Tonight my mother came over to the house and happened to see me out back hauling my woodcart. When I came inside she told my I "looked like a mule." Then she and Cara and Jessie started up a chorus about how I was going to hurt myself (most likely in the back region). So there I was, up against three generations of that 100 proof lady-logic, but I stood firm. "It's good for me," I said, even if perhaps I was feeling a bit gimpy.

I'm more concerned about my mind then my body, truth to tell. I worry too much, and when I have nothing to worry about I worry about that; you see, it's when you have nothing to worry about that you know there's going to be trouble, because this is where anxiety begins. I mean, I'm in a zone of parental pride and happiness, but I'm edgy too. Why???

Because I'm built like that. I used to be an angst-ridden teenager, which I figured I'd just grow out of someday. I pictured myself living in a loft in Soho, walking across cobble-stone streets in my corduroy pants all cool and calm. Come to think of it, that's a pretty strange fantasy for a teenager. For some reason that whole picture connotes stability in my mind, which I guess is what I was looking for, and, you know, corduroy pants are pretty comfy.

So there you have it: city boy turns into farm animal. Now if I could just learn how to make things grow.