I read a fabulous book for moving. The Perfect Mess. I have the messiest desk at work. My house is always cluttered up somehow. I bought a day planner but haven’t used it once. My calenders are atleast a month behind the times.
Today there are half-packed boxes everywhere. My brother and I made a “plan” for all the work my house needs before moving. He understands my planning by lack of planning. Somethings can’t be predicted. I make a goal with some extra time built in to it. I come up with a loose idea of how things will happen ideally and a worst-case scenario. Then I go along with whatever comes my way.
But I feel like things are under control. I have a direction I want to go and the resources to get there.
I’m starting to love my new house. It will have one less wall, new paint and floors, a water heater and several dozen little things taken care of before we actually get to live in. It has hideous tile in several places. The fireplace is green brick. J pinched her hand in a door. PB thinks we should put his bed in the closet. I have tons to learn, including how to drive the little tractor. My shopping list is pages long and more money than I can get through my head.
I spent the weekend running like mad nearly every second, not even sitting down to eat but grabbing bites between packings. I’m done for the day. I’ve got a bit of laundry to finish up, a few things to ready for tomorrow, and that’s all I can manage at this point. We brought my mom lunch today (soup’s such an easy way to clean the fridge and use up ends of things), Bro and G’ma and Bapa all came and looked at my house, I packed and cooked and cleaned. I’ve been trying to get Gcat to let me look at the paw he’s limping in. I’ve killed a dozen black widows as part of the outside cleaning project. I’m tired. My allergies are still terrible. I’m calling it quits for this one. I have a plan and it doesn’t leave room for burning myself out before the end.