I'm cleaning out my sewing room to make it back into a guest room.
And I'm annoyed.
Where did all this crap come from? Seriously . . . I'm not going on wild spending sprees, we haven't had a gifting holiday since Christmas. Surely I didn't bring that much from my mother's house . . . did I?
Best friend B is coming on Friday. I can't even pull out the pull-out couch for all the crap. I did take a load of dry cleaning in to the cleaners this morning. Before you applaud, it's been sitting in there since April. I never had time to get it in by 9 so it could be out by 5. I have a bit of room for improvement in that regard.
Sooooo unless I want her to sleep in the camper, which, although it would be fine and dandy in any other location than the driveway, would be Unsouthern of me, I got to get to getting.
HTB said I can not stack all my craft stuff in the office like we did last time, since we actually use that room. I work from there three days a week from now and I'd hate to miss a deadline because I mashed myself under a pile o' magazines. Or the dog; when that tail gets thumping, he makes no guarantees.
I guess I can stick it in the garage. For now. Or put it in the closet and tell B to not open the door. At all.
Or I could run screaming from the house.
Or I could watch Hoarders, which functions as both a wake up call and a reminder that it's not so bad.
But I'll probably pick it up one piece at a time, like always. And it will be OK.
If nothing else, a year of UFOs would reduce the clutter . . .