Usually when I sit down to write a post, I have some idea of what it's going to be about. And sometimes, a point. There's no shortage of points tumbling around in my head. It's dangerous, really, when you think about it.
This morning, I just plopped myself down in my dumpy thrift store computer chair because I felt like writing. You can be entirely sure there are plenty of other things I could be doing:
Breastfeeding Support Group will be here this morning and there is popcorn, potting soil and sandwich bags all over the kitchen floor. Shane is sitting about four inches from the television screen watching Blue's Clues, still in his nighttime diaper. Weston is grumbling loudly in his room because he can't make his plastic horn set do what he wants. My computer is acting VERY strangely and I should be backing up my files before it implodes. The Scouts on base are having a sod-busting party at the garden tomorrow morning and no preparations have been made. And, most importantly, I have an inviting stack of new-to-me magazines. Yet, here I sit, leisurely clicking away and feeling pretty good about it. Ow! I think one of those points just hit me.
In some other pointless categories, my back is improving. Good thing, too, because it's going to be quite the job hauling my new Mac home from the BX. And, we are starting to look at some alternatives for where we might be going next winter. We had a plan, but now, not so much.Ow! Dangit, not again! That one's going to leave a mark.