How Should Things Be

It was good for returning yesterday to my own bed at night. I have contracted a sore throat and the support of the main cold, and so I remained homemade today from work.

What wonderful sluggish day. I mean, he was not so wonderful, because I am genuine disease. But he was great to be so idle. And it takes such long siestas. I just finish also taking a little while the work in the garden.

As you can see, the pumpkin finishes. This is as great as it will obtain. Size of beísbol with soft-classified ball. The grapevine is dead. The thing is orange. It is a deception that this pumpkin did not grow greater. But I will pull him from the Earth soon and we will see how long hard. Perhaps it will last to Halloween?


Guessed right on the other hand they were violently my tomatos. I have taken to another hornada of the orange tomatos of cherry inside for the supper this evening. I think a trip to Trader Joe to buy that famous “salad for one" and repeat my success of the other week.

Unfortunately, the dusty white fungus, that marchitó early my plants of the pumpkin, has attacked my tomatos completely now. The man in the quarter of children said to me that he would not damage the fruit, only the leaves. I have chosen so against the fungicida this time around. He is very ugly, but if the fruit mature, I will be happy.

The great thing that I lack is a scale. My grandmother would register every year her production of which she grew. Tomatos. Oranges. Pomelos. I must really make equal. The next year, I will make sure that it has a scale.


In the subject of my life of the love, déjeme to only say that I learned of another old lover who got contracted the last week. And whereas it awhile had fantastic with the Stroma, I am safer than that one it cannot always last.

Ampere hour, San Francisco!

In fact, you now find me in Petaluma, the home of my cousin. I have afternoon passed oohing and aahing over its baby of less than three months. One what beauty! Such eyes! And such... What? Inapreciable value. It is indescriptible.

But both last days I happened in San Francisco. Thus a pair of the orange tomatos of cherry in the morning and I jumped yesterday in a taxi to the airport. The plane brought to me to SFO, and BART took me in the city. There I worked the day, and later I indicated for the Hilton in ÓFarrell. Nonbad comforts.

To this point I was for a drink with an old friend the mine republican. It is desired a republican of California, and thus less despicable than those than they would make damage to the homosexuals or the black and the Jews. We had awhile fantastic that drank the Belgian beer in a bar of the vodka.

Then I jumped in a bus of Haight Street, that took to the Stroma to me. But in the half time, I seated in that bus and I soaked upon the transport-ness of the public of him. And it smelled Irish girls who traveled next to me, who lowered in Fillmore -- no doubt for the inn in Haight Street. And I was satisfied so to be in San Francisco. It would give to my car and my garden and everything, if it could only live like writer in San Francisco.

More soon.

(I wrote really this last week, but I have not had time to fix it until today.)

Isolated as it is in the distant end of my garden, my pumpkin has begun to negotiate its healthy deep green color for the ruborización of the orange that portends maturity. This, I suspect, I mean that the growth has finished.

A little a deception, certainly. The shortage of feminine flowers, combined with the lack of them of being polinizado, composed by the death of the second pumpkin that looked like to grow, has left the sensation me as if Californian meridional, or at least my small Earth diagram, is improper for the cultivación of pumpkins.

A package of the small orange tomatos is almost ready for the harvest. They smell fantastic. I cannot hope to eat them. And I do not have any idea how much more length will take so that my many tomatos of the inheritance mature. But I hope to bring some with me when I am going to see my family in two weeks.

The next week I will go to San Francisco for my work. I am nervous on seeing the Stroma. I am nervous because I do not know what to do. I will wish to do love to her. But also desire to assure to me that their expectations are in check. And that one is the problem. And I ask myself in last instance if I must put its check expectations rejecting to make love.

But I am a man. And I have necessities. I am the Curakster.

But little Stroma is so good and charming. Desire not to do badly by her. Genuine I have taste of her. I only think that my life is inadequate.

UPDATE: I bought the saddest salad of the single from Trader Joe -- the green ones mixed for one. And I mixed with her an aspersion of cheese Feta, and a handful of the delicious orange tomatos of my garden. FANTASTIC!

A pair of ago days, I watched What Is Eating the Grape of Gilbert for the first time. The operation of Leonardo Caprio was very good. And I always had taste of that Juliette Lewis, upon until she made an assassin serial. Recuérdela in Fear of the Cape? Delicious.

In agreement with its color of the hair, Johnny Depp was looked like the same character that he plays possible in Secret Window. It is possible Grape of Gilbert grows until turned Mort Rainey? His that acted it was very well. The character looked like difficult. Not much there there, to paraphrase Gertrude Stein.

What pressed to me more on the film, nevertheless, was datedness of him. It is made much of vergüenza social caused by the obese mother. But today in America, now there is much people of this size. Perhaps nongigantic, like this actress. But deeply obese. The fat is new the normal one. The aspect of a woman as this– an enormous woman– would cause barely a tremor. Ha, well, of course she can be that she causes tremors literally. But their real tremors would be greater than the tremors figuratives. Nobody would notice such a woman.

We have them fat that accepted more like society? No. We have made simply more fat people in average. And we will become a fatter and fatter still.

In the same time, a company of the soap is announcing the soap for "the normal" women. And you remember which you are new the normal one? Yes. The fat is the new normal one.

Of course, for me, my garden grows apace. The first mature tomatos will be the orange variety cherry-classified that come by the pint in packages of the variety. If he is delicious!

Perhaps a small piece in the life of the love first. Then I will obtain to the beast seis-legged last than it invaded my garden.

Again this week, my work avoided that I enjoyed the pleasures of the meat with my sometimes girl of San Francisco. But a nucleus of the doubt also has invaded my mind, like a certain one to looper of col in my brain.

Naw, is not absolutely so monstrous, this doubt. It is not no to looper. But it shares that quality of the camouflage. When I am hunts looper, often right encounter in front of my face. I have been watching throughout, and then, suddenly, there correct in front of me.

Since I look like to be beaten in metaphor, déjeme anyway reveals last monster to invade the garden. Here it is.

I plucked it in a jar and I took it to the quarter of children, hoping that the man would say that a this one outside beneficial insect there to me that in fact kills loopers of col. But no. This is one bothers hedionda, or a hopper of the leaf. And its goal is to inhale the life of my plant of tomato towards outside through the piston rod.

And whereas we are with regard to inhaling through the piston rod...

Ha! Hardly teasing. Curakster is not so crass.

But I have tried, of a similar way, to watch in this love burgeoning like beneficial thing. Meanwhile, loopers of the doubt has eaten far in my hopes. And they leave the sensation me as if this relation is not the right.

Master his and everything. But I have a list of problems. And finally I stopped listening my friends (who wanted that placed down), and this a me: perhaps not this one, perhaps not yet.