Archive | September 2016

No Headaches

I run a weird ship. Because the priceling and I live with my dad and his wife, the only spaces I have are in my room and my garage. I take care of the kitchen, but it’s not my happy place as I don’t enjoy cooking.

Last weekend, I hired someone I know who is just starting their cleaning business. She came in and did a spanking good job on both rooms… so good, in fact, that the kitchen became my happy place.

Don’t get me wrong, I knew what I needed to do. Clean my room, declutter some area, purge purge purge. I started the process, but then life happened and it went on the back burner and…..

I made the call. Help me with my spaces. Please. 

The picture above shows about 1/3 of the crap in my closet. Here’s another  view 

I didn’t think we’d get it done. I Had to make choices:is it useful, does it make me happy?  And does having it on display make my life more serene? Yes, a lot of stuff was cleared out, my art work moved around, just so I can breathe in here again. 

It gets hard to be creative when you’re holding on so tightly to everything. I had insurance bills from 2 years ago, reams of stuff I just didn’t need or want. And some stuff, like the princelings art work went into a file.

After next weekend, when I get the garage done complete with new chairs and a crafting table, I’ll turn that artwork into a scrap book.

Time for me to leave, my lovelies. I feel the urge to put pen to paper. 

My mind is clear.

Here’s a photo of the after

Trust me when I say it had been covered in cords and clutter. It’s now my happy place.

My art collected at Stockton con got a new home, with lots of white space.

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Please

How are you doing? She asked. So I proceeded to gripe and whine, not thinking that she had called me.

She doesn’t just call to chat. Even as teenagers, I was the one who could talk on the phone for hours. She does better with eye contact, a shoulder bump….just being there. And yet, she called me.

She told me, after I was done, the words that females dread. We all do. Our hearts stop when we hear the phrase I found a lump.

I babbled. Told her about Planned Parenthood which apparently sucks where she’s at. Told her to check into this and that and all the while my heart had only one prayer.

Please.

Please, God. 

At one point I told her that I didn’t know if I was saying the right things. She said something profoundly true… even just breathing on the other end of the phone would have been the right thing.

She didn’t need my words. She needed my love.

She needed me.

So I will continue calling and texting and pretending to be General Shelton. And I will continue my prayer, my plea.

Please.