I’m trying to get things done. Things that require pushing, in a subservient way. I am becoming a conscious master of passive-aggressive. I’ve got today off. I can make phone calls, see what I can push along. I told Stupidhead to go away for a while, quit sucking all the air out of the room so I can think. Plus, this is the poor part of town because of the railroad. The tracks ran through this neighborhood, a block away. They’ve pulled up the tracks, and now it’s the poor part of town just a few blocks from the Lake. It hasn’t gotten gentrified – yet. I take some pleasure in that.

I’m laying in bed this morning – wait – is that supposed to be lying? – rolling all this over and over – counseling is actually helping, I know how to short-circuit the closed-loop thing, straighten out my thought process, set down a plan, even tiny steps help, shut off Monkey – I forgot to lie there and look up into the pines.

I’m not sure I like it here. Too much. Metal. People. Energies racing and sparking. Colliding. Sirens. Firecrackers. Birds. Bugs. Cars. But there’s pretty women, and little girls wearing skirts. Preschoolers running with that wild joy. I met a few neighbors a couple of days ago. A woman came over and asked if I’d ever seen this huge boxer before. He’d just wandered into her house and made himself at home. When she came over to talk to me, this huge dog was sitting on her (tiny, little) partner’s lap on the front steps. Funny head, colors split down the middle front to back, one side white, one side brindle. (Where do those kind of markings come from? If more intelligent species are more individuated, are we causing creatures to be more individually recognizable as a sort of badge of our intelligence? And do people who wear outlandish clothes seem more intelligent? Isn’t this all about mammals? And who are we to say we’re more intelligent, anyway?) I went over after she came to talk to me, to ask her where she’d gotten her push mower. Her neighbor came out to mow her lawn, with a push mower. Crazy dogs barking and biting at the mowers’ tires. Laughing and getting on with things. No yelling. Sears, apparently. $80, and self-sharpening. I’m going to look at garage sales.

I miss my home, my parking lot, my swamp, the broken streets, the tiny creek. But there are red-winged blackbirds here. If they can be here, I can be here.

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