Crash

It was dramatic. It was traumatic. It was truly stupid when the bookshelf came tumbling down on my head spreading it's carefully sorted contents all over everywhere under things and in cracks and crevices that made clean up murder on the back. I'm just not built for crawling around on my knees on a hard concrete floor anymore. Where is the three year old I used to be?

Alas, some treasured mementos were broken. Serious hurt-filled losses. Just stuff, but what else do I have in this life anymore? The pity-party lasted a few hours. I had a meeting to go to and Jackson absorbed most of the self-loathing (bless her) and I cleaned the mess and made lemonades out of lemons by rearranging the room so I have a lot more living space in the one room I inhabit. Much more to do now that all the sorted stuff is back in two boxes completely unsorted, among a lot of other arranging needed around here, but hey, I am good at ignoring the mess under my nose most of the time.

Evening came and the Sunday softball manager's meeting was a place to get hugs and watch others drink. Coachess drove after I drove over to her daughter's house so I had someone to go with which was better for me. Loneliness is still raging like a forest fire in my spirit. That's life. Home for some more writing and then sleep, whatever dreams, comforts, and blahs I find there.

Start over.

Again.

Narf.