heap and I can’t/shouldn’t invest in new ones. Slippers are a great footwear choice when you work from home, but I’ve found that everything under $40 is garbage that lasts a year and then dies, and if I’m going to invest in footwear this time of year, it’s going to be for duck boots for the both of us, to combat the slippery driveway in the coming months.
Saturday’s weather forecast is teasing flurries. After 2 days of indian summer in the high 70s, it’s a relief to have 50s and rain today. I’m about ready for the winding down of Mom Nature as we trudge inexorably toward winter, but setting the clocks back this weekend is still going to be jarring. I’m still feeling my groove where the new contract is concerned too, and last week’s laptop antics didn’t help. My system has a virus, that I only partially attended to last week by resetting a couple of items and removing others. I know it’s going to cost me money in the coming weeks to remedy that, and I cringe with the thought, when I still have to get my eyes checked, add new insurance to our budget, and the holidays loom.
I hate to sound so meh. Life is hard right now, and I’m finding my way through it. Les caught guilt from his mom for not visiting, and that feeling lingers, stretches itself out, and colors my mood. His mom lives in an unacceptable situation that she’s not strong enough to free herself from, and she emotionally manipulates people to feel sorry for her. It’s gotta be causing my latest curiosity in Buddhism, the desire to free myself from that nonsense. I’m a hard person, a tough love advocate, and it’s not going to assist me in my relationship with her; but if she thinks our not visiting is bad now, wait til we have more animals and land. She visits here every couple of months now, so really she was just feeling sorry for herself when she talked to Les, and had to get a dig in. But I reminded Les that that just meant we couldn’t visit now if we wanted to, because the last thing you want is to reward that kind of manipulation. But that’s not the only reason we don’t visit: there’s 2 cats who don’t get along here, and gas prices, and work, and the fact that she lives with one person I’d like to call the cops on, one person I’d like to go up one side and down the other to shove back into the land of the living, and one child I’d like to kidnap and deprogram.
Hopefully writing about it means it’ll get the hell out of my head now. My focus turns to crap when I’m hormonal, and I’m behind on work, and would very much like Saturday to be spent curled in the big chair, hot cocoa and Dragonfly in Amber in hand, watching for flurries.