I have been struggling to do one thing at a time lately. Here, on the internet, seems to be the hardest of all. If I deem that being here, on the internet, is an activity worthy of my time, then I should do it as completely as anything else. Right? If you're eating, eat; if you're reading, read. If you're blogsurfing, well then blogsurf. Right? None of this reading with one eye and trying to carry on a conversation with the rest of me. Never works. Not with books, not with email.

And none of this having seven tabs and windows open at a time, constantly flipping back and forth between them, filling every two-second page-loading pause with another paragraph from somewhere else. If this is worthy of my time, I have the time to wait. To read the whole thing.


We've been watching TV lately. We're staying with family, and the TV here is on all the time, all the time. It makes my head hurt and it makes my pulse flicker and it makes me skittish and self-loathing. But I watch it.

The television is not worthy of my time.


We'll be starting work on a farm in March. Sugaring first, and seedstarting, all the way through harvest in September. I'm yearning for it, for the feel of good hard work, dirt under my fingernails, clean air in my lungs. I'm tired of being in-between. I'm tired of back-lit screens and flashing pictures, loud noises and sexdeathsex. Tired of people.

But the snow here is beautiful, and deep. And bread is in the oven.