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Idiot Control Now
bees on pie, burning rubber tires

I understand our neighbors coming over to introduce themselves while we're working in the yard, because it means we're here and dressed and all, but it also means I'm in work clothes and covered in dirt and sweat and grass and my hair is a fright. Then the lady next door who is super nice dropped off some blondies later that afternoon, and even the misanthropic loner that I am knows you never return an empty plate, so I had to figure out what I could make with what I had on hand and decided on my Earl Grey lemon bars.

(And of course D had to tell everyone, oh, my wife loves to bake all kinds of yummy treats, which puts me on the spot of having to deliver, like, thanks bro.)

So we made up two plates thinking we'd just pop by and drop them off, and now being polite, both households invited us in, and now, introverted loner that I am, am forced to make small talk, which is my least favorite thing in the world. We ended up spending an hour "visiting", and had to finally excuse ourselves before we ran afoul of the dinner hour.

Our list of work to do around the house (that D wanted accomplished by the end of the month), is almost done, though it didn't help that every time we crossed something off, he'd think of something else to add. We might have this place looking okay for my sister and her kids to visit in a couple weeks. I hate that we still don't have any decent guest bedroom furniture, but after buying all those bookshelves, we can't afford it right now. Meh.

With any luck we'll get to rest tomorrow before getting back to it on Monday. We've got to finish getting boxes sorted for bulk trash pickup on Tuesday. It's every other week, and we've got to get this stuff off the porch. Not that I can afford any porch furniture, either. Maybe someday. I guess we've got the next thirty years to buy furniture. I'm hoping by spring we'll be in a position to check out some estate sales and Goodwill and stuff.

Current Mood: exhausted
Current Music: who needs a sunny day--ingram hill

justify your existence