Hanging drywall is hard. So we stopped.*
Joshua called it:
Yesterday, we were walking over to the trailer court when a Macon County Sheriff’s car passed. The officer was holding some papers in his hand and driving toward our house. If you’ll remember, recently I’d been granted a second chance at reporting for jury duty. Last time I didn’t respond to the summons because I was giving birth, then in Columbia with Oak, then excising my gallbladder and sternly rebuking my pancreas. I had to appear in court and everything. This time around, I straight up forgot. When I pointed out the cop car to Joshua, he said, “You know you’re going to jail, right?”
I had a really great time at church today. The kind you always hope you’ll have, the kind that leaves you crying and feeling better and where they sing all your favorite songs. If admitting you have a problem is the first step, then here’s mine: I can’t handle everything on my own. The good news is, I’m done trying. For real, my pride isn’t worth it.
*Not true. Hanging drywall is so hard, but we stopped because the sheets were in the garage and it started raining again. Not that I was upset.*’
*’ If the footnotes look familiar, it’s because I stole them from a friend’s blog. Sorry, Mae.