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Episode 56: Prep for Packers

Top of the morning. I watched some Downton last night, so this episode should be fun.

Happy Brunch Sunday from Florida. Let us raise our mimosas or mugs and clink a cheers to a bit of connection between work, notices and ads in your inbox. Written with a London accent in my head. Reading with an accent is completely your next, best decision.

I grew up in Wisconsin, but it wasn't until 1997 that being a fan of the Packers football team was popular.

It wasn't like the Cubs fans--where loyalty was endearing.

The Packers sucked. And everyone knew it. And no one claimed them with pride.

Well, no one I knew.

It is a big state. And I did have an undeveloped mind. And I didn't have a father, who might have watched the Packers lose, religiously.

The sucking of the Packers was as normal as German potato salad and Tenuta's Italian Deli and Market.


Alas, in this episode, I am not referring to those redeemed "winners."

Tomorrow I am being pack-ed.

My things that I have simmered down with intention, to fit 1300 square feet (YAY,) will be pack-aged.

I have chosen to entertain stressful thoughts about being prepared for the pack-ers.

I see this now, this morning, in a similar way that homemakers will clean up before the cleaning lady comes.

Or how we file our nails before going to a salon.

Style our hair before getting it trimmed.

What are we doing????

Before this epiphany, I was worried that I would not be ready.

That one thought has caused tummy acid and headaches.

(What am I doing?)

When I think: I won't be ready, and that will be embarrassing.

I feel: panicked.

Then my actions are based in panic and I get less done.

You see?

So, of course, I'm journaling about WHY I would panic.

Why would I be embarrassed?

In asking that question, I thought of living in Atlanta, Utah, Indiana, California, Michigan and Germany--

women want to appear to have it all together.

"She is so organized."

"She has it all together."


nicely dressed,


"She is so much more together than me."

We do this, right?

Compare ourselves to others who have different lives, minds, circumstances and gifts.


I'm prepping for packers.

How ridiculous is that?

Yes, I've set aside my medicines and supplements.

I've done laundry so it can go right in the box.

I've bagged my pantry, so I can take it all in a single car ride. I even ordered a collapsible wagon to bring it up the elevator in one trip.

I've sorted under sinks and the three pen/marker/highlighter drawers.

Engaging in the stressful thoughts are OPTIONAL.

Now that thought is freeing.

Today's Deep Breath: here's a practical juju nugget, a collective Next Best Decision.

I compare myself to me.

Don't chuckle at me, but I keep stats, data.

Not just journaling, but I plan my day and my food.

Then I track whether or not I do those things.

And, if I don't do them, I write about why.

I do this, because I have decades of not looking out for myself.

I mean, in a non-emergency way.

I am always aware and looking for danger, as a woman.

I'm white, so the danger is much less, but it is still there.

I have to mention Queen Sugar. It's a series on the OWN network.

It was never on my radar until it's current season.

They decided to gracefully and non-combatively show everything: 2020, covid, George Floyd, protests--

which are now being made a felony.

Protested, arrested, lost rights to vote. You see?

Yes, my danger has such a very small chance.

My brain still likes to entertain fear. Research shows that to be a human quality.

I'm calling her Limbic Girl.

The limbic brain has all the warnings, the worry. Habits and fear.

We also have a control panel. The cerebral cortex--

right out front where it should be.

Front left: reasoning, science, grammar, time, logic, and writing.

Front right: abstract thinking, spatial relationships, face recognition, intuition, emotion, imagination.

Limbic Girl likes to worry. She has all the memories, and prefers the negative.

She's my warning system.

But I am more than Her.

Though I love her, and I listen and hear her,

I get to decide if I want to entertain what she throws up.

And now I'm talking to myself. :)

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