I don’t know how it ends, but I can read the writing on the wall. I’ve been in nesting mode which has thus far involved provisioning my abode with things to make it cozy and quirky, but without doing any cleaning or emptying of closets to make room for the new. This is a disaster. I can see how it ends if I don’t get going.

If I continue on this path, I’m going to be the creepy old woman who lives in the shack on the hill and hoards cats, books, and cooking utensils. Cats she doesn’t pay any attention to, books she doesn’t read, and cooking utensils in a house without a functioning kitchen.

I’m going to set aside a year to reclaim my life. 2024 is it. Hit the floor in ’24! we’ll call it. More peace, more tranquility, more grace, and more self-love all wrapped up in a whirling dervish of activity.

Years ago, after a rough patch with Doug’s illness at Christmas time, I decreed 2013 the year of Connie.

That didn’t quite work out as Doug continued his downward trend and died in June of 2013. That event set off a series of deaths that I’m just now recovering from. Toss in Covid, Long Covid, two foot surgeries, and a broken leg, mix thoroughly with the Ohio River Valley Crud, an official medical diagnosis my doc says, and I’m a flipping mess.

2024 will be my year to reclaim. I’m going to make a timeline which I will use to reclaim the house room by room. And I’ll stick to it. I’m going to reclaim my body part by part beginning with core strength using the elliptical machine (sitting here as a clothes rack) and yoga for me. And maybe a skincare routine. God knows my dry skin needs an intervention. I ordered some Brazilian bum bum cream actually pronounced boom boom. Somethig like 27,000 Amazon purchasers rave at its effectiveness. Will I be 27,0000 and 1?

It’s sitting in my mailbox with mail that’s been there nearly a month. I pay all my bills online, the only things in the oversized mailbox are ads and medical bills. Neither of which I’m paying attention to right now. That too is going to change. I desire to be that person that once upon a time dealt with her mail daily. In toto. Paying bills, making phone calls, whatever to resolve the matter at hand. She and I are going to meet again.

And cooking, gardening and reading used to be major hobbies for me that have fallen by the wayside. My diet is terrible, my yard looks like squatters live here, and the to-be-read pile is going to topple over and kill me.

Reclamation is the word. I’m going to pretend I’m a mountaintop removal site and it’s time to do something about the damage to my home, body and psyche that’s been done to me during these years of travail.

I let it get the best of me.

A timeline of baby steps. I hope to fete the new year in style and then promptly begin Hit the Floor in 24!
As it is written, so let it be done.

I don’t know how it ends,