I don't know about you, but this month my readership number is in the pits. I dearly hope this means my regulars are grilling hotdogs or hugging babies or taking road trips or reading Instagram instead of this confessional blog.
Anyway. Now is the perfect time for me to practice not confessing, while few are reading. Notice the new title? I am now merely showing up as me. Flawlessy Ordinary Me. Hah!
I have this theory about 'ordinary'. Inside each one of us is someone perfectly ordinary, and this ordinary person is the jewel of God. But only this 'ordinary' person is the jewel, not the extra-ordinary or the sub-ordinary person. It's up to each of us to stop, look, listen, and see with our hearts. This ordinary person, who cannot speed
I don't get much further than this in my theory.
Probably aren't too many ordinary mornings in this culture that don't begin with coffee. And mine does, too.
Ordinary... My day starts with mewing, around 5:00 am. I rouse myself and my cat guides me to the bathroom, where he gets his first petting while I do the necessary. Then he vanishes into thin air and I have to pick up his trail in the kitchen. There I grab my favorite cup, jam it under my espresso machine's nozzle, and press its button. In the thirty second the machine takes to wake up and squirt dirty rinse water into my cup, I grab one bowl, one pouch, one 1/4 teaspoon, two laxatives, and one fork. Then back to the machine to pour out its rinse water, place my freshly heated cup under its nozzle again and push another button. For the next thirty seconds I pour the pouch's contents, two laxatives, one dry and one gooey, and 1/8 c. water into the cat bowl on the counter. Then I am faced with King Solomon's challenge: mix the cat food or add milk to my coffee to drink my first sip?
Since this is solo living other than at Tux's feeding times, I prioritize and do one... thing... s-l-o-w-l-y at a time. Self- reflection (heart-to-heart connection with me, and me and God), bicycling, heart-to-heart sharing with cyberfriends and one 'real' girlfriend, posting here, gardening, then cooking. Cleaning my house, opening mail, fixing my RV, speeding up sluggish toilets and painting bare patches on my house - these I only do when they are about to sting me on the ass.
If I die, I mean when I am about to die, I will look back and have little regret about a messy house and unopened mail, but when I take this longer perspective, I know I will regret not having fixed my RV.
My vacation calendar requires I fix it ( it turns over but won't catch), so I must rouse myself. I've been doing so, s-l-o-w-l-y, over the past six weeks. First - I roused my brother for his advice, second - I bought RV road assistance coverage instead of AAA, third - I showed up on bicycle to stage a sit-in at my regular mechanic's (who's an avid cyclist), who then -fourth - got interested enough to make some phone calls to rouse a mobile mechanic. Well, we will know if said mobile mechanic is sufficiently roused when he returns from vacation next week.
Please pray for my RV! I suspect the mice are to blame. Despite my directing mountains of bad vibes to them, and plugging in one ultrasonic device inside the RV, mice bedded down somewhere in its bowels with pieces of sponges, paper towels and dishcloths from its cabinet.
I comfort myself with the knowledge that mice would have chewed into a brand new RV's wires, or nested in it air filter, but for now these scenarios are mere wails, until a mobile mechanic weighs in. If only my RV were an easy tow.
It's $400 the mobile mechanic way and $400 for the complicated tow.
The 'conscience' in my head says "Why don't you have this all worked out? It's not hard to multi-task, except for >>you<<" But this is why I have APD and you do not LOL
One ordinary life to be continued...