You know, I’m not violent at all. I’m way beyond even being a pacifist; if I accidentally kill an ant or a gnat, it will ruin my whole day.

But I am extremely maternal and my vocabulary gets truly ferocious when someone I love is being unfairly treated or attacked or something like that.

It’s kind of unbelievable how (loudly) protective I get, and it will happen in a heartbeat, going from 0 to Irish in 60 seconds.

And so, yesterday — wow, gang. All I can say is that it’s a good thing I live several thousand miles from Los Angeles. Peitor called to tell me about something going on in his personal life — he called it “odd” but I called it something like “petty fucking jealousy” and things along those lines (and lots worse) at sort of a loud decibel.

Peitor was being calm and rational about it, even though he was also upset, and even though he hates when I use the F-word, it was so out of control yesterday that he was actually sort of laughing about it. Sort of.

You know, some men like to fight their own battles, in their own ways, and don’t need some woman leaping in and getting her Irish up all over it and making everything horribly worse, so it’s a really, really good thing I was sequestered here alone in my house in the middle of nowhere.

It is such an amazing thing how, when things start going really good for you, someone you think would have your back or be excited for you,  suddenly gets so jealous. It happens all the time, you know. But it never ceases to amaze me. I am always so happy when good things happen to my friends or people I care about. Or even total strangers, for that matter — I just love to see good things happen.

So, those many hours of having my Irish up notwithstanding — I did have a really good day yesterday. And I streamed yet another episode of Professor T on PBS. Gang, that show is just so good. It isn’t just that the writing is great, but the storylines are so unpredictable, and the characters are truly 3-dimensional. They behave in ways that add real substance to the storyline. I just love it. And even though it’s a crime drama, it also has elements of humor in it that are also unpredictable.

Being a writer, I just really, really love that show.

Plus, I was listening to an old interview on YouTube yesterday, with the writer who wrote the explosive biography of Anne Sexton back in the late 1990s. It was really good. And it led me to finding a bunch of audio things of Anne Sexton reading her own poetry back in the 1960s. I listened to that for quite a while — sat at my kitchen table, looking out through my screendoor at yet another amazingly perfect summer evening. And just marveled at the poems. I already knew all of them, but it was interesting to hear her way of reciting them.

If you’re interested in hearing some of it, here is one of her more famous poems — “Letter Written On A Ferry While Crossing The Long Island Sound”.  It reads great on paper, but, in my opinion, it had a whole other dimension of flight and liberation to it when I heard her reading it out loud.

Overall, it was just a lovely evening. And I felt so grateful that the virus pandemic has actually forced my life to become really simple and just really beautiful in so many ways. Especially on summer evenings in the remote foothills of Appalachia — fireflies, poetry, peacefulness and all.

Today, I am going to do more work with Peitor on Abstract Absurdity Productions (wherein I will endeavor to move forward in a non-Irish manner). (I am Irish, btw, gang. I’m not just randomly picking on Irish people or anything.)

Then I am also going to try to spend some time figuring out how best to hang the cloth flower box thingie from the window sill of the barn. I have the cloth planter, I have the soil, I have the flowers. I have my drill battery charged (yes, the sole power tool which I own and actually know how to use), and I also have the hooks I need (I think). But the window sill is so old (110 years) that it is constructed very differently from any sort of window sill I’ve encountered before. And I also worry about the wood being so old — I don’t want to accidentally split it.

I wish that woman across the way from me had even an ounce of dyke-ness in her because then I’d go over and find some way to encourage her to come do this whole thing for me. She seems so capable. And she’s always out walking her little dogs so we always see each other.

But, you know, it’s also a good thing that she doesn’t have even an ounce of dyke-ness in her because, knowing me, it would get ridiculous. Well, ridiculously distracting and, likely, complicated.

Which reminds me, loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that last summer, I made a half-hearted attempt to upload an ad to one of those bi sex dating sites, and gave up yet again, because I am hopelessly inept at posting ads — it kept telling me I wasn’t doing it right, but then wouldn’t let me start over. (Plus, I knew there was not going to be anyone anywhere near me who would fit what I was looking for because, even while there are tons of bisexual women around here, non-smokers, non-drinkers, non-420-ers, non-meat-eaters — they don’t actually exist out here.)

Anyway, even though my ad was only half-finished and I couldn’t figure out how to actually remove it so it’s just sort of randomly hanging out there in the ether for all time, throughout the height of the pandemic, I got so many emails from (mostly men) replying to my ad.

Wanting to hook up.

During a pandemic.

And it never ceases to amuse and amaze me, how many men will reply to an ad that clearly says a woman is looking for another woman. It’s like something in their brains just cancels out the “wo” and sees only “man” instead. Just so funny. (Not to mention that it must show there somewhere on that half-finished ad that I haven’t even been to that site in a year.)

Anyway, I’m not going to answer any of these inquiries. But I did find it sort of astounding that during such a contagious pandemic, guys were still out there looking  to have random sex with strangers.

All righty!!

So I’m going to get going here today. I hope Wednesday finds you happy and healthy and enjoying your life. I’m leaving you with yet another song from Kris Kristofferson’s Silver-Tongued Devil and I album from 1971. This song I actually used to include in my set list on a lot of my gigs in my early folksinging days. I really love this song: “The Pilgrim -Chapter 33.” Listen and enjoy, if you so choose!! Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya!

“The Pilgrim, Chapter 33”

See him wasted on the sidewalk, in his jacket and his jeans
Wearin’ yesterday’s misfortunes like a smile
Once he had a future, full of money love and dreams
Which he spent like they was going out of style

And he keeps right on a’changin’, for the better or the worse
Searchin’ for a shrine he’s never found
Never knowin’ if believing, is a blessing or a curse
Or if the goin’ up was worth, the comin’ down

He’s a poet, an’ he’s a picker, he’s a prophet, an’ he’s a pusher
He’s a pilgrim and a preacher, and a problem when he’s stoned
He’s a walkin’ contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction
Takin’ ev’ry wrong direction on his lonely way back home

He has tasted good and evil, in your bedrooms and your bars
And he’s traded in tomorrow for today
Runnin’ from his devils Lord, and reachin’ for the stars
And losin’ all he loved, along the way

But if this world keeps right on turnin’, for the better or the worse
And all he ever gets is older and around
From the rockin’ of the cradle, to the rollin’ of the hearse
The goin’ up was worth, the comin’ down

He’s a poet, an’ he’s a picker, he’s a prophet, an’ he’s a pusher
He’s a pilgrim and a preacher, and a problem when he’s stoned
He’s a walkin’ contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction
Takin’ ev’ry wrong direction on his lonely way back home

There’s a lot of wrong directions, on that lonely way back home

© 1971 Kris Kristofferson