Learning to tidy like Kondo has been the recent goal. I enjoy it. The folding is satisfying. Being able to see all the options shirts and pants is amazing. Even my socks feel better. With the positive outcomes of this method, I needed to refrain from two different tidying tasks today because I had cooking and laundry to accomplish and falling into the trance of easier upkeep and item retrieval wasn’t the option I wish it had become.

On the last day of May, it was cool enough for a wood fire. (And yes, Husband DID remember we’d been married 25 years and brought home roses.) A flip switched and we were in the hot part of summer. The garden – such as it is – went in late. Each year I care less about the lawn but do keep the labyrinth and the paths to it under control. I’ve weeded the steps and moss twice, but they insist on returning and the hummingbirds! I can’t believe how much I’m feeding them. The orange lilies are out and again this year, the mountain laurel bloomed. I moved a lot of wood and when I was ready to split, the heat dome formed. Today, rain. It’s always like this – matching activity to the weather – but this month was filled with constant movement both inside and out and I’m tired.

It is Monday and I have the loveliest problems.

Another one: A few of the characters, some of the plot, certain conversations, and the one scene from the book I abandoned last year have been intruding on my thoughts and have begun to annoy me. The idea of rewriting Ellie’s Elephants had been my concern until this nattering grew incessant. My idea is to do a private form Camp NaNo in July and see how 50,000 words shakes out.

One of the intense senses I have is that a main character either changed or I’d gotten her wrong the first time. Maybe I’ll find that this is a different character. As I’d been ignoring this call, I haven’t transcribed things she has said. Her job is more pronounced, as well as a few of her compromises made for friends. The theme is tending toward revenge held up to a mirror. I hate discussing work I haven’t written, but parts of it were written and I hate the idea of writing/rewriting a book at all right now, (What indulgent ostrich behavior!) but it might be a thing that keeps me sane. Not that I was ever diagnosed as sane, but you know what I mean.

I’m aiming – as I think I’m always subconsciously striving for – is a level of clean or organized that I feel I have permission to write without complaint. No one complains, but the level of self-esteem I derive from a clean house is obnoxious. People can see whether a house is clean, they are unlikely to read my draft no matter how good it makes me feel to write it.

I suppose that’s the long way around of saying I’m starting a new project and I’m afraid.

Sending hugs to you if you need them. Thank you for stopping by and for the read!