Yard Sale

My personal thanks to Karly May, who spent time recently documenting the expired half-full bottles of crap in her mom’s guest bath. Then she blogged about it — and it’s hilarious. So double thanks: first because I laughed, and second because it gave me an idea. And that’s something that’s been lacking around here.

For whatever reason I feel like I’m spinning in a weird anti-gravity room. Lots of spinning, nothing getting done. Remember ‘Raising Arizona’? When I look in the mirror I see my face with Nicholas Cage’s hair.

And the crap in my world is building up. We’re talking major piles. I’m now seeing how old women can die and be found six months later, atrophied in a maze of newspapers and books.

So basically what this means is that I’m way ready to get about half the stuff in this house OUT. Because if you can’t order your world, you can at least make all the bits and pieces play nicely together, right?

Some things can’t be unilaterally punted, though. Like the Littlest’s drum set (great idea for two years, but she’s over it). Although she hasn’t touched it in months, the thought of losing it makes her way sad. The thought of getting cashola makes the loss seem sweeter.

I keep talking about a yard sale. If they all price their own stuff and help me man it, they get the cash. However I am NOT going to single-handedly clean out the house, price, sell, and then hand over the cash. I’d much rather drive to Sal-Val.

So that’s me at the moment. Think a hugely bloated Nick Cage in ‘Raising Arizona’, wild-ass hair sticking out all over, desperately in need of a metaphorical colonic.  Or at least a clear spot on my desk.