We clean up one room and destroy the whole house in the process.
There's dust, that's to be expected.
It's the laundry baskets full to the brim with afghans and S&M-flavored bumper stickers and old greeting cards and billy clubs and walking sticks and baskets full of pens and chalk and broken crayolas and vacation detrius (Alamo post cards and Civil War bullets) and video tapes of TV shows and past issues of Vanity Fair and Vogue. It is THAT stuff that gets to me. All that stuff that I should get rid of. All that stuff that I should have already gotten rid of. The flat screen scanner that the ex-husband bought in 2002 and never used, not even once. It's trash. Why is it still here? The big scarry battery that electrifies the fence to keep bulls at bay....the house hound couldn't be bothered to go into the neighbor's yard. Even if they were bating him with a ham.
I have this need to keep stuff that works against my need for clean spaces. All this clutter is making me crazy. And poor. The condition of my office and my purse is clearly an indicator of my mental state.
Maybe all we really did was sift through it all which made the crapola float to the top.
That's the very one.
It would bother me more if that were the only thing plugging up the chi in my house. As it is, it's just one thing on the laundry list of chi-pluggers, and as such, I can't get too overwrought about the scanner. Afterall, FF bought more items that that one that were never opened, used, needed.
He was trying to fix himself with stuff.
That's how I ended up owning a circular saw, a Mantis yard tiller and the aforementioned electric fence charger. As far as I know he's still not fixed.
Well, I reckon for a while it was, but after a spell it sure wasn't!
I just figure he was like jr college and a starter house.
Only my first experience was with 90,000 others at UT and my first house was on 17 acres with a barn....
Kinda makes sense that my starter husband would be an assy doctor type.
What? He want to live next door to Santa Claus?
I'll call you later or call me. I'm trying to think of anything else Peep might need or anything I can send to make her being your little woffleheady exchange student easier. Love, me.
Can you imagine that bunch of white trash living next door to Santa?
I can't really think of anything special she will need.
They sell new school t-shirts at the first of each year and we always get some, but beyond that, it's a pretty free-wheeling kind of atmosphere, which is part of it's charm.
Nah, I've got the rest of it down and I'll send $$$ for a t-shirt. It's harder than chinese math finding enough shorts for back to school around here, we're having to peck a little, she's already worn clean through a hoodie it's so cool in the evenings, a delight for Texas girls like us, but as far as school shopping, we're nearly done. A mess of outfits I don't love (at least some of them) but Peep fell for and easy for her to mix and match without me standing at the front door telling her not to try and mix reds, also some way-too expensive Shoes of GUilt because I'm miserable and if I had to tell her no to much of anything at this point, I'd start crying and not stop.
But until then, we're having a blast.
And I don't want to think about them living next door to Santa with a caliche driveway and the grass all grown up and the visual effect of how you fly into Heathrow airport and the last thing you fly over before you land is the nastiest trailer-park on the planet. Who knew?