Proof of Life: "git up on the tough ones"

It's 7 a.m. as I sit down to write this Saturday morning, 32ºF (0ºC), and the sky is just lightening up. I'm drinking coffee in my new pink armchair, facing the window. On the radiator in front of me, Pearl Duquette is showing off her wool socks (knitted by Sarah W. in London a few years ago, and only worn in winter).

The girlettes' arrangement on their plank-cart reminded me of something...  Some painting...

Got it! The Jolly Flatboatmen, by George Caleb Bingham.

This painting doesn't mean anything to me, it's just filed in my memory. Though looking at it now, isn't that man looking at us compelling? His long legs...

(Bingham lived in Missouri, where my mother was from. I was born in Columbia, MO, where my parents met at the university.)

Bingham's "Fur Traders Descending the Missouri" is a favorite of mine--partly because what looks like a cat in the boat is actually a baby bear. Here, at the Met.

Speaking of bears, BELOW: A donated Harlequin romance.
The bear! What is going on with that bear? Its arm...

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I'm glad it's the weekend, to rest up. I'm acclimating to my physical job. I'm stronger, and generally I'm not sore the day after work anymore. But I overdid it at work yesterday, and today I got the aches. I'm quite happy for why, though!

What I'd done was, I'd stayed an extra coupla hours--volunteer--to clean up the Housewares workspace, below.
I climbed up on the shelves and got down on my knees to pull out fallen, misplaced, and hidden things.

This is it AFTER I organized:

I'd hesitated to tell management I was working late, off-the-clock, because I think it's illegal to volunteer to do the tasks for which you are normally paid.
However, my workplace follows no such law.
Manageress said, "Good!"
Big Boss said, "Feel free to stay till close!"
I did.
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Here, below, is the sink and pricing station (around the corner from the grocery cart).

This area badly needs some beautifying.
I'd hung that blue-circle print on the wall years ago, to brighten it up, even though I didn't work there.
(My wall in my BOOK's work area was covered in pictures.)

I found another valuable item stashed away by the previous sorter, who'd been fired--a vintage, Mexican, wool blanket.
Not this one, below, but one like it.
This guy was such a jerk. Selling something like this for, say, fifty bucks, will make a big difference to our poor store. (The average price of housewares is probably $1.99.)

Volunteer Abby and I are the main Housewares staff. We both sort donations (tossing maybe 25% as broken or rubbish), wash, and price them, and put them in grocery carts.
Abby comes in 6 hours/week. She is super speedy, but says she isn't good at displays (I can see that), and she almost never puts things out on the sales floor.
I spend about a third of my time on the floor, organizing, culling, and displaying stuff--which I love.

Several volunteers help a few hours a week, putting things out for sale. They are mostly lovely people, and mostly bad at arranging things. Only one woman makes things look nicer.

Arranging things (at work) and making things look good makes me feel so very, very happy, I was curious about it. Last night I searched "dopamine of getting things done".

I like what The Guardian says--it's about the satisfaction of To-Do lists, but applies to what I am satisfied by, too. The wonderfulness  of lists (sorting/arranging, in my case) is, they say, down to three reasons.

1. They dampen anxiety about the chaos of life.
Yes!
I love feeling that I've organized a bit of a disordered world. You can't beat entropy, but you can beat it back a little, and that's a rush.

2. They give us a structure, a plan to we can stick to.
For me, it's my workplace that provides structure--at home I don't feel that structure, even with to-do lists. So I appreciate that, and I also appreciate that it provides limits--I have to stop when the store closes at 5:30.

And,
3. They are proof of what we achieved that day (week, month).
Yes! Proof of life.
Like knitting, which I only did once--it's so pleasurable to see the material form:
I did that! Therefore, I exist.
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I texted Emster the mask of the god of chaos that I'd posted yesterday. Her reply is so purely her, I want to save it here.

I love a gild of a text [I don't think that's a typo] and also "git up on the tough ones".

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After "The Magdalen Reading", this is another favorite painting--Botticelli's "St. Augustine in His Study" (c.1490).
I love it for the curtain!
Salmon pink and acid green! One of my most favorite color combos.
Also I like his tuft of hair in a pony tail, which reminds me of Cindy Lou Who.

Okay, it's almost 9 a.m. now. Time for breakfast.
An unexpected thing about not-eating added sugar is that I don't miss it, (amazingly!) but I miss 'knowing what to eat'.
Sugary food is the easiest, most available, and often cheapest option.

And I miss the role it played as an automatic time-filler. Got a little empty time? Facing that in-between time after work?
Easy! Hunt for a snack.
I've heard people who quit smoking talk about that---they don't know what to do with all the little spaces of time that smoking used to fill.

The loss of that constant friend makes me feel a little sad, a little beleaguered. Now I have to expend energy thinking of something to cook. I don't care much for cooking.

Feeding myself has gotten a little easier though, and a little more automatic, with a few fast-and-easy go-to's that I don't have to think about, like sliced apple & peanut butter; cheese and seed-and-nut crackers; tuna and noodles; a banana and walnuts, or yogurt… 
ALL of these take more effort than eating directly out of a tub of ice-cream, but they are managable.

I'd say Manageability is key to making changes. If it's not manageable (whatever that is for you), you won't do it for long.

Git up on the tough ones... But manageably.