So, in the interest of resetting my brain I was thinking of going to Tybee Island for a day, sometime this week. Only, according to the people, it’s supposed to rain every day.
I take this as a sign that I am not meant to go to the beach this week.
I believe in signs. Not the woowoo stuff of tarot cards and palm readings and things that totally kind of skeeve me, but signals that say “no, I am not supposed to do that.”
And please, don’t give me your reasons for loving tarot readings and that sort of thing. I do not like them and you will not convince me of the benefits of using them. You want to use them? Fine. Go ahead.
Sometimes it’s something as silly as my computer deleting a whiny and bitter post I’ve spent 30 minutes typing in, then I accidentally hit control instead of shift and WHOOSH…it’s gone. I will curse for a couple of seconds, then realize how self indulgent and self pitying it was,and decide perhaps it’s for the best.
It’s happened with emails, too. Perhaps I was blasting one out, in a fit of ill temper, and whoosh- it’s gone.
I see it as God being a kind editor.
We badly need the rain. It is a joy to behold. Well, the grass, that also loves the rain, isn’t a joy to behold because it’s reaching the “bush hog” stage of needing to be mowed, but the crops, the corn and peaches and soybeans, cotton and peanuts…the river which has been so low…the rain has so many benefits that my trip to Tybee seems so self indulgent I don’t want to get peevish because it might not be able to happen.
Perhaps there is a very good reason why I need to stay home this week. Other than the normal stuff like “good grief the dust bunnies are evolving into sentient beings” and needing to locate the Spot du Jour for the dogs bathroom needs. I am immensely thankful that Terry recognizes and respects my dislike of carpets and rugs, because that means the dogs bathroom du jour is easy to deal with. (Dachshunds are notoriously difficult to housetrain, and when it’s raining, they are exponentially more stubborn about going outside.)
I do have things to do, here at home. 3 skirts to make for a 12 year old girl. The 2 women (both I’ve done sewing for) asked if I could make capes for the kindergarten class (that they’re teaching) at Vacation Bible School. My Fabric Pimp is going to see if he can find purple fabric to donate, otherwise I’ll use red…but we’re talking about 2 adult sized capes for the teachers and maybe 20 for the kids. Fortunately that is 5 weeks away.
I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. This fugue has been 8 years long. It has to do with teenagers, and work, and marriage and personalities and emotional self-protection. I have built a wall around myself, a fortress of sorts. Only, it has grown more into a prison than protection, and I am trying to knock the bricks out, one at a time, so I can see light again, and maybe get to the point where (maybe? Hopefully?) I can step over the walls back into the world, and breathe something more than my own stale air. But, something that has been 8 years in the making isn’t going to come down in one day, and when you’ve been inside a fortress for so long, and become accustomed (even comfortable) to it…well…it’s not easy, is it. I am anxious. What if I am making the wrong decision to come out of this? What if I get hurt again? So, caution is in order. I must be careful. I am, however, determined to do this. I want to live. I want real friends who know me. That won’t happen as long as I stay in my fortress, hiding behind a thick wall.