oh hi.

It's Friday night. And unlike every Friday night for the past three months, I'm out on the (kinda sorta) town, not in bed forcing myself to sleep at 7 o'clock in order to get a few hours in before needing to wake up around 1am for the ride to the market. About the out on the town stuff: not true. I'm at Mika's, the only person here save a musician and his wife who will be playing a sad show for one in about ten minutes. And I'll probably take off before the end like a total asshole. alas. But no market tomorrow, at least not the Evanston one with Henry, which feels both awesome and a little bit like I'm shirking my duty. Eh well-- it's the last market in Bloomington and the last time I was there it was scorching hot and we were up to our eyeballs in tomatoes. So it goes.

I am TIRED today. Tired from digging and squatting and running all over the place. phew. Oh, and my hands stink like scallions. I've worn these dirty jeans for days, egads how am I fit to be seen? Dave, the musician, just asked my name and thankfully some other people just walked in the door.

phew.

I've been feeling... a little isolated. I made the big decision to buy a car here, so hopefully that will drastically alter my view of what a "night on the town" means. Oh to be mobile! (with the memphis blues again...) I could go to... Bloomington! Peoria! Drive to visit my cousins! Drive all the way to Washington if I wanted. I might look at a car tomorrow, a stick-shift which is fine for here but which gives me the heebie jeebies when I think about driving in Seattle or onto the ferry. Foibles sure to follow.

What is with this entry? I must think in simple sentences and fragments after a week of working on this farm. Hard, wonderful work.