Been a long, l-o-n-g, couple of weeks. Would love to give a whole bunch of earth shattering reasons why but I don’t have them. I’m not going through what my sister-in-law is (and by the way she totally rocks for taking care of Mom the way she has all these years, and the nieces too). I’m not my daughter, still in the first year of a new corporate job (you go girl!), I’m not even sick. No not even a sniffle.
What I am is discontent. For now. It happens, things seem to be going along the merry way and, oops, there it is. I don’t like the bedroom, I don’t like the living room, the yard isn’t where I want it to be, I still see the place I need to re-paint in the bathroom, blah, blah, blah.
What a whiner! Get a grip.
This feeling runs in cycles. I see something, too much dust on top of the fridge, the bed needs a new mattress pad, what ever. In this case it was not being able to find all eight dinner forks and sixteen teaspoons for the flatware. I don’t have kids at home and we don’t have a dishwasher for them to be lost in. Then I start looking around. Two of those bowls and another that does not match, odd amounts of glassware, why is the suitcase in the closet instead of the garage?
Then I hear it, tick…tick…tick. Like the clock in the crock-tummy in Peter Pan. Tick-tick-tick, time to deep c lean, change, re-arrange.
The next sound you’ll hear is pounding footsteps. That’s my honey-darling, running for the garage.