Clearing the Stream

The copying portion of the journal back up is done. While packing for possible departure, I have cleared my DS newstream of the most confusing of my critics and contributers. Those critics and contributers remain brothers and sisters in healing with my sincere healing hopes. *Just* attempting to simplify the clutter in my psychic clutter. As always, clear reasons why are unavailable. *Just* attempting to clear the static which distract me from listening for the whispers of my strictly personal healing mysteries. Focus. Rocks of rightness in a cesspool only splash up lots of shit. Be still my synapses.

Divorce talk is circulating for both middle aged sons and their wives. Big surprise, huh? Is there a more popular topic on 21st century Planet Earth? The most abusive ex is always the ex who isnae there to defend themselves. Let the lawsuit lotto commence. The audience doesnae even need to buy an admissions ticket.

The grandkids arrived at a random hour yesterday, wearing all the signs of children energized by evidence that Mommy and Daddy hate one another, but still eager for Grand Time. I am rather proud of how well Daddy and I did at calming them to smiles while Daddy vented and I tried my best (not too besty) to keep my ears open and my mouth shut. I am proud of Mommy for allowing the nearly exed Daddy whisk them off to the other side of her closed door.

As of the end of yesterday morning's breakfast talk, Hubs and I were planning on doing our Grand Party at the co-owned investment property with hopes that the middle generation would turn the Grand Party into family time. I donae care to sort the reasons the middle generation declined. Hubs and I havenae had time to discuss the updated plans. This entry is my own business-as-usual attempt to quiet my own synapses before he and the grandkids stir in the king-sized bed they shared last night while I kept my restless energy in the "Sky Bed." The sky bed is a raised bed in the TV room.

The investment property remains a line item in the co-owner confusions, but GS still calls it, "Great Gampy Farm" as he dubbed it during the tri-city shuffle during the closing of the FIL's estate in the Fall of 2016. Hubs and I already knows GS will go 4 year old OCD at the mention of going. We haven't dared to discuss the decision in front of him, but. . . I'm kinda hoping we go. Just hoping. . .

Insert Jimmy Dean's country tenor tones here: Listen to the children while they play. Skip-a-rope.