This writing thing

Transcribed from a notebook dated Thursday, September 23rd
Since I've started writing again I become oddly discontent and restless when I haven't written for a while.  The Scarlet Runner Bean made (as usual) a very astute and acute point when she said that not having time to think to process life and write the processing down leaves you feeling hollow and itchy inside.

So I can't sleep unless I get this down.  I'll have to enter it at some other time sine the Bumble Bean is restless.

We went to the playground by the Library today.  While we were there 2 different preschool groups came and went. 

The first group consisted of 18-20 kids and 4 young women.  The women looked happy.  They were engaged with the children, referring to them ans "my friend."  As in, "M friend Ben is having some alone time. Why don't you see if my friend Ezra wants to play with you?"  The children were happy and silly and reasonably exuberant.  If they became too exuberant, like taking off their shoes or climbing the slide, they got a time out.  The time outs were published across the playground, as in "My friend Elijah would rather have a time out than put his shoe on."

The second group consisted of 10-12 kids and 3 prematurely middle aged women.  The women looked as if they had seen what life had to offer them and it was nothing so they just had to keep busy with the drudgery until they died.  The children walked.  They did not play on the slides.  They were restricted to one end of the playground where they could play with bark mulch in baskets and bowls brought for that purpose, or they could draw on the concrete with sidewalk chalk.  They were not allowed to write on the chain link fence with the chalk.  While I was observing, that was the only prohibition I heard.

The Bumble bean was sufficiently freaked out by the second crew that we had to go swing instead.