The state of me

I had the best of intentions when I restarted this blog. I was going to post dutifully nearly every day to get my writing muscles back up to snuff. I was going along fine until last week happened. I will spare you most of the horrible details. Suffice it to say, I had a brief fleeting “goodbye cruel world” moment, until I realized “Oh hell, no, I’m not going anywhere.” And lo things righted themselves. The stress has abated and we’ve found a compromise of sorts. We’ll revisit the situation in a few weeks to see where things stand.

But that leaves me looking around at my life and my belongings and wondering how I got this way.  I didn’t enjoy packing up to move the last time around and I hated packing stuff up when I had the new carpet installed. The prospect of living out of storage for months on end scared the hell out of me, enough to send a kind of wake-up call. For some odd reason, I value my books over my furniture or my clothes.  Decluttering my life will be a necessary endeavor if I intend to move, because I haven’t found the gracious bookshelf lined manor of my dreams yet, not on my salary anyway. The apartments around here are smaller and more expensive, unless I’m prepared to live further out.

Enough navel gazing and worrying over stuff — I promise I will post about other more cheerful subjects soon.

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