Pills; Prolofic Fecundity of Spring; Borders; Vigil and O'Keeffe

Bloody fuckin' hell!

I've spent the last 45 minutes on my hand and knees looking in cabinets, looking under furniture, moving boxes, pushing the refrigerator, going through the outside trash, then the inside trashs. In a desperate attempt to find a bottle of pills. Clonazepam to be exact.

The pills are kept in one of the kitchen cabinets so it will be easy to grab something from the frig to wash them down with. However, Tiger, Tiger has also figured this out and discovered that when you roll them around they make a rattling noise. I'd noticed a bottle out on the kitchen counter yesterday. At first, I thought I might have dropped it, but then the feline truth struck me.

Tonight after much ado, I found the bottle in the bottom of the garbage bin among the empty cat food tins and soiled paper towels.

I really should know better. I had the same problem with mother's medications, so I put them in a large plastic box that was sealable. Now I've done the same with my bottles and packages.

Daffodils, tulips, narcissus, jonquil and all those other bulbous herbs are starting to bloom. And I'm never sure which is which. Usually the first bush to bud here are the "Japanese Magnolia" which look like a small pinkish magnolia. And soon there will be trees of small white blossoms. And a host of other blooming trees and bushes.

There's something about this prolofic fecundity of springthat bothers me. There so much of it that it's difficult to appreciate a single bloom. And there is some part of my psyche that prefers the stark beauty of the unadorned tree.

There was also a 3-for-2 counter where I bought "Animals in Translation" by Temple Grandin" "The Final Solution" by Michael Chabon and "The Orchid Thief" by Susan Orlean."

When I glanced at the "Animals" book, I realized that it was by Temple Grandin who is autistic. I remember reading an article about her in "The New Yorker" several years ago. "...I actually think in pictures. During my thinking process I have no words in my head at all, just pictures." This, of course, is one of the theories has to how animals think.

Autism is that great puzzle box of human existence that may tell us far more about ourselves than any verbal display. There is some part of me that has always wanted to work with autistic children.

PAX!