Thursday, October 25, 2007

So I'm Not the Only One

I'm having a small party tonight--just a dozen or so people, and several hours of food prep.

I've been tackling the chaos a little bit every day, made easier by the fact that I'd spent the last year or two decluttering. I've resigned myself to the fact that my sewing room is a work room after all, and it will not be ready for a feature article in Martha Stewart Living anytime soon.

Normally, most of the flat surfaces around anywhere LB sits are covered with about 8 inches of receipts, post-its, magazines, empty envelopes with notes pencilled on the back, yellow plastic wire nuts, light bulbs which may or may not work, nail clippers, old newspapers, little bits of wire, dead batteries, half-worked crossword puzzles, expired cigarette coupons, twist ties, crumbs, and Thrifty Nickle pages from various Midwestern states.

Most of the time, I'm able to tune it out and keep the balance of the house relatively sane. But in the weeks before company comes, I tend to see it with fresh eyes.

Damn it if he didn't manage to clear it all in less than an hour--why the hell have we been living surrounded by this crap day in and day out?

At first, I feared aliens may have snatched my husband, but then I remembered there is still a large piece of some sort of woodworking machinery on the front porch. I can't remember how long it's been there, probably because I can't see it in the dark. You see, the front porch light fixture has been broken for a long time too. I know last Halloween I swore I had reached a breaking point, which means we probably last had a porch light some time in 2005. I'm pretty sure the woodworking equipment showed up sometime this spring. I'm not sure exactly what kind of machine it is because it's attractively covered with a green plastic tarp, anchored with a bungee cord.

At least the Yarn Harlot deals with this stuff too.

I wonder if she has to deal with this?

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

What a funny little cat! Is it trying to gas itself?!

That's a 7-letter Deborah, never a Deb said...

He's just a hundred million years old (well, 17 actually) and in the phase of sleeping most of the day on hot things.