Working this morning in garden, trying to clean up the oasis (ha) between hot tub area and studio - which by July will be not hot tub area and perhaps shady sitting. Sky holding dampness of last night's storms. Pulling out the spent (think of the odd use of this word) orange poppy stalks, having to dig under taller grass to loosen soil. Then phone rings and I run with wet sopping leather gloves, fumbling to get them off. Homeopathy 101, for sting on face that has now swollen; after "does cold make it feel better," i suggest Apis. Back to get the wheelbarrow to fill with the debris. Then the phone rings, I run again - answer before checking the number; it's John. I don't recognize his voice at first and he says it's papa John. oh, pathetic. He wants to know if my brother will buy back his golf club stock ; I say don't ask, he will call if he wants it. I am cold. I say I have got to go. I decide to take a shower; the sun's coming out, it's hotter. How can I feel so little, but stupid, yes. I decide to cut John out of a photo upstairs.