Sunday night!

9:30 p.m.
             Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, I offered to put up the wallpaper on a wall in here. It was cheap white wallpaper, the kind you paint over. There was a subtle pattern in relief on the paper. I knew you would not see this pattern or notice it, especially once the wallpaper had dried properly and was painted. And so it is. Or was. You never see a pattern.
             I showed the wall of new wallpaper to the Domestic Bliss and she took it all down and put it all back up again. Then it was painted and you could not see the pattern, or if there ever was a pattern. So that was the end of DIY for me.
             Until last night. There is a crack on a bedroom ceiling. The plasterer is coming to look it over. He said he will re-assess once the paper was off and he could properly see the crack and surrounds. When I was in Newmains this week, the other people did a fabulous job of getting this impossible to get off stuff off, and I was up for getting the rest of it off before the man came today to have a look again.
             You have to stand on the third rung from the top of the stepladder and hold this steamer thing up above your head, squeezing it onto the ceiling for a while and then scrapping the paper off with the other hand. But it doesn't come off. Sometimes you need to hold the steamer thing up against the ceiling five or six times before you can get this stuff off. This is about twenty, thirty seconds at a time. After three hours of this, I was completely funged.
             There were about four hours of steaming and scraping to go today, but I postponed the steaming and scraping until I'd meditated for a couple of hours. This is always the best way to proceed. The plasterer came and, having seen the crack in the ceiling, etc., said it was unnecessary to scrape any more of that impossible to get off stuff off as he was going to do something to cover the whole ceiling anyway.
             What a let off! Then I was able to go to the allotment and dig the last onion bit from this year so that the council man won't send us a nasty letter .
              It's probably fifteen spades wide and twenty spade intervals down. It is not a big space. It is not much compared to the whole earth. There is nothing as humbling as digging. I started digging and I dug and dug and dug at this little patch of the earth for twenty five minutes and I was covered in sweat. My teeshirt was soaking. The sweat on my glasses made it difficult to see where the spade was going. Legs unsteady. Maybe a bit stalled at the end.
             The book I'm reading is wonderful. The joe says you should be creative in your practice of the juju. Digging is my prostrating. Unfortunately, I'll have to do the prostrating as well, but not tonight.