7 May 2000
I haven't been writing here, in my journal. I haven't been writing at all...
I have a four-foot by five-foot canvas in my livingroom and I can't find my easel. It must be packed in a box somewhere-- but it will take longer to find it than I have to paint the canvas. Rats. I'll have to improvise.
The painting is for Sarah. It's a birthday present. A trompe l'oeil to hang over her bed: a window overlooking a fantastic landscape with a castle in the distance, among the clouds....
Sarah likes castles. She has a collection of fancy toy ones. And last year when I offered to make her a birthday cake, she requested it have a castle on it. So I made a white chocolate castle cake, and snapped the tendon in my right thumb in the process. But it was a really neat cake, wasn't it?
I haven't been feeling well mentally. I think it's because I've begun working at the Farm Stand again and that's triggering memories of last year when I was physically ill all spring and summer and worried that it might be serious-- and then there was the screwey doctor who nearly scared me to death!
I've been trying to get more exercise. I've been going walking every night, and making myself do some jogging during the walk. I'm in terrible cardio-vascular shape, and I've allowed myself to become overweight. I hate it. I hate having to make an effort to exercise. And the bad memories from last summer keep coming back to haunt me and I start to think that I must have a heart condition because, after all, I've never been "out of shape" before, and now I huff and puff going up the stairs and bending over to tie my shoes! And where did all this fat come from? I must have a very serious physical ailment that is causing me to gain weight. This sad state couldn't be caused merely by middle-age and years of neglect.
Rats. I hate this.
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