I guess I don’t feel much like writing anything these days. When I write all of my thoughts turn to politics and illness and how they are intertwined. I’d rather just sit on the porch and stare at my Cottonwood tree.

Part of me thinks I ought not to write about current events at all. I know part of you think that too. The other part of me knows there’s a chance I might look back on my writings about this year and be remiss, as an old lady, if I did not record my true feelings about everything that is going on. Of course, one would think I could save that for a private journal but if you want to know the truth, which is all I can give you, this is the only journal I keep and I am often, when I think about it, embarrassed that I share my personal thoughts here in this space.

I rather wish I could write only about the fruit flies in the house or something that happened that reminded me of a fond childhood memory.

Come to think of it, last week I decided to try and catch a fish at one of my parent’s ponds. It’s a sad excuse for a pond and looks more like a mud hole. My dad says he is thinking about draining it. I can’t help but think about all of the times as a child that I went to that pond, red hotdogs in hand, and tried to catch a fish. I remember having sleepovers and taking my friends out there to give it a try. We must never have caught anything, because I have always been afraid to touch fish. I just remember fishing with hotdogs as a kid.

Here’s another thought. I recently tried to start recycling again. I’ve written before about how guilty I feel about all of the trash we have. I have about four garbage bags full of plastic bottles. I hate to use so much plastic, but I’ve also written before about how our faucet water tastes like turning up a jug of bleach. Anyway, the four bags started out in our kitchen. Then I moved them to the living room and now they are sitting in a heap, along with some cardboard, by our front door.

They have been there for over a week. I started throwing the recyclables in the trash again. I feel this could all be solved if the county had recycling pickup, and I don’t think it is too much to ask for in the year 2020 with the glaciers melting and all. Someone can email me and let me know if this is a thing and I’ve just been under a rock trying to get my life together enough to load my four garbage bags full of milk and water jugs in the back of the car to take in to town. It would be nice if one of the really rich people in the world would just take the initiative to figure out a way to only produce biodegradable packaging.

In other breaking news, I am one truckload away from being satisfied with the amount of junk I have in my home. It has been an arduous ordeal to declutter, but in the end it will have been so worth it. Less is more. It really is. And now it is easy to take inventory and decide what things I will be taking with me on that glorious day when Michael tells me we can move into a camper, although he reassured me just yesterday that he will never utter those words.

Okay, I’m sorry. I can’t help but bring it up. How many of ya’ll thought you had a fly on your television screen last week?

Danielle Wallingsford Kirkland is a former Sentinel staff writer and correspondent. She can be reached at danielle.w.kirkland@gmail.com.

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