Only the spoon knows what is stirring in the pot

I was clearing some dishes out of the sink and had the disposal running and thanks to soapy wet fingers I dropped a spoon into the churning maws.

You know the sound, right?

Of course, it was one of the “good” spoons, from our wedding. The spoon of course is still a spoon but is no longer the good, smooth, polished utensil it once was. It will now lurk in the drawer, forever to be the last spoon picked, because it’s damaged, because it has scars.

I understand the spoon, though, so I’ll be sure to use it when I get the chance 😛

And yeah, this post sounded better in my head when I was dreaming it up while driving to work. Stoopid spoon.

somebody slap me

A couple hours ago I was doing something. Something boring, I guess, since I can’t remember exactly what it was I was doing.

And I was smiling. And I was happy. Over the rainbow sort of happy.

And I realized – now granted for many people this is a normal feeling but for me I tend to be too down much of the time – I realized that my happiness is fine with me. The key is accepting. Accepting that I have limits. Accepting that I have flaws, some really horrible, some not so bad. Accepting that maybe I do have some things to offer. Accepting that I don’t need to wait on anyone else to say or do something for me to smile and be happy. Accepting that I can’t change anyone else, I can just be me and see if that is enough for them.

Accepting that life is good.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to do something else.