Emotional Accounting

Heck, October already???

I realize this looks bad. Me falling off the wagon with my Dana Buchman shopping spree and then the posts just... stop. I had expected someone to step forward with an intervention or at least a pleading missive to mend my ways. Apparently I overestimated my readership. Ah, well.

Was I consumed by guilt? Did I throw in the towel on this project, three-quarters of the year complete? Too ashamed to continue?

Actually, we went to DC for a week. And the kids got to spend time with a myriad of indulgent aunts/uncles/grandparents while Bob and I had an unprecedented 4 days together, child-free.
So you can imagine how disorienting all that was... plus the kids were just plain gorked, way off their schedules, and unbelievably whiny. This week I have accomplished very little, and it is enough that the urge to scream obscenities, put lambs blood on the doorway and run screaming down the street has abated, somewhat.

Excuses, excuses.

I am pleased to report I haven't purchased anything - new or used- in the last couple of weeks. Oh, wait, except for uniform shirts and socks for the kids. I have perused a few estate sales, because I am constitutionally ill-suited to walk on by. It's the voyeur in me, enjoying trying to piece together lifestories from so much stuff that's left behind. Then I look around our home - what is truly mine? What is of me enough that I'd want it forever?

As it turns out, not much. Nothing tangible, anyways.