Adapting

"Chaos Junkie" is among the well-respected dx'es in my charted by peer support network. The geophysical and emotional instability of my childhood have created a life-long addiction out-of-control chaos. I feel a threat of entrapment in too much predictability and order. I amnae certain how that fits here, but. . . Sorting. . .

Today makes the second morning in a row that I was able to actually enjoy composting in the cold morning. Yes, my sub-arctic friends, I know it would be merely "chill" for you, but it has been decades since I have experienced enough snow to build a snow fort. Freezing temps still feel colder than a warlord's dick to my southern conditioned senses. I have been experiencing serious doubt of the bravado which I used to tease my sub-tropical loved ones over their conviction that they could never survive a winter north of Waco. I keep telling myself it is mostly psychosomatic, but my frozen fingers have argued otherwise as I dived under the blankets for yet another day in bed, boobing with the tube. I felt almost vindicated turning the compost pile this morning, comfortable in 28F temperatures.

Even gooder than the comfort level was the quality of the compost. It's hard to believe the pile is only a few months old. Damn I make good dirt!!! Literally. . . Keep your dirty metaphors off my hobby!