GOD sometimes I can’t get myself to do anything, you know? I wake up, I churn, I look out the window, I churn, I change my bandages, I dig some graves, but there are always more graves to dig.
I dip the candles, I reweave the baskets — why are my baskets always coming unwoven? Not that you have the answer; I know everyone’s baskets are always coming unwoven, but sometimes I think there must be a better way. Maybe in the future we’ll have baskets that stay put! I can envision it now. Like a permanent basket. Man, that would rule.
I know I’ll never get to the milliner this week. I keep looking at my frayed hat in the corner and I’m like, I’m sorry. I’ll get there, I’ll do it. I know we don’t technically call them milliners yet, but we will soon.
Should I have a 17th child? I don’t know. A lot of my friends are saying the same thing. I saw on the wall of the outhouse that Else has also been wondering. We all post there, in the mornings, and while I feel that I’m sharing my honest truths, I don’t always sense that the other women are carving images that accurately represent their lives.
Like I know Gerta doesn’t have as many pewter candlesticks as she says. If she has three, then I’ll eat my hat. Although I guess that would save me a trip to the milliner!