Tuesday 9:04 pm

Chocolate tea and thumb drives filled with father's MP4s. 

Ganesh supposedly cleared obstacles by sweeping the kitchen floor and cooking dinner. Gluten free. Meat free. Sugar free. 

The eyes need rubbing. 

Tomorrow's book club with five Oregonian ladies. A discussion of To The Lighthouse over wine.

My whiteness may blind me.

The terror of taxes and unpaid medical bills.

There is everything in nothing, but the nothing feels more like nothing and not enough of everything.

We wait for summer fireworks to bark at dogs and shit on cats.

I am not. I am.  

Pulupa the fruit fly

On the kitchen counter there are 18 fruit flies buzzing around a mega-pile of heirloom tomatoes we recently harvested from the garden. Instead of killing them (I've never really been the kind of lady who kills insects because I find them annoying or unsavory), I'm going to give them each a name and hope they will soon find their way out of the house.

Here are the names: 

Florida, Sedge, Luke, Delanah, Simpy, Crog, Pulupa, Hal, Iggy, Hasbah, Alabay, Quacker, Olif, Wesley, Kendra, Justine, Revenue, and Barnyard.