Handwash

Father told me that he once got caught talking in class when he was a kid and the teacher made him stand at the front and talk for five minutes about a matchbox. If you stick strictly to the matchbox, it's surprisingly hard to talk for that long. Normally I would say that I was the best candidate to talk about matchboxes because I can usually find a story in everything. That's not been working for me recently, and I think I'm just looking inward too much. 

Besides, there's not that much going on. Here is a bottle of handwash that I have in my bathroom.

And it's looming larger and larger in my life. I don't like the stuff. It smells of plastic roses and it's far too strong. It may not have originally been that pungent. I had a really good stockpile of handsoap back in 2018, long before the pandemic, and I think that it may have been festering. It's still soapy, however, and I would feel wasteful and feckless if I just dumped it out, no matter how tempted I felt. But it isn't nice. And that is one of the main things hanging around in my head - handwash. It's not on the Asda website anymore, but the current equivalent is around 85p. I've already suffered through half. I am agonising over 40p. And the principle of waste not want not, of course, but still, 40p and a lot of mental energy.

I also got rid of a sweater. I knitted it before we moved into this house, if I remember rightly, and that makes it over thirty years old. I used acrylic and the poor thing had dropped ridiculously and was so brittle and scratchy that it seemed the best thing to do. I was very proud of it at the time.

I really liked the neck detail, but I made rather a mess of sewing it up.

So at least I've made a little space. I've been meaning to get around to discarding it for ages, so that's a big step.

I've still got a few health bits going on, but I'm working on being more positive.

Hugs and good health to all.