(Game of Thrones spoiler alert)
Taking my own advice, I stepped out of the house bright and early this morning with the full intent of walking Gaby around the neighborhood to lift my spirits. Although the kitchen is progressing nicely and staying on plan B schedule, I can’t help but feel a minor panic attack brewing in my subconscious(or is it conscious, since I’m aware of it). It may have been the unceremonious end of Oberyn Martell on the Game of Thrones, or the fatigue of washing dishes in the bathtub for weeks, or the impending end of the school year that has sent me into an energy chasm, but I was putting great faith on my walk this morning to get me out of a funk.
Back on the ranch, the cabinets are almost done. An island has replaced a non load bearing wall(thank you kitchen god).
I’m cutting my walk short, which hasn’t been completely futile. I stopped and smelled the roses, or bougainvillea to be precise, which has zero scent. I would have walked some more, but I needed to quickly write this post. Therapy exists in many different forms.