today i bought leek plants from a supermarket because the geraniums at work are thriving after i thoughtlessly removed all of their leaves because the sermon the day before had been about pruning. but perhaps i can make things thrive after all, though i have an aversion to thriving myself, and also an aversion to doing things and an even greater aversion to achieving things, because then everything changes.

and i got home and put all the plums on to cook while i planted the leeks (the woman, she gave me plums. and shoes.) i even sort of planted them in a row so it looks like a normal garden, because usually i make a point of being haphazard.

and came back inside and the kitchen looked like a murder scene because of the boiled over juices and so i wiped it around and now the kitchen is pink.

and scraped the dirt out from under my fingernails

crikey there was so much oestrogen in that room today, the poor architect.

It is shitty weather and forecast to get worse, which is nice because it resonates with my soul and i am validated by the environment which i know is not just being condescending or commiserative, because it is dead.

i am making pumpkin and kumara soup and planting coriander in the rain and have a hot water bottle and good music but it is not working.












I lied, I am not planting coriander in the rain, but it desperately needs to be put in the garden, or just somewhere that is not the plastic bag on the lounge floor that it spilt into after i bought it in a little pot from an old lady for one dollar at the fair and threw it around with the heap of other forgotten things in my room because we had a flat inspection and i had to clean up in ten minutes.

Herds Of Ghosts

They have a short driveway pretty much directly off the motorway 10km along the way to work. Leave the friendly blue of the harbour, up the brown-and-gorse gorge, nestled in huge furrows of Wellington hills. It is a compound, all gravel and chickenwire fences, one of the two opulent overalled women watching me from behind a fence is clutching the diagonal wire grid, with raised hands, by her face. Visitors must pass through reception. Reception is a box, hello I came to pick up some organs for science, but the man is grumpy that I did not come in on Friday, like I said I would, it degraded the product. Does he mean that it was disrespectful to the animals.

She is still watching me with clutched hands. I got back on the driveway and had twenty metres to speed up to a hundred and something for the motorway.

At work they tell me to stop with the anxiety disorder already. Because they have been watching me.......