"Sometimes you don't realize the weight of something you've been carrying until you feel the weight of its release."

Ugh, where to start?

I went back to work April 23rd. Everybody was welcoming and nobody asked me a damn thing, which was good. My buyer was fantastic. The HR woman did everything right. But by Tuesday, the very goddamn next day, I was riding the struggle bus. I went to work but only because I knew I had Wednesday off. I had worked that out with the HR woman....to have Wednesday's off for a month to ease me back into it. Thursday rolled around and I was the same. Struggling to force myself to go. Friday was fine because, well, it was Friday. The next week wasn't good at all. I cried Monday for no fucking reason. Started in the a.m., continued through lunch. I don't know why. Who the fuck knows why. I did and it sucked. But I worked and that was good, right? I texted a friend to help boost me the next day because I knew I would need it. He did and it worked. Wednesday was a good day. Went to my CB AA meeting and ran errands.

Finally, after 5 years of living here, replaced the light above the kitchen sink, with Dad's help of course.

I love it and my dad is a rock star. It was not an easy task to accomplish, but he did it and it works and it's awesome and I love it.

So Wednesday was good. However, I woke up Thursday and called in. Said I was nauseous. I honestly have no recollection of whether or not I actually was. Maybe I was, but probably because I made myself that way by worrying myself to it. I don't know why. Why do I have this wall I can't break through when it comes to work? When did all this shit start? Why do I allow it to continue?

I fought with myself again Friday a.m. and finally came to "Fuck it. I fucking give up. I cannot fight this goddamn battle anymore." And I called HR and quit for good. She understood. I cried all damn day.

A friend of mine who has been around me the past couple of months said to me, "Amy, you haven't been right for 2 months. Your sleep is all jacked up. You're up one minute, down the next. Something isn't right." And it hit me. How did I not see it before? Because I get in my own head and just think I'm a worthless piece of shit who should just die and release everybody in my life from having to deal with this big fucking burden that I feel I am. But having someone say to me, "You're not okay" makes me realize I'm not. You're right. I'm not. I am not okay. This isn't okay. This isn't me.

This shirt didn't work. At all.

And so I finally got with my med check lady and said as much as I hate anti-psychotics, I would take anything she thought would help. Anti-psychotics fuck up my body and make me suicidal, but if they even me out, then so be it. It's a give & take. She found something that isn't an anti-psychotic but is simply a mood stabilizer and I've been taking it since this past Tuesday. I've also been on a high dose antibiotic which is fucking up my body. My mouth tastes like....sour milk. I don't know. It's disgusting. But today was my final day of it so from here on out, I should be able to tell how the new mood stabilizer is effecting me, good or bad. It has the potential to cause blisters around the mouth and nose (mucus membranes) so that's fun! *eye roll* It's unlikely, but why can't a side effect be spontaneous orgasms or something exciting like that? *sigh*

So I'm unemployed and feel like a loser and I'm still crying sporadically for various reasons, but I don't want to end my life and I see that as an improvement. Obviously.

This new drug....I knew I'd been on it before so I went back through my old journals and found when I was on it before and how it effected me. 03-04 and I didn't write anything bad about it, so there's that. However, I was drinking pretty heavily so I'm sure it didn't work as well as it could have. Hopefully this time is better.

It was hard reading those journals. I'm glad I keep them for the above reason because I've been on numerous medications throughout the past 20 years and need those journals as references. But damn. I wish I could burn every fucking one of them. And I may.

Here's what I realized.

I am no goddamn different than I was 17 years ago. I'm the same fucked up goddamn idiot I was then. The only difference is I'm not drinking.

Now, my therapist would remind me.... I am absolutely not the same person. I've grown in those 17 years. I have a greater understanding of myself and others in my life.

But....

My journals were a lot about my relationships with men. And with Mom. And my life today is a lot of the same. Men and Mom.

I feel free to write about Mom here because I'm pretty sure she doesn't read this shit ever. It's too goddamn depressing and I don't blame her one bit.

So here goes.

What I read in the journals was a lot of "Poor me. Why doesn't my family reach out to me? Why don't they check on me? Do they care at all? Hell, I could be dead and they wouldn't know for months because nobody checks in." I still feel that way today, lol. I live a block away from my parents and I'm pretty sure it'd be a good week before someone realized, "Hm, haven't seen or heard from Amy in awhile. Maybe we should check on her." And then it'd probably be another week before they actually did and by that time, Garfield would have eaten my bloated, gassy body and my neighbors would wonder what the smell is emanating from my house. Yep. That's how I envision it happening. I'll choke on some stupid food and lie here for weeks rotting before anybody noticed.

And isn't that sad & depressing? Yep, it sure is.

But here's what.... It would be my own goddamn fault.

That's what I realized reading those journals. It was all "Why don't THEY...." Hell, why don't I? ME. The phone works both ways. I hear my own mother say that all the time about her mother. Grandma complains no one calls her. Well, guess what? You have a telephone too. So here I am, perpetuating the cycle of "poor me", "you take care of me". And I'm sick of it. I'm sick of my behavior and my attitude and my part in relationships and, and, and.

Step Four anyone? "Made a searching and fearless inventory of ourselves." This is my start.

How am I responsible? How have my actions played a part in my relationships with others and myself?

Take men, for example. This is where the rubber hits the road for me. Fearless inventory. OK, here goes.

I use men to feel a semblance of love. While, yes, I enjoy sex, honestly, I use sex to feel close to another human being. I feel unlovable. I don't feel worthy of anyone's love. And so in order for me to feel some form of "love", I use sex. And then I dismiss them. Your services are no longer needed or wanted. You're getting too close for comfort. You may actually see the real Amy so I'm gonna kick you to the curb before you can kick me to the curb. I will hurt you before you can hurt me. Or if you hurt me first, that's it. My level of trust in you is gone and I may try, but our life will never be the same. I will always hold myself back and protect my being at all costs. Because it hurts too damn much to feel and I can't drink that shit away anymore so I've found another way to protect myself. Build a goddamn wall around me of defenses.

You have no idea how hard that is for me to admit. Because when I say I use men for sex, that's all you're gonna see. You're not going to see that I honestly do enjoy sex and my libido has been raging for 2 years. You're not going to see the real work I've done trying to be in 2 loving relationships in that time. All you're going to see is "She uses men for sex. I knew it." And that's where my fear comes in. People thinking less of me or interpreting my honest assessment as something other than what I mean it to be.

Just because I have and continue to use men for sex does not mean I haven't loved and been loved in the past. I have and I do to this day love. As much as I am capable of loving anyone, I have loved Chris and Ricky. And if I'm fucking honest with myself, I fucking love Phil and I hate him for it. *eye roll* There's obviously still work to be done, but reading those journals and realizing my apparent lack of growth was a very rude awakening for this almost 43 year old woman.

Jesus.

When I did Step Four before, it was pretty easy. It's easy, because as a woman, we're good at finding our faults. We feel guilty about everything. We feel (& are made to feel by society) shame for simply being female.

But this time.... this time is different. I still want to do it. I'm actually looking forward to it, in a way. I want to change. I want growth. I do not want to come out of this the same person I was yesterday. I want more. I deserve more. We all do. However, it makes me very anxious to fearlessly look at the deep down core shit that I've clung to for decades and it scares me to think of releasing those defenses. As shitty as they are, they've brought me to this point. Good or bad. They've made me who I am today. I thank them for that. But I don't want to be this person anymore. I want to be more. I want to be better.

And I can be.

"My momma didn't raise a fool. A psycho maybe, but not a fool."

Not much has been going on and while I have a lot to say, I've been saying it to my journal.  

Today is Mother's Day and I'll bring it all around to Mom.  Watch me. 

Last Saturday, Ben and I spent 7 hours digging out, shoveling sand and laying pavers.  It. Felt. Great. 

Ben's yard

I asked Dad, when he returned, to build me a 6' table for my bedroom - one high enough to compensate for my high bed.  He succeeded!

Dad & table he built for me!

Mom gave me a quilt to cover it because I was too impatient to paint it.

See? Perfect height!  Garfield freaking loves it, which is a problem. 

 Dad & I went to a local garage sale this week and look what I found!

Kitchen island

 It's in my dining room because I don't have room along a kitchen wall, but Dad added very sturdy wheels to the base (instead of the plastic ones it came with) and made it awesome.  More awesome.  He's a genius.

And just look at my clematis growing on the North side of my front porch!!  Holy crap, it's gotten big and beautiful.

And what's all this got to do with Mom?  Because without her, none of it would be possible.  Think about it.
Happy Mother's Day, mamacita!

"Would whoever has my voodoo doll give it a rest?"

My jaw is jacked up.  For about a week now, I haven't been able to open it wide enough to take a proper bite of food, which is sort of a good thing because there's less chance of choking on a teeny tiny piece of food.  However, it took me an hour the other night to eat my dinner.  An hour. Ridiculous.  And I never realized how many different positions I put my jaw in while I'm brushing my teeth.  Who knew? Now I'm lucky to get my mouth open wide enough to stick the damn toothbrush in there.  I spent an hour the other night scouring the house trying to find my mouth guard.  I haven't had to wear that thing in years.  Certainly not since I moved to my little hamlet.  So, yah, I spent an hour looking for it in some of the weirdest places because who the hell knew where I'd packed that damn thing.  You know where I found it? My nightstand.  Because that's the most logical place for it to be, however, I was going on the assumption of illogical.

I miss yawning.



I realized this morning, after a Garfield incident, that I really am a good person....and here's how I know.  For some reason, Garfield has taken it into her head that the most comfortable spot on my oh-so-comfy queen sized bed is on my damn pillow or on my head.  WTF?  I swear...that cat...  So this morning, I was dead asleep when Garfield either jumped up into my face or walked on my head because I only woke up enough to shove her off the bed.  That didn't end so well.  She didn't really go off the bed...she just sort of fell into the crack between the mattress and the bed frame.  So the right half of her body (legs) was in the crack and the other half was just kind of flailing around.  I jumped up, turned on the light, moved the nightstand out of the way and attempted to get her out without causing any more damage....because I was sure her leg(s) was broken, she was howling so loudly.  She's fine.  But I felt so much compassion for her in that moment and every moment after (I haven't stopped apologizing and giving her treats and petting her and cuddling her) that I have to be a good person.  If I were a bad person, I'd've just let her figure out how to get out of that tricky spot her damn self because it was her own stupid fault anyway.  But it was my fault and I helped her and I will keep making it up to her....until the next time she pisses me off, anyway.



I had my unemployment interview with my former employer and IWD on Friday.  I don't hold out any hope I'm going to get unemployment, but I handled it better than I thought I would.  I did get Medicaid so at least I won't have to keep paying $400.00 a month for health insurance.  I'm searching for a job and actually have a phone interview today....with a school district.  *eye roll*  Kids.  Yuck.  They must be desperate if they think I'm worthy of a phone interview.



Mom and Dad return from the South this week.  I've been preparing their house for their return.  I've basically mowed and cleaned the house and might mow again today because holy crap, the grass is growing fast.  I'm ready to see my folks after 3.5 months (is that all?!?).  It's going to be an adjustment...for us all, I imagine.  As I was cleaning the house, I reiterated to myself that if both of my parents die at the same time, I'm just going to light their house on fire.  It'll be like a funeral pyre, but for all their stuff, because holy tchotchke, batman!  The house isn't cluttered by any means, but try dusting every decorative item and you start to think you're in an episode of Hoarders.  And yet....for each item I picked up to clean, I thought to myself, "That's cute!" so I'm no better.



I mowed my own yard last night.  What would normally take me an hour took me three because of the neighborly chit chat that apparently had to happen while I was trying to get work done.  I spoke to one neighbor who had met and talked to Chris several times and so I had to relive those moments over again.  It doesn't help to talk about it.  Sometimes it just doesn't, I've found out.  Everybody says, "I thought there was something off about him..." Hell, I don't even see that.  I just see a flawed human being, like everyone else, who probably lied to me the whole time (yet....he could've really loved me, too - jesus, I'm delusional).  Damn if I didn't love and still love that stupid, stupid man.  Fucker.  See?  Better not to even talk about it.



I can't end on that note, so I'll peak your interest in a project I worked on the last few weeks for Mom & Dad's imminent return.  It's finished and as soon as they return home and receive it, I'll post a picture of it.  It was fun to do and fairly simple, just a long process. I love being semi-creative.

"I don't think I could ever stab someone. I mean, let's be honest. I can barely get the straw in the Capri Sun."

Mom & Dad have made their migration northward (they're birds) so of course I had a dream about mom dying.  I regaled the office with it this morning and while it was traumatic for me, apparently my telling of it was hilarious because people were doubled-over laughing.  I won't traumatize you with all the details because there are a lot, but I will say Mom experienced some pretty severe trauma caused by a blizzard-wind and was bashed along the sidewalk (face down) for quite a ways.  A co-worker (who just happened to be there? *head shake*) held Mom and said, "She's dead" to which I responded in my most adamant voice "No She Is Not" and with that, Mom gasped in some air and survived.  I woke up at Midnight wondering if my mom was alive or dead.  I was traumatized.  Co-workers thought it was hilarious (because there's a lot more to the telling, but like I said, I won't bore you with the details).

I googled all the major facets of the dream: wind, blizzard, death of mom.  Wind means I'm free.  *eye roll*  Blizzard means I'm feeling emotionally cold and frigid and that I feel excluded and left out; it may also indicate a lack of love and the absence of warmth.  *sigh*  Death of mom means I'm feeling neglected; that she's unresponsive to my needs; that I'm not feeling any compassion or emotion from the mother-figure in my life.

Seriously.

The woman's been home one day and I already feel neglected.  LMAO, sorry Mom!

I swear, I think people create those "dream interpretation" sites and just bullshit their way through.  "Oh, this sounds good!"  Asshats. I think I'd just seen my mother (& father) for the first time in months and at a funeral no less and so my subconscious was simply processing the event(s) of the day.  It just regurgitates images, etc. from the day so we don't all go crazy.

Whatever.

So, today I buzzed one of the attorney's about a client who has called often and the attorney mutters, "Jesus Christ.....sorry, sorry, I know you're religious..." to which I almost bust out laughing, but all I managed to get out of my mouth was, "No".  I mean, I get it.  I worked for a church for almost 7 years.  My dad is a retired pastor.  I have a cross tattoo on my arm.  So yeah, I can see how people would assume that.  I can't stop thinking how wrong that attorney is......

I don't really tote a gun around...can you imagine if I did? :) 

On a happier note, my tattoo is healing nicely.  Tuesday night it was as if my skin was shedding....only it was all black and gross.  But that part is almost done and while it itches like a bitch, it's worth it.  Though not being able to take a bath until it heals.....that's almost a deal breaker.

My love life is......what?  I don't know. Complicated.  Sex is great with one. I'm ga-ga over another who probably isn't interested in me at all.  How is it this always happens to me?  I'm not a teenager any more.  I shouldn't get ga-ga over anyone, least of all someone who doesn't like my short hair.

*sigh* I don't know what to do with myself....but I'm certainly entertaining!

“Hide not your talents, they for use were made, What's a sundial in the shade?” ― Benjamin Franklin

Ahhhhhhhhh

I can breathe again!

Well, not in the literal sense. I still can't breathe. In fact, I'm breathing through my mouth right now, slack-jawed, probably have drool dripping down my chin. So, no, literally, I cannot breathe...

But figuratively! Yes! I can breathe! What.A.Relief!

I applied for this job September 4th. I'd seen the ad in our weekly Shopper. It was for Cambridge Law Firm in Atl as a secretary with legal assistant/paralegal experience preferred. I didn't have the preferred experience, but come on, the criminal justice degree has to count for something, right?

I didn't hold out much hope. In fact, I did little to prepare for the first interview. I did get my interview binder in order. Made sure I had my most recent resume in there along with the cover letter. I even washed my interview attire the day before to make sure nothing reeked of smoke. I didn't smoke on the way to the interview. But I didn't hold out much hope.

Obviously. Remember my post one-reason-that-cats-are-happier-....? I was sure I hadn't gotten the job and awaited a rejection letter in the mail. Then I got the phone call for a second interview and boy, did I ever prepare for that one. I washed all my clothes again. I googled "How to Sell Yourself" because I was pretty sure I did a piss-poor job of that the first time around. I googled "second interview questions". I printed them out. I answered all of them. I memorized "Why I'm Great!" I made a "Kick.Some.Ass." CD to listen to on the way there. I printed off motivational sayings to remind me...I.Am.Great.

They didn't really ask me any questions. But I was confident, lol!

They wanted me to clarify some things and then had me transcribe a letter via dictaphone. I was a little nervous as it had been probably 10 years since I'd used one and I did have a second of "how do I stop this thing so I can finish a sentence?" but figured it out easily enough. Done and done. I practically begged the attorney I handed my finished product to to "please please keep me in mind for this job...I could do that all day!" She laughed and said they "were very impressed with my credentials". Which to me means, "you're overqualified and we think you're going to be bored so you don't have a shot in hell..."

I left feeling ok. Not great, but ok. And then I started to imagine getting the job and sharing the news and finally not feeling like a drain on society....I emailed my Aunt Hope I-don't-know how many times asking her to help me prepare for the inevitable...crushing disappointment. In fact, one hour before I got the call, I'd just emailed her saying, "If they don't call tonight...I didn't get it...I'm driving myself insane..." and probably her, too.

And then my cell phone voicemail beeped and I scrambled to find a spot in my house where I could get service (I may have to leave TracFone) and I anxiously listened to her message saying "We've finished our interviews. We had a lot of qualified applicants, blah, blah, blah (seriously, I thought this was a pity call at first) and we'd like to offer you the job..." And then I have no idea what she said because I ran to find their phone number and call her back ASAP because it was almost 5 o'clock. The first words out of my mouth were, "Did you really offer me the job?!?" She's probably regretting her decision.

She said...I don't know what. I was the most qualified. The most enthusiastic. I presented myself so well. My credentials were excellent.

Finally! Finally! Finally! I'm good enough!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

I start in two weeks (Oct. 20th). Hours are M & T 8-5, W 7:30-5, R 8-5 and F 8-4:30. I'm pretty sure I get an hour lunch and they made it a point to say that they give employees 15 minutes every 4 hours for a break. I get insurance! I think they pay 100% because I remember saying what a big deal that was. The one attorney (there are 3) laughed and thanked me because a lot of people don't understand how much a company pays for insurance for their employees. I do. I get it. I'll never take it for granted again. There's life insurance, 401(k) (vested after 1 year). Vacation, sick, PTO. I don't know what else.

I'd be brimming with excitement if I didn't feel like such shit.

On the other hand...it was pretty darn exciting telling Mom & Dad. I called over to the house, calmly, to make sure they were both home. I said to Dad, "I need to talk to both of you. I'll be over..." almost glumly. I didn't want to ruin the surprise! So I get over there and Dad's on the phone...so wait, wait, wait and then they both looked at me anxiously like, "What hot mess is she in now?" Dad said to Mom to turn the t.v. off or down and then I just blurted it out. I am not subtle. I GOT A JOB! I think Dad may have even teared up and Mom asked, "The real question is...do you have to deal with people?" to which I laughed and said, "No! Isn't it perfect?!?" LOL. It was a moment I won't forget.

I have the best parents in the world. Over these last two years, they've supported me financially, emotionally...keeping me busy, helping me out...but most importantly, not pressuring me. No pressure. Not once did they say "NO" to my request for money. Not once did they say "We're not paying that..." Not once. And especially this past year...No "why don't you apply for that job?" or "are you even applying for jobs?" Nothing. They've just been unconditionally supportive of me. You can't find that anywhere else. There's really no place like home.

So.Damn.Happy.

"You know my hips don't lie..." - Shakira

My hips lie. They lie their ass off. "Go ahead! You can do it! Climb those stairs! Take that walk! Climb up & down a step stool all morning! You'll! Be! Fine!"

Liars.

Mom, Dad & I did this:

this morning. Two coats of semi-transparent white stain on one side took from 8:15-ish to 1:00pm. Ugh! My right hand doesn't want to work properly. I won't be using it to cut up any food for awhile. Sandwiches it is! And my hips...oh, my hips. Son of a bitch, it sucks getting old! My friend Shannon's 40th birthday is today. I took her cookies yesterday and she gave me....."Two Old Goats" arthritis & fibromyalgia lotion. I'm holding out hope it does something...anything. Tylenol doesn't seem to be helping. Oh well. I don't need my hips, do I? 

I slept so hard this afternoon, I had a bit of an issue getting one ear plug out of my ear:

I pulled the plug out and noticed I was still a bit hearing-deficient in the ear and I realized the top part of the plug had stayed in my ear! Can you imagine if it had gotten stuck in there? I'd be walking around with a bright orange thing in my ear. Eh, would probably make my life better to be hard of hearing. 

Big thank you to these two who are older than me in years but younger than me in heart!

Mom

Dad

"My contractor could have his own TV show. It would be called "Extreme Home Screw-over"." -Maxine

Before I get to the excitement of today, I dyed my hair last night. Remember I said my scalp was white and my hair was dark (red) so it just highlighted my scalp even more? Well, I decided to try a light brown. What a boring color for me. I feel so ordinary with brown. But here ya go.

Before:

Look at all that red on top and gray/brown on the sides! Yikes!

Mostly gray/brown...

Ummm, I'm still seeing a lot of red but at least the sides are brown. Right? 

OK, yeah, this side is better...

Boooooring....but at least the gray is gone!

I don't know what's going on with my hair color, but who cares because....Now on to the excitement of today!!!!

Before:

Ugh - ugly grayish door. Broken handle and crappy roll-away screen.

And now!!!!!

Freakin' beautiful!!!

And this!!!

Front door - just as beautiful!!

And don't forget this!!!!

Old front door on "back" garage door that faces North and is in the new fenced-in area. 

The wood door shown directly above gets beat to shit every rainstorm, hailstorm and snowstorm. Rain comes into the garage when the wind is blowing just right....but not anymore!

I cannot tell you how much of a difference all of these doors are going to make. I mean, those roll-away screens aren't worth shit. Don't buy them. What pieces of crap. Mine wouldn't "roll away" so easy and they were both torn along the sides and the screen "rolled away" to the very top so I had to stand on my tip-toes to close it...*sigh* Such a pain in the ass! And my side door's handle was busted so it would stick and make you think the door was locked when it wasn't...I can't tell you how many times I'd try to come back inside and have a momentary heart-attack when the latch wouldn't move. 

But now....*sigh* now....I just want to sit outside and stare at my new doors. Is that weird? That's weird, right? Yeah. It's weird. But I don't care!

Doesn't it look like two professionals hung all these doors? I think so. So proud of my Dad & me! And I think I only dropped the F-bomb once...ok, maybe twice or three or four times when we hung the first hinge-rail on the wrong side of the door (totally my fault) but after that, everything went smooth as glass! My dad's a G.O.A.T. (greatest of all time)!!!! 

Professional door-hanger

Geez, he looks like my younger brother!

Chillaxin'

THANKS DAD (& Mom, because we all know none of this is possible without her)! 

"The shorter the hair the harder they stare."

Only because they're trying to figure out if I'm a man or a woman, lol! The one & only reason I'm thankful I've got big knockers.

I'm one step closer in my quest to having no hair at all!

God, I need a new face. Is that what I really look like because that isn't what I see when I look in a mirror! *sigh* well, it is what it is. But I do love the hair cut!  I went in with this picture:

I look nowhere near as good as this lady but I got what I wanted - I was sick & tired of the sides poofing out and I couldn't wear sunglasses because whenever I did, they'd stick the side-hair out even further. Was. Driving. Me. Nuts. Problem solved! No hair!

You can see my scalp. I have darkish hair. I have a white scalp. It doesn't bode well. I asked my hairdresser if I should just go ahead and dye my hair gray. She looked at me like I was crazy. "No" was her stern answer.

I'm really not trying to look like Mom, but if I was as good looking as she is, I don't think I'd have any problem shaving my head!

I look like a thug...but look at that lady next to me...so pretty!

Three posts in one day. The world may be ending.

For not having anything to do today, I sure have done a lot.

I had to do a load of laundry because even though I thoroughly wiped Shooter's paws off this morning, he still tracked dirt/mud on a rug & the couch-cover (a sheet). While I was pouring the homemade laundry detergent into the wash, I noticed it was getting a little low and I thought, "With all the freaking laundry I'm doing lately, I'm going to need a new batch before I know it..." so I made a fresh batch of laundry detergent. It's just sitting in the garage, making the garage smell wonderful, waiting for 24 hours.

Then I realized what a pain in the ass it is to pour the Borax & Arm/Hammer Washing Soap out of the boxes so I poured them into these:

Then I made a Laundry Booster (on the left). Never used it before so I made a 1/2 batch. We'll see. Rosemary/Mint...my favorite!

And then there was this:

Mom had a good needle & thicker-than-normal thread for me to use so I went to town. It'll hold, though I'm not sure the umbrella will last. I mean, how'd it lift itself out of the stand last night? The wind must have caught it just right...but it's a little breezy today (probably not even 10mph) and it was doing a little wiggle-&-shake after I set it back up so we'll see.

We'll see about a lot today, won't we?

Keep Calm and Find a Yard Sale - or Mom's Closet

Whoo hoo! Shopping brought to you today by Mom's Closet!

Obviously not the Lucky sign. Who would ever give that away?!? The stars, box, hanger, tree/pic frame.

 I have no idea where I'm going to put any of this...but I know I'll find a place! Or maybe not...I haven't found a place, yet, for the Lucky sign. I was thinking above a door?

Rug - Nice

Clothes, clothes & more clothes! 3 prs of jeans, 3 prs of capris, 3 coats, countless shirts!

After trying on the jeans & capris, I thought, "Maybe I should get rid of my size 3 capris. I think it's time to face up to the truth....I'll never see size 3 again...unless I get violently ill every day for a week. Then, maybe."  I swore (to myself) I'd not get rid of my jeans or capris or shorts that are now too small because I think, "What if I lose a bunch of weight? What if I get put on another stupid drug that makes me too nauseous to eat? Then I'll want those too-small-clothes." So, I'll compromise - I'll get rid of the capris I didn't really like anyway...but no jeans and no shorts. I've already boxed up all my jeans and my shorts so they're staying where they're at....until I need them again.

And the piece de resistance (say it French-like)

Very old scale & new cutting board!

This scale was my Dad's grandmother's...so my great-grandmother's. Mom said she weighed us kids on it when we were babies. My little tooshy was on that scale! Not today...Today I'd break it. Still....very cool.

And not to leave out Garfield:

Her new little Home-Sweet-Home - like she doesn't have 50 already.

She's busting it at the seams! 

Good thing the "roof" is velcroed to the base.

I don't know why, but every time I go shopping at Mom's Closet, it just makes my day. Probably because it's totally free and there's no pressure (except Mom saying, "Take it! Take it all!) and I can try on the clothes at home, in my closet and know I don't have to "take anything back". My mom has great taste....

From Garfield & Me (& Elvis, because when I'm happy, Elvis is happy), Thanks Mom!