the haps

My how-poor-are-you meeting at county health this morning was fine. I was called first, of all the 8 o'clock appointments. My caseworker is meticulous. His pen ran out of ink. But I almost started crying when I saw how far above poverty level we are. Poverty level for two adults is $934 a month. That's federal--if only it were calculated locally. All the people in reasonable states who pay $300 a month for rent are throwing us off, damn it. I can't help it I was born in California. And they don't care how much we owe in students loans, or any of that.

Anyway, they needed Erik's paystubs, though spouse wage verification was not on the "bring this stuff" list, so I'm sending them in the mail tomorrow, and I'll know what my share of cost is in a week or so.

Erik and I are in love with these almonds my mom bought me from Costco. They're so nice because they're blanched, I guess. I had them for the first time at A's house in Portland, the last day we were there, when I needed protein in the morning before we had sugary breakfast of lovely pastries.

I wrote a poem last night called 1850 that I like a lot, but not as much as "Wendy." But it's similar in a way, with the super-short line lengths and gender bitterness.

Today I got two brilliant letters in the mail, one from my cousin S, and one from my dearest friend in Flagstaff--that one's 9 pages, which is an accomplishment. I feel grateful for the love.