Suffice it to say that the past two weeks have been quite the nightmare. A bit of unexpected news knocked me for a loop, and the clean-up was extremely distressing… and a couple of friends have been in hospital… and I said yes to commit my workplace for a fairly major event the weekend before Thanksgiving… which necessitates a major push of preparation NOW (and ought to have been begun a month ago?) …
I thought I was handling everything well, overall. The dreaded news that hit me hard has actually had some elements of relief to it – I can now relax; what I had dreaded in anticipation has come in fact and is not so unbearable as I had expected. I have a couple of highly competent people holding my hand and coaching me through the upcoming Event. My friends are out of hospital and recuperating well.
Then, last night, I was looking at the dishes stacked by the sink, trying to motivate myself to deal with them. “This house is definitely showing too many signs of being inhabited by an emotionally distressed individual!” I told myself.
But the worst was yet to come. I glanced in another direction, and my eye fell upon…
The iron, sitting on top of the piano, where it has sat since I had the sewing machine out… ten days ago.
