Pile Keeping II

Yay me! ! ! I stayed on track yesterday and got the piles which started the tit-for-tat skirmish with Hubs to their new cubbies. The piles were all mine, stacked in waiting while I worked to decide if I should approach the eggshell pile between hubby and I on the subject or just do my own business-as-usual of quietly spiriting my own belongings away from the resident hoard piles. I began this practice as an elementary school student surviving life with 10 neglected siblings. As a child, I would typically clean a spot hidden by the most neglected piles. Gaurenteed safety. No one EVER looked there, not even if they had caught me accessing my personal stash. The practice made me a superstar in the military and volunteer centers. From the evidence gathered in our tit-for-tat skirmishes, I believe Hubs remains clueless about any of that. My aversion to hoard piles is *just* ? ? ? whatever mean assumption he is throwing in the current skirmish. Ply broken eggshells of choice here. Strike up another chorus of The Eggshell Waltz. Enjoy the dance while I sneak out the back door.

Of course I am feeling my flight urges. Wandering away is second nature to me in any situation. even happy ones. I am *just* a natural and nurtured wanderer. It is an amazing world we live in and my curiosity is strong Proof still unavailable, but I am more or less comfortable with the memory that I started wandering away from the family rent houses as a toddler, simply stepping out of my diaper when it got to heavy to stay on my narrow hips. It has been verified that most of those houses were on abandoned farm properties much like this one. In the mid 50's when I was a toddler, the great migration away from rural U.S. had left so many such properties that they werenae considered good investment properties. They were simply abandoned. My adult logics think it entirely possible abandoned rural America (both continents) supported many a feral child. The etherreal memories of being a feral child feel credible and true to the adult I grew into.

Over the decades I have worked to calm my psychotically over-developed flight instincts, I have found it helpful to indulge in whatever flight fantasy bubbles to the top of my psycho cauldron in any given episode. Lojas, Ecuador has been the destination for this round. With the commercial ho ho stirring its demands into the declining energy of the shortening daylight hours, the 12 hour days, 12 hour nights, 12 months a year on the equator are mixing nicely with the absence of the commercial ho ho. Christmas remains a religeous holiday there. Who is Santa? You want me to put my child in a minimum wage employee's lap? !!!Locura pura!!! Vayanse!!!

The strength I gain from deliberately indulging the flight fantasies is the awareness that it is only a fantasy. It makes it easier to keep the indulgance out of the delusional fogs The fantasies provide me gentle reprieve from real world drudgery while carrying a few threads of honest comparative analysis. Yea, the increased cultural demands of U.S. ho ho during the decreased energy of shorter days suck like a rental suit of dirty secrets. Yea, it would be nice to live without the hoard piles of resident grown-ups. Butttttttaaaaaa. . . Living alone with the racism perpetrated against "Gringos" isnae picinic, either. Starting over isnae ever as easy as it is in my dreams. Hoard piles sneak up on me, wherever I go.

Think I'll stay another day. Off to the tinker's den while I await the delivery of propane for the house heater, such as it is. I included an inspection of the propane system with the delivery. I'm pretty ignorant when it comes to the use of propane gas.