This Event Log thing has really become a slog. It's like I can't go to bed without typing something first. Mission accomplished. I did set out to establish good habits this year, and this is a pretty good one. But I think my standards are too high. I feel compelled to say something meaningful, to take away an important lesson from my day, but most times, my day is just a day, and nothing of real consequence really happens. Maybe a little something is just enough.
I'm exhausted. I spent the whole afternoon moving boxes from the garage to the shed my brother-in-law built in the backyard (my dad built most of it though). I have no idea where all this junk comes from. It's like boxes filled with papers, movies, and pure stuff. Think about the word stuff. It encompasses anything and everything. I open a box, look inside, and it's just stuff. It doesn't stand out. It's like vanilla; it blends with everything. Before we cleared it out, our garage could've passed for an episode of Hoarders.
Funny little incident, as my brother-in-law was backing out of the garage, he hit our green waste bin. Dude was in such a rush, he didn't even see it. But what makes it better is that he was using a loaner since his car is in the shop. Luckily, when he came back, a buffer emerged from the mess in the garage and he used it to the clear the scratches out.
I didn't think we could do it in one day, but we managed to cram every box into the shed, with most of it in the "attic" space. I have to admit, it does feel good to use up so much energy for a good cause. It should make it easier for me to sleep. If it weren't for the headaches, then I'd be able to write ahead full steam. Instead, I gotta take it easy, and restore myself for tomorrow.
With the Tet party coming up soon, I'm getting a little excited. My sister is due anytime too, and I'll have a chance to meet my darling niece. That reminds me, I want to write a series called "To My Niece" where I basically write a letter every month to her once she's born. I'll collect it all and finally give it to her when she's eighteen. Or maybe sixteen. I'd have to write 216 letters over the courses of 18 years. Shit, by then, I'll be 42. I'll probably be in the middle of my "Letters to my Daughter" series at that point.
/eventlog
