another start

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When I was a child I used to redecorate my room every few weeks. At first I was able to negotiate with my younger sister. “If you help me move my bed from this wall to that wall, you can have five pieces of candy.” I would gesture to the candy dish I always had on my dresser as if I were an eighty year old woman. An eighty year old woman whose bedroom was a happening place on the way from here to there. One that received guests frequently. As if people, important people, who would be sated with stale candy, might stop by at any moment on their way to important events like awards ceremonies or washing their cars.

My sister would size up the candy dish. “Eight pieces,” she would reply and soon she would be helping me move my bed…but not before we moved the desk which was where the bed would be going. We soon found ourselves in a claustrophobic situation. Like those little plastic tile games our dentist used to hand out after cleanings instead of candy (god I hated that). You know the type. You’re supposed to make a tiger face, but his left eye is where his chin should be and his chin is where his right ear goes and it’s a big old mess and you’re not sure how you’re ever going to make a tiger out of this. Usually I was able to get most of it situated, with the exception of a fang hovering in a corner somewhere. This was how my bedroom redecoration went, and soon, my sister refused to help, no matter how much candy I tried to bribe her with. So I learned to move things myself, no matter how long it took.

Sometimes my mother would come in and find me lying on my bed, which was in the middle of the room by this point. I would be breathing heavily. Dressers and desks would be pulled away from the walls at random angles. “What are you doing?” she would ask me. “Redecorating,” I would answer (wasn’t it obvious?) and she would say “okay,” and walk away. It amazed me that she walked away. Now that I think about it she was probably trying to avoid being bribed with candy. My mother loves candy, especially chocolate, but she does not like moving things. So she walked away and I felt like I’d just solved the tiger puzzle even though it was still a big mess. A disaster really, but I was allowed to keep playing.

I still do this. Redecorate. I am an intensely visual person and I just get tired of how things look. I’m amazed that I get anything accomplished at all. I’m always digging up flower beds and moving them halfway across the yard. Then in two years just when they’re starting to really take off I dig them up and put them somewhere else. “How do you even know you don’t like them there?” Eric asks me. I don’t know. I just can’t stop.

I’ve found that I redecorate just to shake up my mind. I get to the point where I don’t even have to think. My brain just shuts off. I reach for my socks without thinking and there they are. Socks. But then I redecorate and HOLY COW! THESE AREN’T MY SOCKS. THESE ARE PENCILS. WHERE THE HECK ARE MY SOCKS? And I feel better instantly.

Which brings me to my blog. (Yes, I was getting to that). Here we are! My newly redecorated blog. I have really loved my old blog, and I so much appreciate those of you who have mentioned to me how much you love it too. But what can I say? I can only stand to look at a tiger for so long until I mix up all the tiles and start over again. I’m done with the tile game metaphors, I promise. I really dragged that one out.

So here I am. Feeling better about my blog.
Thanks for following. I really. do. appreciate it.

P.S. I feel compelled to I let you know that this blog is still ad free. If you are one of the “lucky” ones who happens to see an advertisement below my posts, I promise, I didn’t put it there. If I could get rid of it I could. That’s not true. I could get rid of it if I paid a nice chunk of money, but I didn’t. I might some day. When I redecorate again.

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