I’ve been working on making my office space a working office space, Reader. One where I can sit down and have no other projects that catch my attention and drive me away from my writing. I’m like a dog chasing a squirrel sometimes, off in all directions.
It’s a tough job, whipping that office into a good working space, because I’m sorry to say (to myself) that I have acquired Too Much Stuff, and I just don’t know what to do with it all. Most of it sat in the middle of the floor, which then in one cleaning attempt got pushed to the peripheral, and now it is all going to be be filed and put away or it is going in the trash or a goodwill pile. Or a sell-this-shit space, because as I’ve lamented before, some of the stuff is Good and needs to be sold to generate a few bucks for the UP (unemployed person).
One of the little nuggets I did find was this note, written by 8-year-old Me, according to my mom’s notation on the back of the paper:
I’m only surprised there is no mention of cake, had 8-year-old-Me identified that in the note I would have known my destiny was set early on and I would stop fighting against the force of buttery, sugary confections. My guess is I started to write it just below the “i like cats” stanza but it was going to throw off the whole meter of the poetry so I scribbled it out and just kept that knowledge deep in my heart.
Sometimes the secrets to life are spilled at the hands of an 8-year-old girl. The things worth liking are basic business – mom, dad, dogs and cats. And don’t forget to like yourself to.