No, no. Don't feel sorry for me. I do this to myself.
To beat the endless winter blues this time I rearranged the kitchen after work yesterday. Last year the yellow wall, this year furniture upended. Poor Little Kitchen.
There wasn't much to do really. Kitchen's are only so big with so many things able to be rearranged. Mostly, Drake moved from one side of the wall to the other. And the lily. The lily got moved, too.
It's just when I walked in the door and looked across the sea of papers on the kitchen table I couldn't deal with it. I felt like I was walking into a room on the show Hoarders.
It was a total of about 3-4 small stacks. But it set me off.
Pots, pans, walnuts, leashes, computers, wedding cards. They all found a new home.
And then the clothes. Eric's.
Everywhere
(about 10 articles of clothing between two rooms).
Everywhere I tell you.
When he got home from what should have been a trip to Walmart to pick up a file box (for all the papers) but really came home from a trip to 99 for a drink with his bosses I realized the clothes, and the papers, were not an issue for him.
So I folded and I hung and I sorted and I put in the laundry bin.
And I stopped before I tackled the sliding pile of papers next to the bed that are oozing out of, under from, the nightstand. He says they're important. And he'll get to them this weekend.
So I left it at that, mopped up my mess, and fell asleep on the couch.
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