Burn, cardboard! Burn!

Um.  I cried today.  A lot.    Watching "The Dog Whisperer".  Looking back,  I am not sure if it was because his teeth were so professionally, blindingly white that my eyes hurt to look upon them, or because he talked about finding the right time to move forward after grieving for a pet.  Maybe both.  (I just wore sunglasses and sobbed.  No one was looking.)

Also, I cleaned my bathroom because I was angry.  I find it is the only time I do clean.  Chores don't help.  Even with a chore chart.  You know, chore charts?  The ones that I share with my kids so they will do theirs?  Bribery doesn't work either.  (If I clean up, I will .... insert reward....)  I wonder why my kids aren't motivated. :)   So here I am back to being angry when I clean.  My bathroom is shiny.  I am not angry anymore.  (I left the tub for another time.)

Lastly,  I burned cardboard in the fireplace of my new place for the first time.  Not pieces of cardboard, which would be acceptable.  No.  I shoved entire large moving boxes into the gaping maw of this fire-belching wonder.  It was therapeutic to get rid of all the moving boxes that have cluttered up my life. (And my house.)  I didn't wait and do it to bond a bit with the kids while they tore them down to acceptable size.  And I sure as hell didn't take them out for recycling.  There was nothing acceptable, or even safe, about me creating this fire-storm, barely contained, as I pushed box after box inside the fireplace, and then judged when to shut the glass doors.  I felt cleansed as I did something that I would never let my kids get away with, and was ridiculous.  It felt marvelous.  I did NOT tell my husband.

Nothing dramatic to write about.  No nuggets of wisdom.  I just thought I'd solve the mystery of the thought, "Why do I feel so worn out?  I can't remember a thing that I did today!"  Woot.