The area of my shoulder blade, toward my back, where a wing would protrude, feels like it’s twisted in a knot. Tensely moving my arm repeatedly for two days straight is the culprit. Dang painting! With rosy cheeks fresh out of a hot bath, I’m in a curmudgeon of a mood. There I’ve said it, curmudgeon.
Autocorrect keeps correcting my desired “crumudgeon”; who knew I was spelling it wrong all this time?
I want to share the portion of the edited book I wrote earlier, but I fear it’s too jumbled, inauthentic, and plain blah. I also worry that I’m losing steam. The “let’s do this!” attitude has left, and nothing has replaced it. Why? What changed?
I enjoyed sharing Jim and Robbie’s story in yesterday’s post, but now I feel aimless. Where do I go next? Should I talk about my Mom, tell more about the trip, or throw a wrench in there and create a raccoon character with a pipe and smoking jacket? He’d, of course, narrate with Barry White baritone vocals, and his black linen slacks would be too large as he paced the stage. He’d use words like “fastidious” and “circumnavigate” and laugh extra long and loud at his own jokes. He’d be a crowd pleaser, not because he’s interested in pleasing anyone, but because he’s unabashedly him. Or her. With stagehand raccoons, you never can tell.
The raccoon idea is growing on me.
Building a house, selling a home, and preparing a house to sell all at once is too much. I need a secretary. Better yet! I need that raccoon.
In addition to the raccoon, I want a personal chef. On TikTok, there’s a long-bearded guy who is a chef for a sorority, and I love hearing his Matthew McConahay voice: “Guys, it’s pasta night, and we’re making manicotti.” Ooh, I bought a big tub of spinach at Costco yesterday, too. The only thing I don’t have is ricotta, but the store is only seven minutes away.
First thing in the morning, my friend and realtor, Hilary, is coming over to scope the pad and make a game plan for selling. With 45 days until we put it on the market, I feel confident about all I’ve done, but who knows how I’ll feel after her feedback?
Well, I better hit the hay. Night.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 