Scrap heap in the bedroom? Handled, biotches!
No worries, you know those person-size Rubbermaid tubs that are a hoot to fill and then can’t be lifted except by committee? We have a selection of those from the move … lurking … blaming … shaming …
Just kidding, I’m not losing sleep over it, but I don’t want our sons to
have to deal with see what we leave behind in thirty years or so. Starting early and staying dedicated to the task strikes me as a wise plan.
And there’s always every kind of sorting to be done. Since taking a semi-sabbatical from Facebook recently, I’ve spent hours dumping folders full of junk, document files that were spilling their guts, emails by the thousands, including my FB stash back to 2011, and a lot of things I apparently saved in the middle of the night after “wine tastings.” I’ve consigned so much drama to the irretrievable past I’m feeling light-headed and may float away. Sounds all right …
TGIF, kiddos — enjoy!
Dragging out a couple more boxes after breakfast.