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Monday. Weekdays seem to go more easily than weekends, mainly because on weekdays I am required to log into the workspace, type a few things, answer a question here and there. It provides the illusion of importance, of being part of something that is happening in the world, even if I only participate remotely. It's a strange kind of luxury to feel that somehow my brain is needed, a luxury, even, to feel mildly irritated that people ask me questions instead of trying to figure things out for themselves.

On the weekends everyone goes home to their families, and I wish I was with mine.

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I gain a new perspective on the art of telling a story when I read this book. It makes me realise that I might be too tightly bound to the notion of making sense. Understanding the formula, as I recall, is merely so you can know what rule it is that you're breaking. Perhaps that makes it more fun. I wonder if I enjoy speeding more when I'm doing it with intent than when I do it unconsciously. I'm not sure, when I write a story, that I want to feel that I've gotten away with something.

But what is expected, of course, dictates to the greatest degree, what is put forward. Which means one must anticipate success to make the follow through possible.

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There is only time, I think, to mow the lawn one more time before we move. It won't grow enough in that time to do it more than once.

When selecting household appliances, I stood by and sighed while Shawn insisted on self-aware machines that might overthrow us. The only thing I really bothered to fight for was the lawn mower. Shawn, of course, wanted a huge tank of a mower that was somehow light as a feather, refilled its own gas tank, emptied its own grass bag, and sent signals to aliens on other planets. When he was finished telling me why we needed this thing, I told him I wanted the push mower. No motor, no bag, no nothing. Just a quiet little blade that turns itself when you push, whhhshhhh whhhshhshh... and leaves the clippings behind right on the lawn to be cycled back into the ground providing natural fertilizer.

He gave in. It only makes sense since I'm the one who does most of the mowing anyway. Shawn only mows the lawn when it's necessary to prevent the neighbours from calling the bylaw officers. I actually enjoy mowing the lawn. At least, I like it when I'm using my little push mower. I like that it's quiet. I like that it doesn't blow hot air on me or gasoline fumes. I like that I don't have to empty a grass bag and that I don't have to worry about running over an electrical cord. I just like the simplicity of it.

Shawn has convinced himself that we'll need a rider mower in the new house because the back yard is so big. I have to agree that it's a lot more than I'm accustomed to dealing with. But somehow I have to think that since the very elderly woman who lives in the house now has managed to do it without a rider, so can I.

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