shocker 17 June 2008
As you all know we are letting the builders in (still can’t locate the reason it was a good idea in the first place but hope it will turn out okay). I have been trying to pack life into boxes in order to protect some precious things and clear the way for all that has to be done (again the word HAS in that last sentence seems merely to underline yesteryears excellent notion now become todays folly). The result is that the house is in chaos. I get bored easily with chucking things and/or having to make hard decisions re same. Also the dust is a bother. So I move from room to room like a typhoon and keep assuring the Husband that all looks very much worse before it gets better – darkest hour just before the dawn type thing – and that in one fell swoop of magic in a matter of moments a splendid order and slimmed down neatness will be restored. I was in the attic shifting stuff about yesterday when I chanced to open some of the many plastic bags that moved in with us 7 years ago which haven’t been looked at since…yup, that’s SEVEN. I had been slagging Himself off something terrible about the bag of old (sorry, he likes to call them vintage and irreplaceable) t-shirts which he hasn’t asked for since and which languish above. I was sure I was about to be reintroduced to them. Imagine, then, my horror to discover that the first bag seems to be, in fact, full of my old smalls (clean, I hasten to add!). There is much to be afraid of here, not least the fact that if they no longer fit me I will have concrete proof of my middle age spread. I quickly shut up the bag again and went for a little lie down. Tomorrow at cockcrow, when it least expects it, I shall do a dawn raid and show that bag who is boss.
Yes, I KNOW – clearly I didn’t need so much underwear in my life.
Richard obviously didn’t need so many tee shirts.
I don’t need so many books, either, but I see them everyday and still can’t part with them…
Shit happens – I’m dealing with it.
