I’m not angry about anything, not much. Just that Google tracked my search for a shop light and right away put an advertisement for it on my FaceBook timeline. And that the TV has been on too long today.
Nothing has struck me as particularly beautiful lately, or at least, only things about which I’ve already written–light through leaves, seeds going into the soil, boys playing with sticks in the dirt.
I have no burning questions, just regular ones, like is it time yet for me to go back to school? Should I use the kitchen table, lacking other space, as a platform to paint a shelf for my bathroom? When can I get to the library next?
Not disgusted by anything, except the thought of a starving person watching chefs on TV make macabre sculptures out of vast quantities of cake, pumpkin, and candy on in order to sell advertisement space.
I’m not even under emotional strain, though I’m a bit worried about one of my children, wondering whether this stage will last much longer, and am I handling it the right way?
I have stories to tell, but they are long ago and I need to refresh my memory first from my journals.
Rested, at peace, and thankful is what I am. And I regret to say that I am not practiced in making much of that verbally. But there it is.