Well, golly darn and gee whiz. I'm in Ouchland again. After my last post, I was intending for the next one to be upbeat. Jolly. Full of joy.
Oops. Didn't quite make it. That's why I put in this oh-so-lovely picture of the last bouquet of California poppies of the season. I'm trying to make myself smile. It's nearly impossible for me to be sad, when I look at these beauties.
Along with some hard work on my house, like ripping up carpet, moving heavy furniture . . . .
. . . and painting walls . . .
I'm also doing some renovation of the soul. Some reconstruction of the heart. And it's hard. I pricked my fingers on some carpet tacks earlier this evening. I can handle that. What really hurts is the follow-up email I just sent in which my bruised heart spoke.
In my half-century so far, I have not accumulated a very good track record with men. I do my best to give honesty and kindness, love and compassion. But so far, that sort of offering has pretty much backfired.
I won't give up. That's just not in me. But I do wish I could learn more of what I'm doing wrong.
In the meantime, I'll pull up some more nasty old carpet.