The crickets are chirping outside, and the zinnia are faintly humming from the rain we got yesterday. The unicorn meat eating cats are hunting and Max, my spaz, is running from the bed to me and back.
I am more better today because I get to see my therapist today and I got to see my brother, Marc, yesterday.
Marc lives way out in the country, way out, like go forever and take a left at the tall tree, and then go over the mountain, and take the gravel road for 50 miles. You catch my drift. He has 43 chickens, so he has run out of names. 1 Highland bull, Hamish, who he treats as a pet, and Hamish returns the favor. Highland cattle are those red, hairy, cows with horns that you see grazing in the fields in pictures of Scotland. They look like Cousin It's version of a cow and this one is a lovebug. He also has 4 rescue horses, 2 rescue dogs and his German Shepherd and his 2 rescue cats.
My personal favorites are his dog Bubba, and the new rescue kitten, Hope. But Marc went out and brushed Hamish while I was there, and Hamish kept trying to rub his head, complete with wicked horns, against Marc lovingly whilst he was being brushed. Hamish is 700 U.S. pounds now, and will end up around 2100 pounds, so Marc is getting in on his good side while the gettin's good, as they say.
When you put 2 Stewarts of our branch in a room together, the talk naturally turns to death and the family dysfunctions. Or the family dysfunctions of the dead. There is plenty to talk about on our side of the family tree. And laughing at something you fear is always better than sitting home alone in angst about it.
So now I think I can face my therapist today with equanimity while he tells me about his plans for the next 10 years...