so much in my head

I’m like my friend Heather in Spain with so many thoughts swirling in my head. I guess it’s because I’ve been holed up inside battling the foe of Mr. Flu and the flaming throat killers (good name for a band, methinks). The four walls of my home are caving in as the great outdoors teases me from outside. Oh to take a walk! But then I walk across the room and get winded. How old AM I?

So, here are my random thoughts:

If you organize your kitchen in a way that makes sense and makes you smile, be sure to educate each member of your family about your glorious plan. Otherwise, you’ll have utensils and food and plates thrown willy-nilly and you’ll find yourself harboring all sorts of bitter thoughts for no reason.

HGTV is the best! I survived this silly flu because of it (plus the Food Network). Only problem: each show makes it look like re-doing an entire room only takes thirty minutes. This is simply not reality. Nothing takes a half hour. Sure, I could do anything if I had helpers and gophers and such, but just me at home? Nope.

I love our new drill. Wow. Power, baby! LOOOOOVVVEEE it.

When you’re sick, do you lose sight of Jesus? I become a me-fanatic, all self-absorbed and small. Sure, I shoot up “Please help me, Jesus” prayers ad infinitum, but my deeper fellowship with Him seems to wane. When I get older and have more aches and pains, am I going to be one of THOSE old ladies? Crochety and angry? Oh, Lord, please NO.

Taking things back is a hassle. It’s much better to buy only what you’re sure you’ll need/love.

Painting is fun for a week. Then it’s not.

People who are sick need a couch. Just one. All this time, I was pining for a coach. I almost left the house Friday to find one, any one, even an ugly orange one, but was too sick to venture.

Husbands and sons and daughters are very cute when they get their hair cut. (I just cut all the fam’s hair today. They’re all adorable.)

I can’t remember the last time I saw Ghostbusters, but we’re sharing it with our kids tonight. Should be fun. Maybe I should call Ghostbusters to eradicate this frying-pan-hot sore throat monster. Hmmmmm.

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