Did you ever do that thing where you stand in a doorway and press the backs of your hands against the frame with all your might, then step forward and watch in amazement as your arms lift like airplane wings?
That's what this week has been like. Especially today. I have pushed and pushed and pushed for the better part of three months. And today I nearly took off and flew. All the mail. All the calendaring. All the tasks flowing from that. All the email. Including winnowing out more of the old stuff.
I left the office with two empty boxes in which to temporarily store the loose books on the dining room floor. A nearly clean desk. A clear picture of where to begin on Monday. And a bushel and a half of gratitude in my heart.
Thank you for your prayers and support.
In the comic relief department: I thought I might have found a used bagpipe from a reputable source for a song (couldn't resist). It had already been sold. I just thought it would be a cool thing to take to the family Christmas party and surprise the grandchildren. And annoy the cat in the meantime.
I was smart this morning. I put his bowls out in the garage before opening the fridge. I think he must hear that door opening from three blocks away. I had already relocked the door when he realized I was up. So he was outside with provisions. And I was inside with nobody underfoot while I scrambled to get ready for work.
He was waiting when I got home tonight. Pretty sure he was cussing me out in Tomcat. He tried to slip into my room, but I pulled the door shut, and he klunked his head. After he spun on a dime and lit out, cussing me soundly, I reopened the door and came in.
Poor little guy. I don't know what he thought he would find in here.
This is the part where I read three verses of scripture and play one verse of a Primary song on the recorder and call it a night.
Tomorrow, as that brat, Miz Scarlett, once said, is another day.