Oddly, the whole life is about composting. Throw in all the leavings and scrapings and bits and leftovers, and let it molder and turn it into good things that grow other things. That’s my writing process, that my life in general.
The medical marijuana seems to be helping the boy get to a level of tolerable pain. I hope he goes to school this week.
The batteries (two) on our truck died. We charged, and they are running, but we have to get new ones because they are ten years old and this isn’t their first death.
Went to Costco today. Bought boy of size his first electric razor. He’s not enthusiastic about using it. He needs it, however. The fuzzy caterpillar under his nose is one thing, but he’s starting to get weird beard hairs that stick out oddly. Also bought bulbs, which I hope to get in the ground this week.
Also went to a local nursery and bought a bunch of soil amender (compost really) for the garden beds. Plan to get that all rototilled in this week so we can plant some peas, broccoli, lettuce, carrots, and so on. Sadly, they did not have a monkey puzzle tree, but I put my name down for them to call when they come in. I have a deep love of them.
Had my second sweater knitting class. Now working on the back of the sweater. I’m a little terrified. But jumping in with both feet.
Also been writing. And copy editing. I just hope the boy makes it to school this week. We dragged him out with us this morning even though he was hurting and didn’t want to go. I gave him some MM and just dragged him. I wanted him to see that he can do things despite how he feels and that once the MM kicks in, he’s a lot better off. Hurts my heart to make him do it though. I feel like I’m torturing him.