Still haven’t been sleeping, despite workouts and decaffeination and melatonin. This morning I woke up at 1:30am from another nightmare with fuck you! still on my lips, one elbow up, convinced for a terrible second that I was back in Hawaii and the man was in the bed behind me. I listened to the rain on the window and felt deep relief, reminding myself that I’m here, and nobody can make me go back there.
The flannel-clad raccoon got back into the library and leaned against the doorframe of my office to chat, giving me an up-and-down look that made me feel like a cupcake. Sir. I have read too many Janet Evanovich books to be dealing with this. Get out. I bet he could pick me up. STFU, brain.
I took a walk around the pond on lunch, trying to smooth my sleep-jagged thoughts. The trees are turning orange and red. I heard a woodpecker, and saw a crab. The ducks were napping in the sun, the wild roses were covered in bright red rose hips, and it smelled like salt water and pine trees. I avoided a puddle by walking on the narrow edge of the wood board that runs alongside the path, then realized someone was right behind me and would have been a witness if I had fallen off the board into the bushes. Glad I didn’t have to play dead until they went by.
It’s the weekend of Thanksgiving. My coworker gave me a bag of apples from his tree, and I bought a proper pie plate so Zenny and I can make an apple custard pie out of them. We have half a skin-on turkey breast to roast, and decided on popovers and creamed peas instead of mashed potatoes and carrots. We’re going to eat what we want. Sorry, canned cranberry sauce and weird obligatory bowl of black olives, you are not invited this year.
Like everyone else on the province, we’re watching Below, and so far they’re doing a pretty good job with the depiction of Newfoundland, right down to the skeets, jig’s dinner, and Pepsi products. The accents have been slowed a bit for the viewers, but our boy from Stranger Things is from the UK and managed to nail it. Go watch.
