Heavy rains, Internet contact coming and going. I work on with pen and paper if I can’t input online, writing and rewriting, editing as I get access to MS Word. In the midst of a thunderstorm we discovered that a new full cylinder of gas had been stolen, which means moving the gas cylinders elsewhere and keeping them in a bolted cage thingy. How this depresses me. A life bounded by security gates, padlocks, barred grilles and burglar alarms, plus that constant alertness that breeds paranoia.
Letting go. What will be will be, and I go on from hour to hour, day to day. A friend in Australia is sober seven months, another friend has 22 years. Time reclaimed from the chaos of alcoholism. This is what matters: the gratitude, the reclaiming, the work and relatedness, the rain soaking the garden. Leeks pulled up clotted with good black earth.