Standing in my closet this morning, I studied the open drawer with no small measure of dismay.  I did not recognize the maze of jumbled garments.  Socks, tights, pajamas, handkerchiefs — unfolded, intertwined, wrinkled.

Such an inveterate blogger am I that I nearly snapped a photo.  I lowered myself onto the bench, letting the open drawer stand glaring and accusatory.  With the suitcase flopped beside the desk, the pile of cosmetics surrounding the base of my monitor, and the clothing hung on the mirror, the sad situation in my top drawer testifies to the temporary decline of my situation into apathetic inertia.

I stood and finished donning  my uniform of leggings, knee-length dress, and angel earrings.  No jacket can turn this sow’s ear into a silk purse.  Thankfully my Tuesday clients love me and the only judge who had to see me has known me for forty years.  She’s experienced every one of my incarnations, from young grad student to aging advocate.  My October foolishness holds no surprise for her.  She knows that by Thanksgiving I will have entered some new phase, one that involves hair pins, and wool skirts, and chocolate.

It’s the eleventh day of the thirty-fourth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.