Resentment

My laboratory dreams might be even older than my river dreams. The seeds were planted in my DNA and nurtured by the likes of Madame Curie and Mary Shelly. The vast majority of my make believe laboratories were temporary by design. Kitchens have been my most stable fantasy lab sets. Meal preparations have been the most stable disguise for my alchemist fantasies, complete with volunteer test subjects.

As I approached this morning's attempt to pack the lab equipment, I thought for a time that I had found the clear and simple words to speak the resentment of packing it for storage. I thought. . . As I made my way toward this entry, the clear and simple words convoluted into another psychotic maze of images and random chaos. Sigh. How fragile the simple clarities.

The foam letters GS donated from his alphabet mat for "The Sandbox" are still glued to the hall wall in the homestead. They mock me like delusions of granduer as I recall the spirit of comraderie I thought I felt in the use of "The Sandbox" as GS and I glued those letters on the wall. I had expectations of development when I moved it to the bedroom off the kitchen in this house. Those expectations were lost in the Co-owner yaddahs. Fast forward a year and expectations of development were lost again in the Breach of Contract. As I attempt packing, I find myself with more inclination to walk the rag-tag hoarding to the dumpster rather than packing it for storage. Back to the drawing board?

Still sorting. . .

ES and SO rolled in last night. Hubs is due in later today with the bees for the 5 hive increase. I'm thinking pot roast.