Toxic Me - III

The Toxic People head chatter seems to be diminishing. This morning finds me wanting to file it with my light/dark triggers as a metaphor set that never will break free of its physical realities for me. Too many cognitive links. Is that methane and open sewer I have been smelling when during the Toxic People rants? Yes, my environmental work has given me cognitive links to both, and many more. Similar to how I get spots before my eyes, all the way to eye aches when I listen to cliched poetry? Oh well. . . Not everybody sees the same thing when we "See the Light." I am not the only pragmatic thinker to get lost in metaphor with discouragingly literal ease.

Onward through the confusion. . .

The text dialog is still going over ES and his SO coming for a visit. It evolved to the possibility of their bringing some of my goodies from Texas. ES first suggested bringing the grow lab, but I have no place to set it up here. The house is too small to store it and work on the aeroponics lab has yet to acquire its first contractor bid. I am not even convinced the outbuilding is salvageable. I may be demoloshing the current mess and starting over. We see. . . Works in progress. Still, I am warmly encouraged that he thinks highly of "The Sandbox." I wasn't all the way sure he ever noticed far enough to remember it.

But methinks I want my graphics studio and writing/research collection. It is still partially packed at the inherited property. I believe Hubs when he tells me it is pretty much how I left it in March. I have the space carved out for it in the river base camp. The nights are already getting long and editing is one of my favorite passtimes during those long solstice nights.