Random Acts of Awesome

There are 3 baby goats in my bedroom right now. In the list of things I never thought I'd say, that's pretty high up there. Other things I never thought I'd say: Stop eating my work computer! STOP SUCKING MY TOES! Oh, thank god, this poop is sticky but not runny. I am hand raising 3 baby goats. Bottle feedings every 6 hours, training, protecting, keeping away from electric wire... They are awfully cute. They follow me around everywhere they can, bleating, hopping, and peeing indiscriminately. They are louder at night. They are currently, at this very moment, trying to eat my sheets. Thank god they can't hop on the bed yet. They'll be going to their permanent home in the barn soon, but for now they only spend half the day there. Between a pit bull who'd like to eat them and a Bull bull who is way too interested in them for my comfort, they stay near me and behind closed doors unless we are in the pasture together. I am... more than a little in shock

Farm life is preeeetty fucking amazing. I have settled into it like a frigate bird to air, and I am finding myself looking forward to the stretch of 5 years never touching ground. There are aspects of it that terrify me. But they mostly revolve around image. My image of myself as irresponsible, or lonely. Others image of me as Wonder Woman, or nothing. One of the things I love most about nature (which is a vague, giant word for a specific, giant concept) is how it makes a mockery of the self importance of image. When one is shoveling cow shit, or hiking mountains, or sitting on a rock by a remote lake, there's no one there to define yourself by. There's hardly even you, when you're working hard enough. The soothing lullaby of labor combined with the raucous, gentle disregard of the biosphere pulls you away from yourself into a space where you exist next to any other number of creatures and moments that could be you but aren't. It's hard to explain, the dichotomous

I am sitting in the atrium, with a fire sparkling merrily in front of me, listening to the rain patter heavily on the plastic roof. The fire is a gas fireplace, something I've always judged as lacking compared to a good wood fire. But this little fire is adorable. And powerful, it its own way. One of the things I love about watching a wood fire burn is the destruction, tangible and compelling. A gas fire lacks the tangible aspect of destruction, but appeals to my mind with its greedy gobbling of invisible particles. Plus, it's warm. And I am naked, covered only in a towel. I ran from the hottub to the atrium through pouring rain. I stopped to revel in it for a moment, overheated skin evaporating freezing little droplets on contact. But that got old quickly, and I ran to start the fire. Today is a luscious day. Physical exertion, sensual imaginings, extremes of sensation. I've been painting my bedroom, peacock blue and unabashed gold. I have missed color that I choose, ins