Sunday,
January 6, 2008

This is all Kristine Smith's fault

What with her discussions about cleaning up her office (and cleaning out her basement), I was overcome with the urge to swamp out the pit that has passed for my office lo these past few months. It has gotten to the point where nothing more can be piled on the futon, and the desk is so covered in miniature detritus that using the computer to write is impossible. And as I would like to be able to write in there, it was time to divert the river through the stables, as it were.

Half of the room has been straightened out -- the easy half (tall bookcase, futon, craft table). Now I have to disimpact the tough half of the room (computer desk, 2 printer stands, small bookcase).

Out in the foyer I have:

1. Four large garbage bags full of crap, with the promise of more to come.
   
   
2. Two unopened dollhouse kits, a dodgy camcorder, some books and a DVD player in perfect condition (it just didn't do what Lyndon wanted, and he never returned it) ready to be dropped off at Goodwill tomorrow (by the way, if anyone in the DFW area wants ANY of this, let me know and it's yours if you'll come pick it up).
   
   
3. Piles and piles of fabric that need to be put into the craft closet...once it's cleaned out and organized in a saner fashion.
   
   
4. The guest comforter that is too poofy to go in the washing machine and will require a trip to the laundromat tomorrow.
   
   
5. A 5' (yes, that's 5 feet, not 5 inches) long power strip that used to power all the computer stuff in the office until we lost the eMac and decided to switch over to UPSes.

There are also all KINDS of half-finished craft projects that I am bravely ignoring. Although I do think I need to make some sort of master UFO (UnFinished Object) list for future days when I have nothing to do. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Excuse me for that moment of maniacal laughter. I now require a peanut butter sandwich and a cookie, and then I return to battle.

Make that seven bags of garbage plus assorted boxes.

Eight solid hours of work to clear out that pit, and I still need to vacuum and sort out the craft closet. But by Cthulhu I can see my carpet!

Another very cool discovery is where I put the pictures of my mom that I wanted to send to my aunts. When my mom died (ten years ago this November -- whoa), there was a really nice tinted 8" x 10" of her HS graduation photo on display at the funeral. Only problem was, we all wanted decent copies of said picture, but the local photo place said no, they couldn't duplicate it photographically because it was copyrighted by the original photographer and all they could offer were color Xeroxes.

Ha, thought I, I can do an end run around THAT (and yes, normally I support copyright enforcement, but it was a 40-year-old picture and the photographer was long out of business, so the Copyright Police can kiss my ass on this one). So I asked my sister if I could borrow the pic, and took it back to Sweden with me. Our then-local Swedish photo place said sure, we'll dupe it for you -- how many copies do you want?

I ordered five, three for the aunts and one each for my brother and me with the original going back to my sister. My copy is framed and outside my office door, and Michael's was delivered some time ago. However, I'd put the aunts' photos to one side, meaning to get their current street addresses, and the photos became SITH.

The truly embarrassing thing is, I'd discovered them a couple of times since we came to Texas, meaning to get the current addresses and mail them out, and promptly forgot about and the pics returned to their SITH status.

No longer. All three pictures are now in envelopes, I have one current street address and have emailed one of the aunts for the other two's addresses, and by God they will go out in the mail tomorrow, along with Berry's copy of Sabre Dance/The Lunari Mask, bookmarks for same off to ConDFW for goodie bag stuffing purposes, and the WDW luggage tags for my sister. Weelah!

And now, I am off to take a very long, hot shower and hit the hay, for Mellie is one tired bunny.

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