Days of the Week, Redefined for Parents
13 hours ago
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
New Place
Right now I'm sitting on the sofa in my new living room, Joey's head on my leg, reflecting on how much stuff fit into my tiny two-room apartment.
The problem with stuff is that I feel that I need it. There are piles of things in my new bedroom right now so irrelevant to my daily life I can't even remember most of what's there, even though I spent all day trucking said piles the ten-or-so blocks from the old place to the new one. Yet when I put my hands on this stuff, this nonessential clutter, I can't bring myself to just bag it up and pitch it.
I might need those handwritten notes from Torts I when I study for the bar. Without my T-Rex Cafe glass, how will I remember my delight in the anamatronic dinosaurs? (I literally had to go look at some of the piles in order to remember these two particularly pointless items were there.)
I can totally sympathize with hoarders.
On a more cheerful note, the house is beautiful, my new roommate is great and even lets Joey sit on the furniture, and nearly all of my stuff is out of the old apartment, which is good because the guy is coming to clean the carpets Wednesday morning at 8:00, and I promised him there wouldn't be any junk in his way.
How labor intensive is cleaning an oven? My property manager reminded me that I'm to clean the oven if I expect my full deposit to be reimbursed, so I need to budget my time wisely tomorrow.
Once I emerge from the black hole of moving, Amanda and mom should be crossing the state line. And then I must immediately go to Columbia with a student for a horse show, but I have been telling myself Amanda might just come along. We've always loved sitting around and critiquing strangers' horsemanship.
The problem with stuff is that I feel that I need it. There are piles of things in my new bedroom right now so irrelevant to my daily life I can't even remember most of what's there, even though I spent all day trucking said piles the ten-or-so blocks from the old place to the new one. Yet when I put my hands on this stuff, this nonessential clutter, I can't bring myself to just bag it up and pitch it.
I might need those handwritten notes from Torts I when I study for the bar. Without my T-Rex Cafe glass, how will I remember my delight in the anamatronic dinosaurs? (I literally had to go look at some of the piles in order to remember these two particularly pointless items were there.)
I can totally sympathize with hoarders.
On a more cheerful note, the house is beautiful, my new roommate is great and even lets Joey sit on the furniture, and nearly all of my stuff is out of the old apartment, which is good because the guy is coming to clean the carpets Wednesday morning at 8:00, and I promised him there wouldn't be any junk in his way.
How labor intensive is cleaning an oven? My property manager reminded me that I'm to clean the oven if I expect my full deposit to be reimbursed, so I need to budget my time wisely tomorrow.
Once I emerge from the black hole of moving, Amanda and mom should be crossing the state line. And then I must immediately go to Columbia with a student for a horse show, but I have been telling myself Amanda might just come along. We've always loved sitting around and critiquing strangers' horsemanship.
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