If This Is Thursday

We got out, David, Kelly, and I, by the light of last night's near-full moon and planted a bit in the garden. Lots of lettuces (seeds yet) and some kale, boxwood basil, and creeping thyme.  We plotted out a space for corn and beans and flowers, marigolds and nasturtiums at least.  I need to get some photos soon. It's going to be quite a riot when it gets to full-tilt growing, this little garden.

Before that, I went to swim laps at the Y. My aunt and I were going to stay for the water aerobics class, but after 45 minutes of lap swim decided instead that we needed tacos.  We went to a place called Taco Tote, which apparently is an international chain (Mexico and the U.S.). You can tell the quality, perhaps, by the number of Spanish-speaking people both behind and in front of the counter, and this place was mostly Spanish-speakers. (I'm always dismayed when I hear a recommendation for a good Mexican or New Mexican restaurant but when I go there no one but the busboy speaks Spanish and there is way, way too much melted yellow cheese on the plate. I mean food like that has its place, sure, but you know.)

This morning I'm off to therapy. If this is Thursday, this must be therapy. Yes, it's spring, and time for a new therapist. Her name is Melissa and she wears too much lipstick, but I think it'll be fine.  I don't think any one therapist has the secret to fixing me, but I'll give Melissa her shot at it--and pay handsomely for the privilege. (Shopping around for therapists--not psychiatrists, just shlubs with masters' degrees in psychology--I found that most are charging $100 per 50 minutes. Melissa's collective wanted to start at $135 per 50 minutes (ouch), but I plead poor, self-employed artist, so I pay $70.)