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frustratedpilotAs I climb the first hill along my regular hike, both sides of the path are dominated by a plant with glossy, three-lobed leaves. They're so exuberant and cheerful, I'm tempted to caress them, even rub my face in their bright greenery. But I refrain, because they are poison oak. One touch would cause my skin to break out in an inflamed rash that would last for days. I encourage you, too, to forgo contact with any influence in your own sphere that is metaphorically equivalent to the alluring leaves of the poison oak.
I am now in possession of a gift card for my favorite hobby store. But I'm in perhaps the roughest stages of rumination as to whether I should buy something off the shelves now or wait for a bargain to come along. It is wonderful and horrible all at once.
