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Right now I’m having flashbacks to the days when my parents would storm into my bedroom once a year with trash bags and threats of sending me to a homeless shelter and make me clean the train wreck that was my bedroom. I’d end up spending the entire day in there, sorting all my junk into piles of clothes, stuffed animals, books, papers to keep, and papers that if I have to throw away something can go. Inevitably, I’d reach the end of the project and sit in the middle of the floor with my one last cubic foot of “stuff” and cry. It’s not that I was sad to be finished. It was that that last little bit just confounded me like a Cubist painting. Nothing seemed to make sense enough to sort.
Yeah, my house is like that right now. That’s why I’m on the computer right now. I’ve actually cleaned off about half of the stuff that was on the coffee table this morning. (The dogs are a real help.)
The kitchen is coming along. I actually have four cabinets cleared now.
My idea was to store the boxes as I filled them in our guest room.
Having to give a dog this kind of medicine certainly doesn’t add to the fun.
I’m also trying to clean out the freezer, and that’s a story in itself. At least today’s surprise label cracked me up. I never forget to stir, but enjoying the flavors of frozen tuna casserole on my tongue might slip my mind.
Winnipeg, my Great Dane puppy, was outside yesterday running in the
yard while I stood there growing more and more impatient with her. Puppies don’t seem to understand that taking care of business isn’t supposed to be a major activity. I think this dog needs to be on Ritalin because she apparently heard an ant drop a bread crumb in the neighbor’s yard and stopped to debate if she needed to run over and offer her assistance. In the middle of said pondering, Winnie glanced over at me, slowly turned her head around as close as possible to her rear end, and started sniffing. She looked back over at me with that look…that “did you get a whiff of what just came out of there?” look. I assured her that I did not and was very happy that I did not because the look in that dog’s eyes told me all I needed to know. Dog farts are most certainly dangerous forces that should be unleashed only on drivers who cut in line and people who don’t flush public toilets.
I entered Winnipeg in a puppy photo contest. Please visit the link and vote for her.
This pretty much sums up the way I’ve felt lately.
I tend to hide it well, but rumbling beneath the surface of my soul is a beast fraught with anger and fear and insecurity.
