I am normal. Thanks to my parents, I am normal. Our normal family life was, well, normal. Dad worked the same job for over forty years, we lived in the same house my entire life, I went to the same grade school, junior high school and high school my entire school career. My parents were married over thirty years when my mom died in 1990.
Due to The Wound, which is not entirely healed (yet), last week’s snow storm caused me a bit of an issue with what type of footwear to wear in the eighteen inches of snow that fell on top of two inches of ice.
I do own a pair of ankle Bogs (best wet weather shoes ever), but it was doubtful if I would be able to comfortably wear the left one. Plus, they were out in the trailer so I had to come up with something to wear for the trek to the trailer.
Because I am an impatient reader and sometimes skim over and / or skip entire words, sentences and paragraphs because, ‘why read them if I know what they are going to say?’, (Gets me in trouble every. single. time.) I ended up twisting up the Faith Barista writing prompts for this week and Thanksgiving. This is my after Thanksgiving Thanksgiving post for the writing prompt of the journey of walking through the Thanksgiving season.
I woke up, much too early I might add, on the wrong side of the bed this morning. I seem to be a tad bit angry over the tiniest thing. Okay, everything.
As a result, I am less than my normal patient self and letting the things that normally get my goat settle inside my heart and my head. Those nasty thoughts are taking up space that should be reserved for good and encouraging stuff.
Firstly, lets talk about being ignored. It is mostly when I take the time to send a ‘how ya doin?’ or an ‘I am thinking of you’ email or text. Most days, we all keep our phone within arm’s reach, so the ‘I didn’t have my phone with me’ excuse doesn’t fly with me. Neither does the ‘I didn’t get your text / email’ carry much for credence, either. Everyone else gets my emails and text messages, you can’t be that special. And no, I am not talking about you. The person that does this doesn’t read my blog – or at least admit to reading it.