the world is too much with us. (wordsworth)
i say it all the time, and its true, we all can feel it bearing down on us at times.
this week has been busy. i chose not to write. so things have looped themselves around my intestines, looped themselves around my valves, and i am laid low.
only marginally laid low, but truth and what rings in words are not ALWAYS the same thing. but i do a very fair job at telling truth or my pieces of it, here and in type and longhand as well.
yesterday was my birthday, and work had a glitch so i missed writing for the catch-up i needed to get done at-speed in order to paint with my daughter, which was one of my birthday wishes.
its the one day of the year where i really prioritize myself right over everything else. and, as it happens, my own self desires my children. go figure.
so i forced them to eat cake and icecream. and to start painting the playhouse, and the chicken pallet fence. the girls have made an incredible icecream puddle swirl of color on the back of the playhouse and we should all live so well.
i love you. thanks for touching base when you do.
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!