Horse Manure

Well, will you look at that? January is already barreling toward the halfway mark! I have pushed the boundaries of my destiny with this blog for over a year. I never believed I could conjure random rants for this long. I am just an opinionated old woman, aren’t I?
 
I have come to genuinely enjoy the weekly conversations we share. Ok, ok, so it is only me who does the talking but it is still amazingly fun, not to mention therapeutic. It has forced me to explore the many facets of my being. I have learned I dangle between snoringly boring and frantically fanciful from breath to breath. This will not surprise anyone who literally knows me. Even I know that is true. But being able to conceptualize this phenomenon in the written word is a rush. It helps that my fingers can type as fast as my thought process spazzes. I honestly do not know if this is a paradoxical adventure or a blunder of psychoanalytical horse manure. But fun is fun, so who cares?
 
So, what does 2022 have in store for us? I personally look forward to a new year because the television shows are back in production. I watched more syrupy holiday movies last month than I care to admit for lack of better content. I do watch the status of NFL teams and will turn my attention to the playoffs as well. But I would be lying if I said the non-stop bowl games during the holidays did not irritate the living daylights out of me. All power to the financial rewards of collegiate competition but I am just not a fan. I would rather watch a National Geographic documentary on the impact of global warming on the mating rituals of garden slugs.
 
The older I get I find the prospects of another year bring more yawns than illumination. Trying to plan for car repairs, household expenses, and the probability of medical issues take precedence over vacation planning and bling shopping. Trust me, as fun and lovable as I am, a “Life with the Darling Spinsters of Indiana” reality series – starring me – would not be a raging success. Unless that is, you like to watch grass grow.
 
Yet, a new year still broadens my hope for new adventures. If I can endure the gloom and doom days of the first few months, my reward will be the onset of spring. I will be able to return to the comfort of my front porch to watch mother nature awaken and listen to birds sing songs of release from winter’s grasp. It will revive a love of life in my soul and remind me that all good things come to those who wait.
 
I will need reminded of this blessing, however, if I am forced to shovel six inches of “you have got to be kidding me” during my wait. While I am a thoughtfully accepting person of challenge and adversity, patience is not my virtue. If my snow shovel becomes a common appendage too often during this time, I will sell tickets to anyone who wants to watch me dropkick that sucker through the goalposts of life come spring. Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.
 

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