Can you say procrastination? Do you call it procrastination when, instead of finishing an editing job, I'm listening to the Gary Gnu Show from the Great Space Coaster show of the 80s? Or checking out recipes for Red Velvet Cake? Or how about reading about hairless cats and their oil secretions? Yeah, I thought so too.
It's not that I don't have a lot of stuff to do tonight. Finishing the editing of my friend's book is top on the list, or so it should be. The same goes for prepping for this weekend's garage sale, sifting through my
There is some good crap here, like two or three televisions that now take up residence in my home. I told The Man before he brought in the latest entertainment device (high-def television) that
I've also got a Houdini-like dog crate and a futon frame minus the mattress. Boyo the Boxer (my high-IQ canine who is now staring at the china cabinet willing it to move) discovered he could escape from his crate by pulling the back into the body of the crate and stepping over what I thought was a locked metal panel. He then proceeded to have his run through the house unattended, shredded tissue boxes and their contents strewn throughout the house and a make-shift potty on the futon mattress.
I've also got lots and lots of coffee mugs, a rice cooker/veggie steamer, a stand-up, life-size poster of Mel Gibson pre-crazy in Braveheart, a almost-complete family tree poster of the Royal Family (minus Camilla) and a few donations left behind by old tenants. No forwarding address? Then say goodbye to your picture of two well-trained German Shepherds, plug-in Jesus and Mary "paintings" and array of Glade Plug-ins. There's a limit to re-gifts, my friends.
Ahhh, the re-gifts... thankfully my mother took back the pukey purple sweatshirt with the big, honking, yellow sunflower. The sunflower didn't actually honk, but you could see me coming a mile away if I ever put it on. I didn't. She did, and that's one re-gift I didn't have to worry about. I've got candles, candle holders and picture frames coming out of my... closets... and those too will make a move to a front lawn near you!
I know that one man's trash is another's treasure, or at least that's what I'm hoping comes my way this weekend. While the cash I'd get for these treasures is tempting, what is more welcome is a cleaning up and a move away from my approaching hoarder status.
I don't even know how have of this stuff ended up in my house. Oh wait. As The Man has pointed out on too many occasions: "I am my mother's daughter," and that explains it all.