To never be at Starbucks by Rock City at 4 p.m. ever again.
If I didn't need to check e-mail. . . . well "need" is such a relative term.
Starbucks is now my friend that provides me with free internet connection.
And it's only a 10 minute or so walk from my new place.
Exercise AND free internet . . . why haven't I done this sooner??
In other news: procrastination is a talent that I am not letting get rusty.
Once I found my charger I no longer had motivation to continue unpacking. I mean, Starbucks is just around the corner! Really, unpacking is not as important as finding out that I haven't received any important e-mails.
I hung up a few clothes this morning. I realized that the problem I had in high school is now reversed. I used to have more shirts than pants/bottoms. Now I have more pants/skirts than tops. I'm not quite sure when this changed, but it has.
This is why I keep thinking I don't have that many clothes: there is an imbalance.
I should go home, wash more dishes, hang up more clothes, and unpack at least one box. And start another trash bag.
Blah.
But this is why I'm on "vacation" this week. Which is the best decision I've made in a long, long time. I would hate to be this busy AND have 32 hours of work and 8 hours of driving this week.
It'll get done. Just not today.
I'm loving not working.
and wishing for independent wealth. Just so I can volunteer all week, every week. I'd still work, just not for the money.
Ok. Must leave, find dishes, dish soap, and make a wonderful peace treaty among all parties.
I'm not exactly crazy about driving so far to work everyday, but I don't mind driving friends to an airport 2 hours away. Especially when I only get to see them what seems like once in a lifetime.
Today, it was good timing. I spent almost all day yesterday moving and unpacking. I was quite tired by 11 p.m. . I got up this morning, went to church, had lunch, drove to Nashville, came back to The Mountain just in time to receive the Benediction, returned home, realized how much I *don't* want to think about unpacking, and came to Starbucks instead.
So, here at Starbucks I be.
I'm still quite tired.
I'm enjoying my own place so far. It was nice to wake up in the middle of the night, grab some yogurt out of the fridge, and use the little girl's room without worrying about disturbing my landlord downstairs.
That was worth the rent money right there.
Visiting with H.T. was nice. She kept worrying about me. All I wanted to do was go with the flow and not have her be concerned about putting me out. She's so thoughtful that she can't not be concerned about another human being's well being.
I miss her.
We talked about boys.
I can't talk about boys with my other friends. They are married. They have to focus on their husband.
Maybe I can still learn from that.
I'm looking around the Starbucks on The Mountain and I didn't realize that Lookout Mountain was so diverse.
I think I'll like living in Fairyland (pronounce: Fahr-i-lind). Once the dust settles, I can figure out what God is doing.
Maybe.
Here I be.
"Come, ye weary, heavy laden,
Lost and ruined by the fall;
If you tarry till you're better,
You will never come at all.
I will arise and go to Jesus,
He will embrace me in His arms;
In the arms of my dear Savior,
O there are ten thousand charms."
I have realized I need to repent of the sin of gluttony and hoarding. People keep telling me a lot of stuff and I didn't believe them. I was convinced I would need no more than 5 boxes to pack up all my stuff.
I was living in fantasy land.
I have a dozen or so boxes, two suitcases, and a few plastic bags FULL of stuff.
My landlord's wife has been telling me for the last 3 years that I have too much stuff. I didn't believe her because I kept comparing myself to everyone else. In college, everyone would be taking 5 cartloads of things to their car and have dozens of boxes outside of their room. I would have 3 or 4 cartloads and 1/2 dozen boxes outside of my room.
Another case of comparison came last night. C was helping me pack and she commented on the amount of shoes I have "I get it from my mother, but she's WAY worse than I am."
C: "That's scary!"
Me: "Whenever I go back, I don't take extras with me because I know I'll come back with 2 or 3 pairs."
The last pair of shoes I actually bought were a $6 pair of tennis shoes from Target last year.*
When I moved to my current place from Chattanooga, I gave away about half of what I had. I downsized majorly.
After getting about 95% of my packing done as of last night, I have realized that - indeed - I have too much stuff for one person. It doesn't matter if compared to others I'm not "that bad", compared to perfection I am WAY off. Granted, I may never be able to attain perfection, but I should still strive for it nonetheless.
R. just offered her husband's services to me. Apparently he's "EXCELLENT" at dealing with pack rats and getting them to repent . . . after making them cry.
I haven't cried in several months, maybe that sort of catharsis will be good for me.
*Upon reflection, I realize that this is my problem. Most of my stuff is not stuff I buy. I'm not going into debt buying stuff. Just about everything I have is a gift. This is why I don't part with things because I would feel like I'm spitting on someone's thoughtfulness.
Parting with a dozen or so t-shirts a year ago was SO hard because I felt like I was throwing away sentiments. My mom buys me lots of things for birthdays and Christmas. I'm getting so old she is starting to repeat gifts. (She'll buy the same thing twice, forgetting that she bought it the year before.)
I have things, but they aren't hoarded for the sake of hoarding. They are hoarded because it's my way of showing that I appreciate the thought.
Perhaps I need to come with some other way to show my appreciation . . . . .
is what I promise if you ever visit me.
I just found an incredible sounding butermilk biscuit recipe on the Food Network website. It seems really simple too!
I feel as if I just unlocked the treasure chest of breakfast dishes with this find.
As a woman remarked at church several weeks ago "Once you move, you won't be the same woman . . . . " She is so right. Baking is therapy. Lord knows, I need therapy and the world needs baking goodness.
I still need to figure out my signature cole slaw. . . . I have a feeling I'll be making some cole slaw dishes that will need to be choked down first though.
Oh, and I apologize for the comments not working. The "upgrade" is not working out so well for me. Fortunately, I have friends that are blog nerds. They are working on it because when it comes to blogs, all I can do is type words and click "save". I'm pretty hopeless when it comes to anything requiring tech saviness.
Recent Comments