It’s not quite that I over did it yesterday. I had a productive day at work and was so inspired by one of my friends and the positive changes she’s making in her world (it was from her that I snatched up the idea that This Is The Year Things Are Happening – thanks, Logan) that I came home and just kept on chugging. Our small home is largely in shape. I wouldn’t be embarrassed if someone dropped in, and I wouldn’t have to do much to prepare for an overnight guest. All the same, my husband and I have a lot of stuff, and not a huge home. Largely, we have hobbies that require equipment and supplies, both of which take up space. And on top of that, of course, there is also some crap that could go. But shall I give you an example or three?
Michael likes to brew, but he’s not much of a drinker, and at this point his dietary requirements preclude most of what he’s brewed in the past. So we have really, quite a lot of alcohol. 15 varieties, in fact, and some of it we’ve still got in volume (to say nothing of what he’s about to bottle for me – a Chocolate Cherry Stout, and a significantly belated Christmas Present at that). But the amount of room his alcohol and brewing bits take up is nothing compared to my craft stash. I like to work with yarn. And cloth. And paper. And wood. And wax.
And then there are the instruments. One piano, three guitars, some woodwind, some brass, (the drum is at work) and Michael is just now taking up the Domesticated Vuvuzela (or as some call it, the Trumpet). But of course collectively they don’t take up near the space that the Library does.
So, yes. There’s stuff. And most of it is strikingly organized, because that’s how I roll. But last night I was working on some of the piles of stuff that had resisted such organizational attempts in the past and had been summarily shoved in an out of the way corner. No longer. That corner is clear. But one of the things I came across were all my old jeans that are in desperate need of repair or replacement, and that caused me much internal strife – partially because we’re not at a place where we can afford to buy me the sort of jeans that look decent on me, and partially because my willpower failed the Dukan test and now my rear end is slightly bigger than these jeans can accommodate, I think.
And did I deal with that internal strife in the moment? No. I didn’t. And did I wake at three a.m. with a sore throat and the beginning of a cold? Yes. I did.
So here I am. Not at work and trying not to work and pretending that blogging has nothing at all to do with work, even while I try to take care of myself, work through my internal angst and drink Hippie Tea every four hours. And cuddle some cats. Because of reasons. And also cats.