Thursday: The Problems of Living in Adobe

Something on the tip of my tongue, corner of my eye, sensation…everything is about to change. But what–is a semester starting, a friend dying, a trip, a return.
I seem to forget a new baby is being born, one which is mine and not mine. I tidy the house. Snow disarranges the street and wind carries empty flower pots dutifully across the yard.
I might receive a message, but it can’t change anything. I’m old, I’m going to die, but not right this minute. Instead I buy J. a caffe mocha and she makes me laugh and laugh. My new doctor won’t make me get any screening tests. But if I did, the feds would pay for it, if the feds remain. In the middle of the night I felt sad my parents were dead because it means I know fewer people, even though they were the most problematic people in my life.
I helped Rich with his laundry and was absurdly pleased when he complimented me for being quick at turning undershirts insideout.
If I am a grandmother I will be responsible for something–and in may ways I have been less responsible.
A woman in a chat forum writes: where do single socks go?
The ants are back–in the bathtub, the kitchen. It’s dead winter, shouldn’t they be asleep.
“They live in the house,” Rich says, which sets me off. WE live in the house. I sympathize, yet squash them.
Waking towards dawn, I decide to go on a Paleo diet. By 7:00 am I am spooning sugar into my coffee.
A homeless man froze to death outside Starbuck’s. I blame no one–everyone.
Yesterday I felt I was in my “old” Santa Fe. A snowy winter. J. at Downtown Subscription. A terrible president. Before we had a daughter. Before you died. When I was young and knew a lot less about the problems of living in adobe.