Something terrible is going to happen this coming weekend. It's so terrible, it makes me want to run screaming through the house to jump in bed and hide under the covers. So horrific, I can't even imagine what the aftermath will look like. So painful, I simply can't keep it inside another moment.
Mom wants to clean out the garage. I don't understand why - we can move from the garage door to the house door by negotiating a single-file path - with only a single location where we must jump over detritus. Good enough! Right??
When we moved last year we found that we had transported a bunch of big stuff at high moving van prices 45 miles from one house to the other, only to decide that we didn't really want it. At the time we weren't ready to get rid of it, but I think we've got to come to our senses now and JUST SAY NO to clutter. The thing I'm most embarrassed by is insisting on moving my old sofa from one house to the other. Now, I'm not ready to tell you just how old this sofa is. Or how 1990's huge floral the print is on it. I kept thinking, "but...someday I can recover it and it was the most comfy sofa ever..." Jill. Get a grip. Seriously. Although I really love that sofa.
I was hoping I could talk Mom out of garage cleaning duty in some way shape or form, but then she actually went and bought some shelving units today. Friends, she's serious. There is no escape.
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