They’ve completed their service—wiping up spilled sugary milk coffee and removing splattered bug guts. The thirty-four dish rags are among many unwanted items I moved to the garage, hopefully, to be headed to Value Village.
Ah, the good ol’ Value Village, where once upon a time, I’d queue up with ten others at the 9am opening on $1 special color-tagged Mondays. A girlfriend and I shared a similar dream of a paid side gig, but it cluttered up my loft with inventory like snowboard boots, a cheese cutting board, and a tea set (that never sold). Surprisingly, what did sell was a necklace.
It was a weighty medallion adorned with a serial number and the words “Vintage Pat Flanagan Experimental Sensor II.” It needed a clerk to unlock it from the glass jewelry case. I hoped but didn’t know if it was a golden ticket, so I bought it, unaware that someone in Sedona, Arizona, would pay the listing price of $300.
Yes, I’m writing, but it’s not how I’d prefer. I’m feeling stifled. I’d rather tune into the words floating off the wind, but here I am, lying on the couch. I’d prefer to paint a picture of a fantastic encounter, but I’m alone on the couch.
I could tell you about the woman with Tourette’s that I didn’t know had Tourette’s until I asked Dave if he noticed her glitch moment. It was so subtle you’d almost not notice it, or like I did, doubt that anything was abnormal in her speech. It was a paused mouth open with a throat noise that seemed like a word was stuck in her throat. I felt like putting my hand down there and saying, “Found it!”
I reconsidered a two-basin sink while washing dishes in a single-basin sink at my friend’s mom’s house. Something about the pile of all the dishes seemed disorderly to me, like in a bathtub, even though I know those farmhouse or apron sinks are all the rage. But like all trends, they fade, leaving you with a single-basin sink you hate.
I like the clay hers are made out of, but in researching it, the durability recommendations swing in favor of cast iron, albeit with a heftier price tag. Dilemmas, dilemmas.
Selling our extra-large bean bag chair for $40 on Facebook Marketplace brought a flood of inquiries. Some wanted me to deliver it, others offered to pay half, but seeing all the interest, I regretted not selling it for more. Dave’s question about my plan to relist seemed to carry a hint of moral judgment, so I decided to stick with my original price.
Surprisingly, not much else is going on. Except for seeing two people I knew in the Daffodil parade and getting kisses blown at me from one, we spent the day with friends and are now decompressing to the sound of rain gurgling down the gutter.
I plan to find more quality writing time earlier in the day tomorrow. Waiting so late makes me feel like my reading or TV watching is sacrificed. If I had done those things earlier, I could write now without the pressure. I’ll consider that.
Alrighty, I’ll see you tomorrow. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 