eight
The most It you can be is yourself. This is where to allow It more than push It. Push the obstacles out of your way to create a space of allowance.
I hear myself speaking with my farmer and I don't like how I'm sounding. Instead of lying when I don't know something, I'll learn it. The hesitation to know here annoys me even as it tracks. I'm applying my inside work to the outside. A raw land long game demands practiced patience, and my nothing budget is what's made It a game. 2 Win: kick @ least 1 bucket down the road every single day
Farm leases are often verbal. Together we uncover 3 disparate events that occurred in 1983: Bobby got married, Uncle Robert planted two forests in the middle of tillable land, and Meghan was born 40 miles east. Bobby stresses that he’s been faithful for 38 years. I’m not sure if that’s about his doppelgänger, or loyalty in general — even though he’s planted the 2.7 acre llama pen before getting my go-ahead.
My hungry * horny * sweaty * human body is my husband. My soul and her mission are my wife. I love my wife, and she scares me. I feel like wives are supposed to be good-scary.
Being my woman's man makes me their daddy, a 38-year-old father of two. Dadi's on a business trip, which means he'll bring home presents, if you're good to mommy.
Fun Fact: Single mothers can smell one another in pheromonal connectivity. I met 5 on this trip and all but Melissa are further down the path, if we score by the age of the children.
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came home to a B&W feather on my front steps
Labels: farm, feather feet, gurl dadi, It, sun
1 Comments:
love your ability to shift lenses — from your intimate and ever-growing "i" to the playfully distant bird’s-eye ♥️
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