Doing the Turtle
Trying hard to get some decent rest, and actually recognizing signs of hiding in the shell.
I'm not sure what it is. Perhaps there's a fear of being hurt some more, but I often find that what I want to do is clean all the crap up that's around me. I vacuumed my car today and sprayed it with a new car scent.
I wrote checks, worked on the expense account, re-established a semblance of a schedule for next week, and declined all offers to get out and get my mind off things. Even golf has no appeal right now.
Still, it wasn't enough. I cleaned the bathrooms, vacuumed the house and actually debated cleaning out my closet because I will never ever fit in size 32 pants again, unless of course, I get a debilitating disease, and given the events of the past 16 months, that seems logical.
So I left the closet alone.
I read my copy of the Ladies Home Journal and ESPN.
Yes, Ladies Home Journal - great recipes and the ever-popular Can This Marriage Be Saved.
I'm always rooting for the poor beat up husband. Is that bad?
And I'm thinking about a nap again,wondering when I will poke my head out from the shell, and battle back a bit.
It's funny but my cousin Joe was telling me a story about my Dad. It was a story I'd never heard before. Dad had found a turtle on a construction site. The huge turtle was miles away from anywhere that a turtle might live. So, Dad figured he'd adopt it as a pet.
He built the turtle a doghouse with a little pool that it could wade in. He drilled a hole in the turtle's shell and used a piece of wire to keep it on a leash.
Joe was laughing about the turtle and how when he was just a kid he'd hustle over to see it after school.
"His pet turtle lasted for a little while, but one day he was gone. I'm not sure what happened, but I can remember that your father was a little torn up about it."
Adopting a pet turtle. Priceless.
Now if I can just get rid of this 1000-pound shell on my back.
I'm not sure what it is. Perhaps there's a fear of being hurt some more, but I often find that what I want to do is clean all the crap up that's around me. I vacuumed my car today and sprayed it with a new car scent.
I wrote checks, worked on the expense account, re-established a semblance of a schedule for next week, and declined all offers to get out and get my mind off things. Even golf has no appeal right now.
Still, it wasn't enough. I cleaned the bathrooms, vacuumed the house and actually debated cleaning out my closet because I will never ever fit in size 32 pants again, unless of course, I get a debilitating disease, and given the events of the past 16 months, that seems logical.
So I left the closet alone.
I read my copy of the Ladies Home Journal and ESPN.
Yes, Ladies Home Journal - great recipes and the ever-popular Can This Marriage Be Saved.
I'm always rooting for the poor beat up husband. Is that bad?
And I'm thinking about a nap again,wondering when I will poke my head out from the shell, and battle back a bit.
It's funny but my cousin Joe was telling me a story about my Dad. It was a story I'd never heard before. Dad had found a turtle on a construction site. The huge turtle was miles away from anywhere that a turtle might live. So, Dad figured he'd adopt it as a pet.
He built the turtle a doghouse with a little pool that it could wade in. He drilled a hole in the turtle's shell and used a piece of wire to keep it on a leash.
Joe was laughing about the turtle and how when he was just a kid he'd hustle over to see it after school.
"His pet turtle lasted for a little while, but one day he was gone. I'm not sure what happened, but I can remember that your father was a little torn up about it."
Adopting a pet turtle. Priceless.
Now if I can just get rid of this 1000-pound shell on my back.
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