Ennui...

 

I have a pretty severe case of it. 

After so many years of having my schedule dictated for me, reallocating those weekly forty hours is challenging and I'm not up to any challenges so there's been a lot of listless time-wasting.  

My grandmother would have made me clean the parakeet's cage with a toothbrush. While the vicious little bugger was in it. 

Knowing why is something, anyway.  I'm having another back procedure tomorrow and will see about some physical therapy that is NOT in a public pool. I'm having some annoying breathing issues that feel like long covid and the last thing I want to do is spend an hour in a chlorinated atmosphere. 

Thank you for this, Liz. It was in my stack of "I'm gonna be bookmark any day now".  It reminded me of something important beyond the obvious. 

When I'm writing into a brick wall and getting nowhere, a neat trick is to write a scene for another character. Up to now, I've neglected the ghosts, Hope and Sam. They have a lot to say and hands to play in the sequel I'm developing. 

This was a big outing for me on Saturday. We took books to the little free library in the park where I used to walk and write. I managed 1200 steps and Charlie couldn't resist a last swipe at summer silliness.

It's a good thing I have him to remind me of simple joys.

A big week

 

I take this picture to be a good omen. A sense of community that I have missed while I was putting in forty hours a week with people I never saw or got to know.

This is the resident cat posse. Center on the mat, the youngster, Milly. Colin's Christmas rescue. She's a gonif and we are already having to restrict her caloric intake. No more basketball-sized cats in this family. It's really not good for them. 

On the left, Her Dowager Highness, Sweetie. You all know her. I indulge and spoil her. The two of us feeling the weight of life and years, arthritic and lazy.

Center on the steps, Young Thug, Bailey, the lithe fur snake who will interrupt his napping to rush onto my lap with the urgency of a child needing to be soothed after a nightmare. Sixty seconds of head scratching and poof, he's gone, back to his cat business.

Last, but not least, Lady Salem, she of the gorgeous graphics,  is still a bit troubled by Milly, the young interloper. Salem guards me jealously at night treating my hands like her long-lost kittens - licking them clean and moving them with a nip.

I am owned.

I have a few daily duties. I am honored to have breakfast with Charlie. He reads to me before and after school daily. Improving in leaps and bounds, he's found a hero writer in Dav Pilkey, author of the brilliant Dog Man Series. This, from "Dog Man: Mothering Heights"

Every story is chock full of action but sewn together by scenes like this. 

There were seven words or phrases here that prompted spirited discussions. The triple pov endings of this one made me cry, but I'm an easy mark.

He is perfecting his delivery for maximum Nana impact. 

There was a delightful adults-only day that included swimming in a still warm salt-water pool, food, drinks and a Braves game on the radio. Late that day, there was a phone call from the workplace. A wellness call, she described it. Thoughtful, if proforma. 

The next morning, I called and put them out of their misery. Who knew there was something called "off-boarding"?  The deal is done. I am free. 

The daily path is pretty much up to me and the calendar is already booking up. Today, I'll be driving to the gallery to fetch home the pieces that didn't sell.

Dirty Threads

 

That didn't take long, thank you all. 

I still have plenty, but I haven't had the time to get more sets posted. More tomorrow.

Up to now, I was going to document a dyefest in order to write a DIY, but that's just more procrastination bullshit. Something I am trying to flush from my thought process.

Step One. 

Open a blank page....

the switch flipped

 

I knew it the minute the float turned me in this direction, Summer left without even saying goodbye. The water loses a degree or two each day and within minutes of this moment, I was scrambling to get out before the thunderstorm hit.

Tomorrow I will be disconnecting the day job equipment and getting it out of my space for good.  It can stage down in the living room until they let me know where they want it sent. Eighteen cubic feet all told. Bailey will be upset, but that office chair is going too. More space! 

I don't quite know what to do with myself yet.

They do. 

Really, so do I.  Some travel plans are afoot.

Lots of pesky admin stuff to get out of the way.

Stories are spinning up, taking hold.

August 18, any year.

 

August 18 has always been an auspicious day for me, on many occasions and for many reasons. 

Laugh out loud times, tears in my eyes times, and the sound of that sweet inner bell saying "Do it!"

So many memorable 8/18s, that at some point in the middle of Summer's last laugh, I always take notice, connect the dots and remember them.

No random pull for me today. I picked all of these for myself. Like the day.

I have walked away from the day job. No regrets. For thirteen years it has both sustained and confounded me. I'm grateful that it was never more than a way to make money and now, time matters more than money. Roll on.