More to do today: I have to plant the back forty. The weather has been too nasty to plant the dear little (expensive) green things I bought last weekend and I have to put them into a nurturing environment now that a little warmth is creeping in, up and around. I don't have a green thumb or any remotely encouraging digital and I have to remind myself daily at all times of year to remember to water the living things in my care. It's a daily surprise and an assault on the psyche. You'd think after all this time it would come as no surprise. Not so. I've said this before or a variation on the theme, that everything is so daily, and I cannot get used to it. I startle easily, too. I get so deeply engrossed in my own thoughts I sort of forget where I am and when someone speaks or a door closes or or or - anything happens to jar me out of my reverie, I startle, always with a start, usually with a shriek - a soft one. On our honeymoon, we had checked in to a hotel room and Bill used the bathroom first. Minutes, nay, seconds later, he came out, saying something, and I screamed. "Who were you expecting?" he asked. I guess it's the same with the plants. They're quiet, but they do startle me. The most startling thing is that they grow. I hope so.

I must write a generic letter today; it's been too long. So I guess I have to write the blog first. I had a good sleep - five hours - my personal best. I tried to go back to sleep but my brain was awake and by the time i rose to swim it was full of tramlines. (Among other things, swimming is good because it's like wet meditation and helps sort out the signals.) Anyway, it would be good to write a blog first and clear the tracks. I feel a little like Joe Btlsplk (is that how Al Capp spelled the name?) I carry a little, dark cloud over my head all day but instead of flashes of lightning darting out of it there are light bulbs and Stop and Go signs. We all live in a nice, cosy, private world but sometimes mine gets a little crowded and noisy, like yours, I'm sure. That's why I can't stand head phones, ear phones, plugs, whatever. There is enough going on inside my skull without attacking it with wall-to-wall noise, or should I say, bone-to-bone? After this, and the generic, what will I have left to say to my diary? And what about my tracker? (Are you acquainted with the Weight Watcher's Tracker? I have to record the points for everything I eat each day.) And all that before I do any "creative writing". Was ever a life so well documented?