ought to be a name for it

I worked today and accomplished some things, but I swear in looking back over the day, it seems an entire waste. Ought to be a name for it.

The sky is grey and hinting at rain and I generally am happy about that but right now, I'm on the blah side of empty. Ought to be a name for it.

The house is too full, yet nothing wants to leave. There's nothing here I won't need in the near future. Guess the house is not big enough, but of course it's big enough -- there are only two of us. There really ought to be a name for it.

One day out of three weeks, we didn't have to wonder where the money was coming from for anything -- but that's only because we stayed home all day and found plenty to eat in the shelves of whatsits. I baked today, which should have filled the house with happy, but really... didn't. Ought to be a name for it.

Can't find anyone to plow this garden and it's way past time peas and lettuce and onions were planted. Putting a garden here is a commitment to being here this summer and into the fall and that is a vow I hate making. Besides, the neighbors all around us use pesticides and herbicides, and in a good rain that runs into our yard and therefore, our garden space.  I don't want to plant anything here. But I don't want to not plant somewhere. Up on the hill, at the old place, the deer, bear, raccoon and various other forest fellows would be pleased to eat what we plant. At least, it would be organic. If I was more of a meat-eater, I might oblige the deer and eat my corn on the hoof -- but that's no solution either. There ought to be a name for it.

This day was long and way too short. Thunder is rumbling and a train is sounding and a dog is barking, and the streetlights have just come on, all low and greenish against the storm-colored sky. I can't think of a name for it. Think I'll listen to a bit of Baez and then go walk in the rain.