I was hating life this afternoon. Moving induced snit. Slumped in my chair muttering the f-word over and over again. Like an inverse mantra…
Then, eureka! Have to get boxes from trash room, put stuff in boxes, pay someone to move boxes, unpack boxes, find place to put stuff, get rid of boxes.
All I have to do is put stuff in a trash bag, take trash bag to trash room. Way easier! eureka!
I took a bag to the trash room and packed up all of Carlton’s trinkets in one of my much loved suitcases. Plus some of my trinkets. I removed his Army dogtags and pocket knives from the collection. I’ll put them in my sewing box.
Bottom line is: when I die someone will throw all that stuff out. SO, I might as well just put on my big girl pants and do the job. And the bonus is I’ll avoid the …get boxes from trash room, put stuff in boxes, pay someone to move boxes, unpack boxes, find place to put stuff, get rid of boxes… routine.
The trinkets and suitcase will go to Goodwill. Who knows what they’ll make of the minie balls and old VPI stuff. And, various kazoo. Not to mention a vintage egg beater. At some park somewhere Carlton used the egg beater as a part of his gig. I don’t recall working at Egg Beater National Park.