I have a puzzle on my desk. Well really I have five of them, but one I'm working on. The idea is to make sure all the pieces are there and send it off to the thrift store. Otherwise, if the pieces aren't all there it's going in the garbage.
My nephew said I should just count the pieces and I told him it wouldn't be as much fun.
My life is a lot like a jigsaw puzzle. Not these nice, neat puzzles with the perfectly shaped pieces that might fit anywhere in the frame--a jigsaw puzzle. Of course if all the pieces are the same shape that creates a different problem.
My problem isn't finding out where that black piece goes--it's that every piece of my life is a different shape. Making them all fit is near impossible.
It's the writing, and the puzzles, and the laundry and the books I want to read. It's looking for a job and wondering where the money is going to come from and thinking about the herbal stuff and a science project. The old language project and I need (i.e., want) to make a batch of soap but if I get the soap stuff out I'll get distracted by all the other projects I haven't finished. And the garden, the weather, politics and dancing. And that book of magic pictures is calling my name, which brings me back around to the writing because magic, you know.
Tomorrow I'll go off on another tangent. But no matter how hard it is to put all the pieces together I wouldn't trade the craziness for that perfect puzzle with all the pieces precisely the same size and shape. I graduated from that one a long time ago.
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