The case of the missing journal

Morning all, Young Master Duke is being the sweetest of puppies. My beloved is starting to do a tiny bit more every day for himself, and we draw ever closer to doomsday here. By doomsday, I mean the dreaded hour I start physical therapy.

I’ve mentioned more than twice that I am slowly moving the dungeon into the garage. The goal is to give my beloved and I some breathing room. Basically, the goal is to have 1/3 of the living room open, and to give both of us room for wheelchair usage.

The one tool I have used for decades is my journal. I CANT FIND THE DRATTED THING! Okay, deep breath. It’s in the dungeon, it and its companions are in the dungeon. I didn’t toss them in a fit of cleaning pique.

However, I’ve looked in all of the usual places. I’ve looked in all the unusual places. Sighs. It will show up in the move. I just….

I know, I’m focusing on one tiny thing to avoid looking at the big picture. I learned to do this as a child. Old defense mechanisms still work, but I often take them too far.

Some day, I promise, I will learn how to pull my head out of my tail. Just one day at a time. -L

Post Script: I found the dratted thing. I remembered the last time I had lost it. I had put it in ‘the first place I should look’ as per Adam Savage’s first order accessibility rule. FFS!

Hugs my friends, I swear, I will continue to lose my mind for your entertainment. -L


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