It’s another iffy day like yesterday when it swung back and forth between hot sun and downpours. But hot weather is coming. Right now, as I type, a mother Hairy Woodpecker is at my bird feeder feeding her fledgling. I love living here.
I got another Pampas plant yesterday and six decent-sized Heather plants to add to my new front garden. While I worked, Sheba explored the ‘hood. It pleases me to have a decent looking garden in the front yard; the backyard is comparatively over-the-top. It looks like a garden with acne, however, and will until it grows in. But come Fall, I’ll add soil to the front yard and re-seed the lawn and that will give luster to the front yard.
I got serious in the afternoon: I see the doctor tomorrow to have him check my right eye. I’m pretty sure I have a cataract in that eye ‘cause I’ve got milky vision.
Today I have to finish the garden and then I’ll have to tackle one of my two remaining responsibilities: Sewing my fat pants or doing my taxes.
I have a particular sexual attraction to East Indian men. When I realized it many years ago, I was confounded. I could not comprehend how or why such a predilection developed in a Caucasian person who grew up in an almost exclusively white world. It seemed to me this Daffodil was hot for Tulips, which was fine, but how does this happen?
That’s how I feel about my Rand voice. How did this happen? Phonemes and diphthongs that are foreign to my normal speech roll of my tongue as though Rand was my own voice; friends and strangers universally praise my accent but I’ve never had any instruction or exposure to South African speech (except for a two week holiday, once, in Cape Town). It’s fine, but how does this happen?
I took my new medication last night. I was thrilled to wake up in the night and again this morning feeling no side effects. (I was nervous about starting this drug because the last one I tried was a real horror.)
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