Not everything goes into the big black dumpster. I struggle with useful items, like silverware. My pattern is modern and solid, with simple raised points framing the handles; the rest are a hodge podge of orphans: delicately designed floral or deco fork handles mixed in with flimsy, school cafeteria grade knives. I know one day I will sort those, too, but for now they intermingle and I grab utensils at random. Low blood sugar only wants peanut butter, it doesn’t examine handles first.
The busted storm door is banging and scraping just outside my bedroom wall. The wind blowing the trees tells me it’s not an intruder. I shouldn’t have forced the sticky latch on Saturday, but I was tired of struggling with it, and I needed a route outside that didn’t involve dragging dirt through the rest of the house. I’ll tie it closed with twine and hope I don’t forget to untie it for the contractor tomorrow.