‘sup?

Wow.  Been a little while since I tossed some wordage your way.  Stuff’s been going on, flying at me at these terrifying speeds, and just when I think they’re going to bowl me over or zip right by with one of those high-pitched screaming zoop sounds, they stop and settle gently at my feet as if to say, “Hey.  Here I am.  Do something about me.”

The deadline on Charity is still blown and still moved up all at the same time.  Funny thing about it is that I seem to be the only person all freakified about it.  I’ve been writing in snippets, around all this other stuff I’m doing (details to follow) and it’s sort of intriguing … like writing a patchwork quilt.  One hopes it comes together nicely in the end.  I’m crossing everything on my body that can be crossed as soon as I finish typing this.

(Mythroatdoesn’thurtMythroatdoesn’thurt … notimetobesickdammit.)

There’s a sign in my front yard that says my house is for sale.  I’m entirely mystified as to how it got there.  I’m equally mystified by how I managed to purchase a house in the first place, astonished by the fact that nobody has come to take it away from me, and a little freaked out that everything in it still works.  Homeownership is not something for which I was ever meant, much in the way I was not meant for corporate cages (read cubicles), fluorescent lighting, or wearing the color yellow.

(Mychestdoesnotfeeltighteither … notimetobesickdammit.)

This whole putting the house up for sale thing has made me depart from all things deneane elise-ish.  I have several examples of this:

  • There are curtains or valances on all my windows.  After five years of living in this home, I have finally dressed my windows.
  • I know where everything is.  Everything.  All the stuff that is mine and some things that aren’t.  It all has a place, and it is all in that place.  I already miss the tiny daggers of panic I feel when I am Going To Be Late If I Don’t Leave NOW … but I haven’t a clue where I last placed my keys.
  • I have two plants.  They are not dead.

The plants are a vital part of the house selling process.  I don’t know why I decided that, but decide it I did and they are here.  One is a fern and the other one is green.  That’s seriously all I know about it.  I have placed the fern in a wicker planter that once belonged to my mother on the landing of my stairs.  Turns out the fern was too small for the planter, but I solved that problem by inverting a plastic bowl in the bottom and setting the fern on top of it.  Voila.  The green plant (not to imply the fern is not also green) is on my kitchen table.  It should be fine there, since we don’t eat at the table.  We’d need chairs to do that, and I don’t own kitchen table chairs.

I am firmly convinced that people looking at my home will see these two obviously well-cared-for and beloved plants, and decide to purchase my home, thus forever lifting the burden of homeownership from my shoulders.  The only trick is keeping them alive until the house sells.  This will be more of a challenge than you can possibly know.  I even looked at the cashier at the store when I purchased them, and said, “You realize you’re sending these defenseless plants to certain death, right?”  She didn’t respond.  I think she was trying to decide if she should call security.

So, anyhoo, I’m going to go take a bath and then pound out another couple hours worth of words on the novel.  Hang in, hang loose, hang tough.  Or just hang.  And be beautiful, my friends.

~kisses for the world~

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