Woke up last Friday morning to what I assumed was more thunder from the previous night’s storm. Instead, I realized the nice men we pay to haul away what I deem unusable to the dump. If you know me, you know my history of up-cycling what other people would throw out into usable items. I have many friends who continuously give me items they have no use for to boost my creativity and happiness.
My husband thinks I am just hoarding garbage. At least my garbage doesn’t sit in areas designated to specific uses such as food prep until someone else gets tired of working around it and moves it for them. I know I am not alone in being the trash mover of the house. As they say, a mother’s work is never done.
My little darlings have been enjoying camp the last couple weeks. I had hoped to be more productive in my trash filling and moving efforts, but something isn’t quite right with me these days. Is it the continuing lack of a full night’s sleep? Does it have something to do with summer weather versus my charming polar bear nature? Could it be the smoke hanging over us like that table right next to the smoking section before they banned smoking in restaurants? Do I need an honest to goodness vacation where my nervous system isn’t plagued with everyone else demanding that I make them happy…even at the expense of myself?
Probably a little of all of these.
Like any self-respecting writer, I made some time to write, yet I still haven’t got ahead of my writing goals. I did find a stash of old writings in my hoard. They were written by me. Should I polish them up and present them to substack? Would you pay to see what was going on in my teenage mind?
Suddenly, psychologists are checking in on this page with interest…
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