A day in the life— medical update, meal plans, sunshine, animals and publishing

I make a lot of lists.

Sometimes my journals are nothing but to do lists and shopping lists. But I like lists— even if I never refer to them again, the act of making a list allows me to stop thinking about things.

If I want to refer to it later, I know where to look, but I no longer have to worry about forgetting as if I want to remember or revisit items from an earlier day I can but I am not staring at a list focusing on what needs to be addressed versus what I actually did.

Many people make lists to receive the satisfaction of checking off the things that are done. I don’t do that. Sometimes I do, but now it’s more like I am acknowledging the list versus trying to conquer it.

I used to finish my list every day or stress over the things I didn’t get to, and on top of that— the list never made me feel better or more in control.

It just exhausted me.

Trapped and the Cover for the Anthology Arrive

Parisian Phoenix’s first contemporary romance has arrived and it looks great. Read more about that here.

But I also received the cover for Not An Able-Bodied White Man with Money, which I will be blogging about on the Parisian Phoenix site this weekend.

And I have a 4 p.m. meeting today with another author who I have been hoping would join our family.

Now if only I could finalize some of our business documents to really move the projects forward.

Yesterday (Voluntary Time Off) and evaluating my health

Life at Stitch Fix’s Bizzy Hizzy has been odd lately. We’re shipping something like 8,000 fixes a day and having the opportunity for voluntary time off.

Last week, I performed at pretty damn close to 100% without pain or significant mobility issues. This week, issues started mildly during my Sunday shift and deteriorated Monday & Tuesday, leaving me at 80% and crying myself to sleep. I talked about this here.

I’m very much wondering if my menstrual cycle has something to do with it, as the Mirena IUD has done miracles for my pain and issues in that department but has made my cycle irregular. I think my body is trying to menstruate later than usual.

I was taking inventory of my recent balance, mobility and functioning issues as today I had my annual “wellness visit” that the office rescheduled from last week.

I took VTO yesterday to allow myself some rest and some time as life (and grief from my father’s death two months ago) has gotten chaotic and overwhelming.

And I made the teenager and I grilled cheese as I had promised to do, and the child acted like I had prepared filet mignon for her.

I have a feeling I will be repeating that after school today.

We also watched Miranda Sings Live on Netflix. The teenager went through a time when she watched the show, so that was weird. It always amazes me how much talent it takes to perform badly.

The doctor today

I have spent more than a decade assembling a talented and caring medical team, so now I can confidently say any issues with my medical treatment stem from the system and not from my doctors.

The doctor and his resident agreed with my assessment that it’s time for me to get into the physiatrist and that their office will advocate for me on that as well, and that my instincts and approaches are correct.

I learned that women more so than men tend to favor one side when they move or stand. As women age, this tendency can create problems. That means this is a problem normal people have and not just a result of cerebral palsy.

And most interestingly… I learned that women more so than men tend to favor one side when they move or stand. As women age, this tendency to let’s say ‘lean’ can create problems, just like what I am experiencing now with my right hip and right leg/foot. That means this is a problem normal people have and not just a result of cerebral palsy.

I reiterated to them that I do know I need to lose 20 pounds, but that we have some issues to address before that.

The psychology of emotional and physical pain

When I was turning 40, I embarked on a journey to lose five pounds and gain muscle. I inadvertently lost 30 lbs and ended up a skeleton and regained some weight to look like this:

That was about 30 pounds ago. I have no need to be that lean again, but I’d really like to see 135 lbs again— which means I need to lose 20 lbs.

I told my doctor and his resident— I know I can’t eat an entire bag of cheese puffs or Wawa bowl of mac and cheese and brisket after dinner. But I’m struggling with depression from my body pain and my father’s unexpected death.

I’m grateful I haven’t turned to alcohol like many in my family, but I have “given in” to food as a psychological crutch.

I pay almost $300 a month for a personal trainer, but I can’t work as hard as I want to because I hurt and I feel like I need answers as to how to move my body so it doesn’t hurt. Because if I could exercise more and move more, I wouldn’t sabotage myself by eating garbage (or if I did, I would be active enough to balance it).

But right now, when I come home from a ten-hour shift with my body twisted and aching badly, and wishing I could call my dad so he could make me laugh and tell me how much it sucks to get old, I grab junk food because it’s the last pleasure I have.

I can’t move without pain so if I’m going to be forced to get fat and lazy I might as well enjoy the process.

These are ugly thoughts and I know that, but I’m being honest.

The fun stuff: errands with Nan

After leaving my primary care doctor, I called Nan as we were scheduled to do some errands together. We stopped at Wawa for some hot caffeinated beverages (cafe con leche for me and vanilla chai for Nan).

Among other stops we visited Park Avenue Market and Deli, one of our favorite haunts known for its deli, salads and meats.

Although I am once again contemplating more of a vegan diet, which will make the teenaged carnivore wince, I am not ready to commit until I feel better. We must achieve discipline before we enact change.

I never got around to meal planning yesterday so I didn’t have a list. I ended up spending $36.89 and I think the results will work.

I purchased: two packs of beef jerky, one small box of minute rice for the teen, three or four teeny tiny bags of Wise snacks from popcorn to potato chips, meatballs, the biggest damn carrot I’ve ever seen, frozen vegetable medley with potatoes and garlic herb sauce, sweet potato crinkle cut fries, pork roll, Lebanon bologna, liverwurst, turkey, olive salad, a store-baked pig ear for the dog and something called “hot pepper shooters”— round hot peppers stuffed with prosciutto and provolone.

Rough meal plan

My rough meal plan for the next week or so is:

  • Sandwiches
  • Meatballs and green peppers, either as a sandwich or in pasta
  • vegetable lasagna still in the freezer from last week
  • Burgers and fries, using ground beef from the freezer and the sweet potato fries
  • Cold tortellini salad with roasted carrot, olive salad and seasoned broccoli (broccoli is in the freezer)
  • Pork roll and egg sandwiches
  • Chicken and the frozen vegetables and rice or other grain

PS— we also welcomed a new foster into the house. Her name is Babs. Meet her in this video. I need to make her a page.

Processing childhood trauma

Trigger warning— I’m not sure exactly where this post will go but it will discuss sexual misconduct between an adult and a child and it will touch on alcoholism.

I know some people in my family may be uncomfortable with what I am about to write — because what happens in our private lives should remain private. And I agree with that, and I prefer not to air private matters in a public forum. As a writer, I want my public space to reflect a more professional persona.

But I also know I “check a lot of boxes” for struggles and realities that may not be apparent and that other people share. And together we have strength. Commonality.

So here goes.

But please, as I’ve said in other posts that mention times in the past that include other people and the actions of other people, remember that this is my story, my experience and my feelings.

Whatever I write in this space, because I’m not even sure where it will go, I am merely trying to offer a glimpse into my grief and how that is triggering— and I hate that word ‘triggering’ — my past trauma.

And especially when people are trying to do nice things for you, it feels extra garbage-y to have your mind implode.

Gene Kelly prompted me to write this blog entry. Spotify provided me with a jazz mix that included “Singing in the Rain.” And “Singing in the Rain” left me analyzing the issues that have plagued me since childhood that overcame me this weekend.

“Singing in the Rain.” You know… “Singing in the Rain.”

I learned to whistle in the bar. There was a man, I’m not sure who it was, who used to try and get me to whistle “Singing in the Rain.” I’m not sure which bar, maybe The Red Geranium, which is also where my mom served as the afternoon bartender for a while and where the owner’s grandson almost drowned me one summer day.

I don’t even remember who taught me to whistle.

I went to the bar with my mother because my father usually stopped at a bar after work. And he often didn’t come home until he spent all his money or the bar closed. So, my mom and I would go looking for him.

Each bar had a highlight. One of my school friends hung out at Delaware House waiting for her mom. But Delaware House burned down in 1986— I think my Dad might have been there that night— and all I remember is purple-hued lighting and one time someone vomited on the sidewalk right outside the door while I was standing there.

In my memory, the fire took out my grandfather’s favorite clothing store (not true according to newspaper records)— Effross’s— though thinking harder I don’t known if that recollection is correct. Apparently, Mr. Effross died in November. My grandfather bought all his Levi’s from Mr. Effross.

My grandfather chewed Jucyfruit, enjoyed the occasional trip to Kmart, smoked Parliaments and listened to Jim Reeves. He would hand me an empty coffee can and tell me he’d pay me a penny for every cigarette butt I could find in our yard.

At one point, I spent all the time I could with him. My parents said we had moved to Pennsylvania to be closer to him and my grandmother, moving into the trailer right besides my grandparents in the trailer park.

My mother befriended an elderly man named James Wicks who lived in a trailer on the other side of us. He had no family, so my mother cared for him until his death. And we inherited his tan Chevy Citation.

On some days, while my mom went to see Wicky, I would go see my Aunt Sharon and my grandpa. I spent a lot of time with them as they served as my babysitter when my mom and dad would go for motorcycle rides or when my parents planned to go drinking.

They had cable. We did not. So if I was lucky, I might get to watch The Addams Family. My grandfather liked Highway to Heaven and Knight Rider.

At one point, my uncle had moved to another state. I seem to think I was 10, because I tend to think everything bad that happened to me happened around that time. My aunt had gone to stay with them. She and my grandpa had plans to move up there.

If I can trust my memory, I was wearing a pastel striped romper, with shorts. [Trigger warning] He asked me to come sit on his lap, so I did. He started rubbing my inner thighs. I remember his hands, and I remember how close they were getting to my romper.

There were a few other times where he touched me inappropriately in similar fashion, so I stopped sitting in his lap.

And eventually I avoided going to his house when no one else was home.

I told no one.

But then, a while later, and I don’t know if Aunt Sharon was home or not, I think she was… We ordered a pizza. My grandfather asked if I wanted to go with him to pick it up. I said yes, probably because I wanted a “jungle juice” and to play the Pac Man arcade game.

The pizza place was probably less than two miles away.

But he didn’t go to the pizza place.

He turned down a side road. And then to a dirt road. The night was dark. We had no street lights. I knew where we were, but I also knew it was the middle of nowhere.

He patted the seat beside him. It was a big old vinyl bench seat. He told me to come over and kiss him. So, as a granddaughter would, I kissed his cheek.

He told me no. That’s not how you kiss. And then his tongue was in my mouth. Deep in my mouth. Invading my mouth.

I was terrified.

I don’t remember what I did to get away. But we did go get the pizza.

I didn’t tell my mom until high school. I just avoided my grandfather. But my mom was going to ask him to drive me home from play rehearsal. And I knew I couldn’t be alone with him.

I didn’t tell my dad until I was in college. My grandfather and I had a tumultuous relationship because I called him a “selfish old bastard.” Yeah, no one knew the real reason why I said that. But my grandfather never spoke to me again.

And that hurt my dad.

One day he got drunk and asked me point blank, “what did you grandfather ever do to you, molest you or something?”

“Yeah, Dad,” I said. “Actually he did.”

And I will remember the shock on his face forever.

My father’s recent death has forced me to spend more time in memories like these than I usually allow.

I tell this story because I know others have similar stories. I tell this story because in the wake of my father’s death, I think of my grandfather more. I tell this story because yesterday morning I wept while driving to work at 5:45 a.m. because I use a country road that, in that moment, reminded me of that country road.

These stories are invisible. People don’t tell these stories. Skeletons belong in closets.

But I’m tired of these stories haunting me, circling my own head, so I’m going to leave this here.

I spent a good deal of my youth afraid of what my grandfather might do. To me.

My first kiss came from my grandfather. I didn’t even know the difference between boys and girls.

I still freak out if I have to kiss a man.

I’m grateful I had the wisdom to avoid my grandfather.

My grandfather is dead.

My father is dead. His brother is dead.

Aunt Sharon is still with us, but she has an intellectual disability that renders her an eternal child.

So this story can’t hurt any of them.

But maybe it can free me.

Because those memories still ignite fear in me.

Iron Man 3: a Christmas movie?

The teenager and I have a favorite Christmas movie— The Ref with Denis Leary.

But Denis may have lost his place as our unorthodox Christmas hero because Tony Stark has usurped his place.

I had the vague feeling of déjà vu watching the film as I remembered more of this one than I usually do with films I’ve only seen once.

This one is fun because Tony Stark spends much of the film without the use of technology and his suits, relying instead on his wit and his body.

There’s a theme of taking responsibility for one’s actions running through the film, perhaps getting us ready for Spider-Man’s line, “with great power comes great responsibility.”

There is also a young man named Harley who I hope to see in a future film, and I also want to see Agent Caulson’s cellist. She was mentioned in Iron Man 2 and The Avengers. But I digress.

But what really steals this movie and provides probably the closest thing to reality is Tony Stark struggling with PTSD and anxiety attacks after fighting off robotic aliens in New York (Avengers). It’s refreshing to see a good guy deal with mental health issues on screen.

The eye of the storm: the kitten cafe launches Sunday

I have had so much fun and have so much anticipation for Sunday’s Pop Up Kitten Cafe to benefit Feline Urban Rescue and Rehab.

It’s 2 a.m.

I need to be at the gym at 10 a.m.

But I just finished a salad from Wawa with spinach, chicken salad, carrots, apples and feta. Trying to combat stress with nourishing food.

After all, yesterday was Friday the 13th.

I sent N.J. EZ Pass a copy of my check from my daughter’s violations from her vacation. Apparently they need the front and back and I only sent the front.

I took my phone to Best Buy for repairs as Square Trade told me too. The screen repair would be $379, and my deductible is $129. But my phone is an old iPhone X (purchased in April 2018) and the battery is only at 84% and the face sensor is dead. So Best Buy does not recommend repairing it. They sell replacement iPhone X for I believe it was $549. But they didn’t have any.

So I had to go home, call SquareTrade and have them ship me a replacement. They are sending an Xs. Via FedEx. That is supposed to come today while I am running for the cafe. I hope I’m back in time.

[Edit: 2 p.m. No phone. No note from FedEx. Just a Chewy.com box.]

By the time I went to work last night, I was frazzled. I’ve been part of a small cohort in QC this week while most of the « Midnight Society » team has gone to inbound processing. Because of body stiffness I only made 113 fixes Tuesday and Wednesday night. I’ve lost my mojo.

Last night I started strong, doing 9 fixes every 30 minutes. But by lunch I had slowed down and couldn’t get my speed back up.

I was stressing way too much about the numbers— not in a mental way, as I knew the number who improve from my two “bad nights” and life happens. Physically though it was harder to breathe, my heart quickened and my stomach quivered. And I knew it was a panicked feeling from the stress of everything.

I opened my Ginger Mental Health app. I reached out to a counselor who said something about a mental vacation and that sounded like an amazing idea. (Stitch Fix offers free access to Ginger for its employees.)

She sent me a meditation but my mind had already drifted away to my own memories of vacation in Yemen and Djibouti. I thought about how soothing the call to prayer on the loud speaker was. Video: Call to prayer Djibouti City and if you want some Afar dancing and singing: Afar dancing (only snippets because on Lac Abbé we didn’t have electricity and I didn’t want my phone to go dead.)

And I thought it would me beautiful to hear that right now. I found this on Spotify: Life of the Prophet. That brought me peace.

When I got home I recorded this: Midnight Vlog

End of May update on Silk & Sonder self-care planner

This is the second part in an ongoing series about my experience with Silk & Sonder self-care planners. Click here to read about My initial impression of my Silk & Sonder May planner.

Earlier this week it was 90 degrees and sunny. Yesterday was 60 and cloudy and prone to dramatic cloudbursts of dramatic rain.

Today, the high was around 45.

My knees ache and my ankles keep giving out. I collapsed on the floor at one point, scraped my knee and tore my fancy, super soft and cozy joggers I bought at Stitch Fix’s Bizzy Hizzy employee pop-up store.

So I’m currently in bed with my electric blanket and two three-legged cats.

Louise, one of our fosters

Tomorrow I will finish my May edition of the Silk & Sonder wellness/self-care planner. Even though June starts on Tuesday, apparently Silk & Sonder starts all of its planners on Monday, so Monday May 31 is part of the June planner.

The June planner shipped in mid May, with an anticipated delivery date of May 24. According to the tracking information, it arrived at our regional post office about 10 miles away in the early afternoon on May 18, but didn’t arrive at our local post office 2 miles away until 4 days later on May 22.

It has languished there for a week.

Now, in the great scheme of life, this planner is not vital. But it is rather pricey, and I find a weird emotional sensation in stressing over planning my mental wellness strategies because my calendar is lost in the mail.

Receiving a calendar that suggests you plan for the future with reflection and mindfulness AFTER the month starts defeats some of the purpose.

And if there are problems with the United States Postal Service, shouldn’t the merchant find a new method of delivery? The product is time sensitive.

Honestly, I find it difficult to evaluate if the planner has allowed me to plot a calmer and more mindful future/existence because I’m too busy freaking out that tomorrow is Sunday, that I have to not only work Monday but work day shift, and I can’t even fill out my to do lists, meal plans and other Silk & Sonder pages.

Ironing out the anxieties

Today’s blog post will ramble through my everyday activities as they often do, but I will also attempt to show how attitude, reaching out and communication can overcome life’s anxieties.

First thing this morning I saw a post from my new-ish internet friend Fausta advertising her one day free seminar on Zoom covering Mindful Self-Compassion.

We were on our way out the door first thing this morning, teenager #1 and I, to take our kitty cat osteosarcoma survivor, Opie, to a new vet, Canyon River Run, to have the lump on his neck checked.

Although in the pandemic era, we only met the vet tech, teenager #1 and I were very pleased with their service and demeanors. The prices were reasonable, too. They even called my former vet’s office (Wright’s Veterinary in Bethlehem) when I didn’t have Opie’s most up to date shots.

The vet reported that in her opinion the lump of his neck is not cancer as it is clearly in the skin and not deeper. I have to follow up because the verbal report relayed to me said it would need to be surgically removed but I don’t know if it would be a cosmetic one or a diagnostic tool to confirm her opinion.

That was the first of several anxieties addressed.

On a side note, I tried the cold brew at Wendy’s. It was quite delightful. Strong but not too bitter.

I also contacted Bird Mania, the establishment where I acquired Nala, to sow them our new photos. (They approved, Joan.) I hope to take my four baby budgies to them tomorrow as they should be young enough to hand tame and rehome.

My bird overpopulation is another anxiety addressed. Though catching and surrendering my chicks is another.

The teenagers had some issues last night, some of which remind me of college roommate situations. We shall work it all out, but since the vet took longer than I anticipated and I worked a 10-hour shift last night, my phone battery was down to 15% as the conversations continued throughout the night. I’m glad we all started a conversation about it as that’s really the only way we can initiate a solution.

Before all this started, on my first of several 10-minute breaks last night, I used my pick Chromebook to request a late start next week for Fausta’s seminar. That’s when I also noticed one of my supervisors had sent me an email requesting my presence for a chat.

Later that night. New anxiety. In several of my previous work environments, meetings never meant anything positive.

My final break came. My meeting with the leaders was 10:15 p.m. Break was 10 to 10:10 p.m. I wasn’t sure what to do with that five minutes. So, me being me, I returned to QC and folded one more fix before leaving my table at 10:15.

It turns out that my “chat” was to check in about how I’d been doing split between QC and pick. And to announce that as of Monday, they would test changing my basic schedule to move between pick and QC in a regular fashion, starting the “morning” (I assume this means the first half of my shift as we start at 3:30 p.m.) in pick and moving to QC later.

We talked a bit about numbers and strategies and once again, as I have mentioned to other leaders, I reiterated that I know I will never be the fastest though I know I will grow more efficient. I try to make up for my lack of speed and natural dexterity by being dependable and flexible and finding ways to work smarter. I also pointed out that while I haven’t hit the best metrics, my metrics are consistent.

“Can we clone you?” one leader asked.

Finally, I bought some clothes at the Stitch Fix Employee Store. I wasn’t going to visit the store this time around, but in the end my issue with ill-fitting and disappearing clothes urged me onward.

The store has been open almost two weeks so there is not much left. And some of the things I most wanted weren’t available. I wanted jeans as I’m still not thin enough to fit in my size four wardrobe from the pre-Corona days but the hand-me-down size eights are getting too baggy.

I also wanted nice t-shirts. Everything I own appears to be sleeveless or shapeless.

As Joan the photographer reported when she got her first Stitch Fix box, the Democracy Jeans are comfortable but the zippers-for-pretty get caught on everything. These are beige camo, not a print I wanted. I didn’t want a print at all. They are skinny cut, not my favorite cut either. And they are too long for me, which makes them very wrinkled.

The Michael Stars top is amazing, fits great, looks very feminine and so comfortable. And I feared it would be too big.

Finally, the yoga top/lazy woman’s sports bra thing from Free People movement actually holds everything in like a sports bra but looks really cute. It retails for $30 which is insane. But I’m a forty-something woman who is very surprised this skimpy top works for me.

Cats, doctors and Dunkin’

I was up until 2 am last night cuddling kittens and watching Gotham Garage on Netflix.

The Fluff butts of the Norse Pride are battling ringworm— the teenager and I also have that fungal delight.

When I woke this morning around 7, I saw an email from my new employer StitchFix telling me that my orientation is 6:30 am to 3 pm on Monday— and my doctors appointment for my blood pressure, itching, anxiety and cerebral palsy. But now I also have ringworm and some aching in my ribs from my fall.

I really didn’t want to start my new job with all of these things untreated. Luckily my doctor’s office had an opening today.

And I had trouble with all of the apps to do the paperwork for StitchFix. Still haven’t straightened it out.

I decided to change up my makeup for Zeus and Apollo’s adoption today. Teenager #1 and I headed to Chaar to meet their new family.

I hope they send lots of photos!

I promised the teenager an egg wrap from Dunkin on the way home but for some reason the app wouldn’t let me order eggs.

The doctor’s visit went fine and their social worker will call me to help with Medicaid and whatnot.

On the way home from the doctor, I finally got the egg wrap for the teenager, a doughnut with sprinkles for the other teenager, a glazed doughnut for my friend who was coming over, and I finally got to try the sourdough egg sandwich.

MY REVIEW

The bread is bigger than the eggs. Very spongy and I feel like it would make delicious toast. I feel like the bread would be better as a side. Or as a BLT. For $5– I’d rather have one of their other egg sandwiches.

I survived… the car wash

I got dressed up today and headed… to the car wash.

It’s 80 degrees with 85% humidity, and a 30% chance of thunder showers later today. About 5 p.m.

The teenager and I would head to the car wash, give the Jetta a bath, vacuum, stop at Dunkin for free donut Friday and have the car in the garage before the rain.

As soon as we stepped outside it started to drizzle, even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

So we opened the sun roof and headed to Dunkin first. I had an egg and cheese wrap, and half a glazed donut, while the teen had an egg wrap, hash browns, a frozen coffee and half a glazed donut.

We tried to read the car wash signs from across the street. My dad has taken me through the car wash, and apparently my father-in-law has taken the teen. I have never driven a car into the car wash.

I decided on the $8 Express Wash with $3 hot wax and free vacuums. I used a $20 bill to pay in the car wash vending machine.

And to think I spent quite a bit of time collecting quarters.

Into the car wash! (Video)

The video adequately displays my terror.

We vacuumed and found the missing piece to my key fob.

I did a good job adulting with the car.

The shifting psychology of chores

As one of the perks of the online writing community, I have had the pleasure to meet Fausta, a life coach and therapist who has a wide range of capacities and wicked sharp writing skills. She has been working on her blog, and her business, Fausta’s Place to Ponder.

People often influence and inspire each other in the most unexpected ways—often without trying—and I’ve admired and respected Fausta for a long time in just that kind of subtle way.

Like most of us, she’s a real and imperfect woman with a quiet vibrancy. She’s touched me with her honesty about life as a woman and the everyday struggles as a mother, building/continuing her career/business, dealing with her own and her family’s health and keeping her heart and emotional state strong and well.

Isn’t that what most of us are trying to do? In a recent blog post (linked below) she talks about our attitudes and how our mental framing of tasks impact how we perform them. I have continued to ponder this.

Mindful Self Compassion Can Help You Get the Dishes Done

I love routine, order and cleanliness. But with 4 cats, 4 birds, 1 teenager, a full-time job, my own physical and emotional issues and a coronavirus pandemic, I can’t always achieve/complete/do everything I want to do.

I have to employ more mindful self compassion, and with the teenager’s help I am growing in this regard. She and I have been discussing the differences in how our brains are wired. This helps me look at my setting from multiple points of view.

My goal, in what used to be Standard American Life, was to workout either at the gym or at home 3-5 times per week and never leave dirty dishes in the sink overnight.

Now, the gyms are closed. I’m eating too much fast food. And my goal is to clean the kitchen every morning— as my energy levels are higher and it reinforces the idea that every day is a clean start.

But I still need to examine my motivations. There’s a flip side to chores.

Today is Sunday. Yesterday, I got up, did a load of laundry and started the dishwasher. I cleaned all the litter boxes— no small chore with four cats, but oh so worth it.

Two kittens and 3-legged Overlord

I did some other odds and ends too but I’ll be darned if I remember them.

And then I attended a business meeting, had coffee with a neighbor, cleaned up after the birds, let the teenager give me a haircut (a rather severe one that doesn’t exactly match the crazy hair I have, but give it two weeks and it will be perfect), split a ginormous, super-sweet cinnamon bun from Cake and Corolla, enjoyed dinner from Dairy Queen, and watched Hell’s Kitchen for the rest of the day.

And I’m not beating myself up over “not doing more.”

But this morning— I got up, washed the pots and pans, unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher, did two loads of laundry and hung them on the line, fed the menagerie, scrubbed them kitchen counter, took out the compost, emptied the garbage, carried the garbage outside, and vacuumed and washed the kitchen floor.

All before 9:30.

And I feel good about the work I got done. Even if I am still worrying about cutting the grass, working out this week’s budget, and dealing with this week’s groceries and work stress. I dread both. I *don’t* want to do the grocery shopping and I never know what will happen at work on Monday.

So I have a delicate balancing act— what can I do to feel good about myself and my house and what can I do to not exhaust myself?

Because you see, I know I also do chores and scrub the bathtub to avoid facing my fears and emotions in the stillness.

Chores let me use the energy of my angst to achieve something positive, but in the end, that’s not always the best approach to my emotional health and physical self.

PS—

Early on in this pandemic I invested in good old fashioned cleaning products: Pine Sol, Ammonia, Fels Naptha, Borax, etc. I opened up the Pine Sol today. Just felt like my neglected floor needed something extra. I got this at the Grocery Outlet and as you can see it’s not traditional Pine Sol. It’s like super floral. “Fresh Scent” by patooty. Someone just exploded a fake floral bomb in my house.

Enough is enough! (Take that, Tupperware cupboard!)

I’ve been stressed. There’s a lot going on in my life between relationships and work. And for weeks, if not months, I’ve wanted to clean the Tupperware cupboard.

When my husband moved out in late June, I encouraged him to take more of the storage containers in the cupboard. I honestly don’t remember how much he took. But I do know I look at the cupboard and think I have too many containers left.

Purging and organizing makes my soul feel free and light.

Today I finally did it…

I ate way too many pierogies for dinner and then I tackled the abyss.

My heart celebrates order over chaos.