I’m feeling accomplished. A bamboo beaded octopus curtain hangs, separating our clothes closet from the add-on attic closet. It gives off a vibe like you’ve stepped into a tarot card-reading lady’s house who’s getting handsy with a crystal ball.
I am absolutely beat. My puppies have overheated, my brain feels fried, and if I had a hot tub right now, I’d strip naked and dive right in. Speaking of which, isn’t being naked just the best?
Hmm, that got me thinking. I’ve never blogged naked before. And I’m sorry to say that I won’t start tonight either. Any movement other than my fingers pressing keys is simply too much for me right now.
The reason behind my jello-like body is a major garage overhaul, which included painting and mopping, along with more work on the guest bedroom. At one point, amidst the sequence of back-to-back tasks, I found myself questioning my relentless approach. Did we really have to go this hard?
Well, I guess we did.
My feet are on fire. I just noticed it. In the darkness of the bedroom, with only the light from my laptop and the flickering flame of a small candle grabbing my attention, I suddenly became aware of the heat underneath my foot, pressed against the sole of my slipper.
Ah, that’s better. Nothing like the feeling of being barefoot, and rubbing my toots on the velvet of the couch.
My mind is completely blank right now, and to make this even the slightest bit interesting, I need something to pop into it. Pop, pop, pop. Like a bubble bursting. Maybe a fumble on the two-yard line or an unexpected zit that needs to be popped.
I better wrap things up before I go off and start spray painting graffiti everywhere.
Night. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 