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Underwear is heavy

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Work was a total bust yesterday–I’m guessing the day was a holiday at the home office and they forgot to tell everyone–so I spent the afternoon working on some projects I’ve been meaning to get to.

My exercise for the day included hauling books, moving and rearranging furniture, vacuuming, moving two TVs, including one that weighs about 3,000 pounds, and starting on the decluttering I’ve been thinking about for ages.

All of this rearranging and moving and hauling required moving my dresser. I have a small dresser that, emptied, I can move without too much trouble, but I’d boxed it in with that 3,000 pound TV and it was easier to move the dresser than the TV. Easier, but not easy.

I’m here to tell you that underwear is heavy. Don’t let anyone try to fool you. Those three drawers full of drawers and whatnot made me sweat while I was trying to rock that dresser back and forth like a car stuck in the mud, inching it past the monster TV until I could get the drawers out and move it all properly. I womaned up and got the job done, but I didn’t have a good time doing it.

Also not a good time was the Pandora’s box I pulled out. I suppose most everyone has a box of things that they can’t bear to look at, but that they can’t bear to get rid of, either. A box full of hurt and regret and loss and bitter, bitter tears. Or maybe that’s just me. This box I have is where I’ve stored everything Mr. F gave me, everything I bought while we were together that isn’t still in his house, all the fossils we’d hunted together. It’s a sizable box and only half-full, so I thought it’d be just dandy to use to store away some of the clutter around here. It wasn’t, really.  Just like Pandora, I unleashed a boxful of woe when I opened it. Suffice it to say I bawled a lot yesterday and cussed my poor old heart that just won’t let me love anyone else.

Some days are like that. You feel what you feel, you live the hurt all over again, you do the ugly cry, and then you get on with it.

Underwear is heavy. So are regrets.

About Kymm

I'm a reader and writer and knitter, a sister, daughter, and friend. This blog is my letter, of love and hate, frustration and joy, rants and praises, to a great big world. You can read it if you want to.

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