It's mid-December and I'm feeling weird about things. A week ago I called the fix-it guy who took my back-storm-door away this summer-- it had been flung about and mangled by the big tornadic winds that passed through in June-- and left a message that we really needed to find a time for him to put the door back on. A week ago, no reply yet. Maybe he hasn't gotten around to fixing it, maybe he lost it, or maybe he just feels weird himself, ashamed that he never finished the job. I know that feeling, but I also know there is frost building up on the inside window of the backdoor and that is not cozy to see.
I'm feeling also like a crappy teacher, a mediocre student, a lousy sister, terrible daughter, disappeared friend. Poor housekeeper, rotten gardener, embarrassing neighbor. . .