I am supposed to be at work.
Luckily, I set my own hours at the school, but I am also a hard task-master who frowns at lounging around the house when it’s necessary to pack a box for the auditor.
Because we’re such a tiny two-room K-6 school where I’m the business manager, we must pack up a box with check stubs, receipts, budgets, lunch records, W-2’s, 1099’s, state reports, and hundreds of other documents and drive up to the auditor next Monday to deliver it.
This morning the get-up-and-go motor won’t start.
So am lounging with a cuppa tea. (The tea is called Stash Fusion Breakfast Green and Black tea. I had to find the tea bag to tell you the official name. I can’t drink plain black tea so early in the morning, and have lately, just lately, started to fall in love with green tea, which I despised until July.)
Mama deer and spotted fawn munch in the ditch behind the garden. We have many rattlesnake green beans which must be picked, must be harvested, must be eaten, yes, this afternoon, do not forget or get preoccupied with other concerns.
And do not, Kathy, keep obsessing about your eye. It is only a sty. It is only a teeny tiny bump on your lower left eyelid. Do not let it control your work schedule, your blogging and your bean picking.
Never mind that it hurts like h*ll. Never mind that you must place hot compresses upon it every few hours and then lather it with a half-inch strip of medicine which refuses to adhere to the sty and glops on your eyelid or blurs your vision. Never mind any of that. Soldier up! Be a mature sty holder. The nice PA, Nancy, said it didn’t look that bad, remember? Even though you’re husband sighs and shakes his head at your puffy lefty.
Is it too much information to share about sties in one’s blog? Perhaps.
I still have lots of pics of the shipwreck tour, but simply can not write a blog about sunken ships. Not that they aren’t interesting–it’s simply that my heart isn’t in it. Barry will write that in his weekly newspaper column next week. He’s combining a story about underwater Isle Royale and underwater Grand Island. He’s all excited.
I can’t write a blog unless I’m all excited about it. (I am all excited–or, rather, obsessed with auditor boxes and sties and green tea and the way fawns are starting to lose their spots.)
It’s called Blogging with your heart. One only blogs when one’s heart insists. It’s the perfect antidote for any people-pleasing tendencies. People might beg and insist, “PLEASE write a post about the shipwrecks!” but you just shake your head slowly and lament, “No, No, my heart isn’t in it.”
How can anyone argue with a heart?
We can argue with a sty in the eye, but that’s also futile. I am trying to love this sty to death. To accept that it’s here for a reason. (Hopefully not a season.)
Guess it’s time to go to work now. I’ve yoga’d, meditated, hot compressed, medicated, sipped one cup of Fusion Breakfast tea, ate granola with a ripe peach and almond milk, watched deer, made Barry two eggs, responded to a half-dozen comments and blogged.
May you enjoy your sty-less day.
(If any of you have a sty, please write! We’ll commiserate. We’ll have another cup of tea and stay home from work and…heal…won’t we?)