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  • This morning I looked out my back door and saw the tumble-down shed starting to be dismantled by Joe, my handy man and surrogate husband. I've wanted it gone for so long, a scar on my view, a blight that was always lurking. Now, he has almost finished and just the ribs are left standing, with all the detritus of almost 10 years lying scattered about the yard. Stuff I never knew was there in the darkness of the windowless shed where I tried not to venture beyond the door that always stuck halfway open. Stuff I'd shoved toward the back and forgotten. Stuff that had rusted out or dusted over. Stuff I would never use but couldn't release. It's me, I thought, in a flash of aha-ness. It's all that stuff I've been ignoring or turning my back on. It's all the worn-out rules and edicts I've obeyed. It's junk that's been multiplying in the night, scratching at the back of my mind. Now what will I do with this empty space and all the sunlight pouring in and no more excuses for postponing joy?

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