The Hungry Beast

Lately my hope chest has been demanding more food (really politely requesting, but it seems like demanding to me). It's hungry, it says. It reminds me of this, smiling innocently while I inwardly cringe. But I do have an obligation--I brought the creature into existence.

And, what does it want? Action. Simple as that. Not so much, it says, the action of putting things into it, but of putting action itself into it. Sigh. How dare it. How dare it remind me of one of my worst faults. How dare it tell me what I need to hear.

I am really not a very active person. Well, to be honest (I think it would appreciate that too), I am simply not an active person. That is just the way I am: putting things off--sometimes for an understandable reason, sometimes out of mere habitual laziness--indecision, shrinking back in fear, avoiding everything, moving as little as possible.

The way I am is going to have to change. Not all at once with a big bang. That would be impossible. But the hungry beast must be fed, right? I've got to get moving, make some decisions, stop avoiding work, stop putting things off--if it kills me (and really, putting away the nail clippers that have been lying about for weeks on end mere inches from their home in a drawer, putting away the remainder of my Christmas gifts and carting the box they were in out of my bedroom, clearing the odd bits of thread and fabric from a recent sewing project off my sewing table, and all the other little treats I gave the beast this afternoon were really quite painless).

Wish me well. I'm off to do something. Decide something. Anything (though I'm sure my hope chest does have some very specific tastes--I'll let you know if I find out what they are).

--Your rebuked and slightly worried Hopeful.