I’m tired tonight. Maybe the day wore me out.

We got into the storage bin. Everything we’ve done in regard to dealing with my ex’s crap has happened easily. The storage bin was no different. Pay the fees, and take the lock off the door. We opened the door on what was left of my old life. Our dinghy and the 30 hp motor. The Wet Bike, which is kind of like a motorcycle for the water. The generator we bought after Hurricane Gloria in to run the house. We’d been out of power for a week, and decided that was not something we wanted to do again. My son’s hockey helmet, which he wants me to ship to him. Junk. Lots of junk. Boat cushions for a boat that he lost for storage fees. Bumpers. Leaf blowers and hedge trimmers. Clothes. We brought more clothes, from the cottage. I don’t think he ever threw anything out. Knick knacks that are partly mine.

Thank God, once again, for Dan. He climbed in where I couldn’t. He got in there, way in the back, looking for anything that might be valuable to me. Furniture, household goods. He got filthy and sweaty, and he did it for me. This was harder than the smelly dirty cottage, for me.

Dan knew it. We didn’t stay too long, a couple hours. He said, “I think you probably have some PTSD with that stuff.” He knows. He sees me. He reads me He cares. It’s awesome. It’s a blessing. Not sure I could do this without him beside me.

Tomorrow we can go to the hospital and get the set of keys he came into the hospital with. I asked the social worker if he’d see me. She said, “No, he’s way in the back.” I said, “Ok, good. I’d prefer to remain dead to him.”

So, it’s been a little hard today. But we got home, and my friends made this awesome dinner of chicken and beef kabobs on the grill, with fresh picked corn on the cob and a salad I made with fresh veggies I picked up at a farm stand on the way home. So all’s well, I’m dealing. I’m just exhausted tonight.

After this, I think it will be easier. In the meantime, we are taking a river boat ride to the town of Essex tomorrow and having dinner at a 300 year old in. One of the few things that Benedict Arnold didn’t burn down in the town, I think. That will be fun.

Love and light to all.