It’s been one of those days.
What kind of day, you ask?
Uhm… the kind of day where I broke my shed. Yeah. Apparently, you can do that. I’m accident prone, and I know it… but not so accident prone that anybody’s ever said Look at the shed, but don’t touch.
Admittedly, it’s a very old shed, but still.
The less said about that, the better.
I got some yard work done. This year’s noxious weed of choice? Vining milkweed. Required to destroy it. So, I’m hacking away with a pair of fairly dull hedge clippers, and getting up close and personal with the pollen. I do not like milkweed. It makes me sneeze, and it’s sticky, and just when you get a hold of it, it turns out to be the first foot and a half of something that’s twisted around every single branch in the entire hedge. All said and done, I’d rather destroy the wild marijuana plants that sprout up from time to time.
And I want you to know that I had a blog post done for today.
I managed to get through it without a single cuss word. (**shed, shed, shed**)
But in the end, I had to twenty-four-hour rule the thing out of here.
The twenty-four-hour rule, btw, is the idea that when you are thinking of saying something emotional, or political, or whatever… (So, basically any time you open your mouth in 2020.) You stop and take twenty-four hours to let the emotions pass and think about whether that is really something you want to say.
And whether that’s the way you want to say it.
It’s the kind of thing that would be nice in real life.
“Excuse me while I think about whether I want to respond to what you just said.”
“Could you come back and repeat that in twenty-four hours?”
“Hell, no, I don’t want to sit between those two at the family reunion. Is it too late to be abandoned at the hospital?”
Apparently I need more practice on that last one.