Stirring a little.

Like a bottle of italian dressing some spices that settled to the bottom have been stirred up. Shaken. Makes for a better flavor but all that stuff at the bottom was calm and complacent. An easy way to exist.

But my italian dressing doesn't taste good right now:

:After saying to my husband, "Not in public!" he immediately replied that he doesn't like living two different lives and would rather just BE.

:A dear friend being honest and brave enough to tell me I've become too comfortable in solitude and distance from the people I love.

:Realizing I am much more like my mother than I would like. In weight, in reactions, in photos, in struggles.

:Concluding that if I don't want to be like my mother I should probably do things differently than she did. *Put down the donut, Jacqui!*

:Being very aware of how quickly I go from loving to bitchy.

:Acknowledging that my perfectionist tendencies stop me from working on projects.

:Deciding that the kitchen floor doesn't need to be mopped perfectly, it just needs to be mopped. Something is better than nothing.