Now I know how it feels to live like hoarders do -- picking my way along paths that wind among the boxes, bags and piles of stuff everywhere.
I can't even spell the sound my brain is making. I HATE all this stuff unorganized and not put away in my house. I wish I could just magically get everything done in a snap.
But the azaleas under my bedroom window are blooming, some friends helped me get all my stuff (more stuff!) from the condo yesterday and I was almost able to make coffee this morning, except I forgot where I put the filters. Well, not really forgot, just couldn't find the bag. So, "lost" might be a better word. I'm sure they will turn up a week from now, after I've bought more.
I don't even have anything else timely to talk about. The house is all I do right now.
1 comment:
When Finn, my 3-year-old, is at wits end searching for that one missing Matchbox cars or bathtub toy, I've tried to tell him "it's not lost, it's just temporarily misplaced." I last said that a week ago, and he tried to repeat it when I couldn't immediately find the Spiderman t-shirt this morning.
"Tem, tem ... what you call lost stuff, daddy?"
And I've taken to using my dad's old chestnut for "leftovers": "gustatory retrospective"
Finn doesn't bother to try to repeat that.
Post a Comment