The SS Obvious has sailed
So I went to the local Ikea yesterday (and now that I moved it's actually local), but I have to admit, it's just not as fun going by yourself. It's better with family, even if I do end up sitting on the furniture displays towards the end like an patient elderly husband. I just needed a few things, mostly storage containers that aren't beat-up cardboard boxes, but of course, it's Ikea and you tend to accumulate more stuff than you need to. So I'm carting around my oversized yellow bag stuffed full of oversized things (and holding even larger oversized things that don't fit in the bag with the other hand) and searching the bottom floor for a metal hanging basket I know I saw in a display upstairs. I walked around the entire bottom floor FOUR TIMES (so, like, eight miles) before I asked someone for help. And that's when I learned something new: not all items are available on the downstairs floor. Some you can only get from the displays on the upstairs floor. (WHY GOD WHY?!) The clerk took one look at my exhausted, bedraggled condition and pointed out that, you know, I am free to use a cart. Ah. Yes. Sure. That would probably make sense. At that point, I could feel my shoulder wanting to punch my brain in the face. It's still complaining. I tried to bribe it with a cinnamon bun (juuuust out of the oven, so it burned my fingers, although I didn't let that stop me), but my stomach was all, "Thanks!" and my shoulder was still "@*(^$$#@" and my fingers were all "Yeah, what he said."
So I did some more stuff and came home, rather tired. It was between 9 - 10 pm, so I thought I'd strip my bed and wash the sheets (including my new matress pad, which I didn't get a chance to wash and which still smells all gross and factory-like), so I could fall asleep in toasty warm sheets fresh from the dryer. Aaaaaaaand I was up until 2:45 a.m. doing that. First of all, my washer and dryer are much, much smaller than the old industrial ones at my old place, so I had to break it up into two loads. As the first load was drying, I began to hear a sound over the music in my headphones: "THUNK. THUNK. THUNK." Turns out my dryer has a gift for balling up one sheet and getting the other sheet wrapped around it so tightly that the two have the density of a neutron star. I had to untangle the sheets every 10 minutes or it would keep happening. Of course it took forever for everything to dry. At around midnight it occurred to me to dry the sheets separately, but even then, they would get all balled up so one side was toasty dry and the other side was cold and wet. It was probably indicative of my delerious state at the time, but all I could think of was "Figures! Hot on the outside, icicle in the middle!"
Please. Please, please . . . . if you know the secret of keeping sheets separated and not all balled up in a small dryer, PLEASE TELL ME. Otherwise, I'll do four loads of laundry every time I want to wash my sheets.
Fitted sheets truly are linens of the devil: hard to fold, hard to dry.
ANYWAY . . . . .
Don't really have much to say about the move, except that I still need a single day where I don't have to do other things so I can make some headway on the unpacking. But that may not come because I have to get all my Christmas parcels out very, very soon.
Consider this:
One was taken 30 minutes after the move, the other, 7 days. WHICH LOOKS WORSE?!?!?!?
It is to cry.
Of course, I could be unpacking right now instead of typing all of this. And here's the evil secret about my journal: my only entries come when I'm procrastinating.
One last thing . . . some words of advice: if you have to pack away a lot of coat hangers very, very quickly, do NOT stuff them all in a garbage bag. Because this will happen:
And that's after 20 minutes of untangling, with about 20 minutes left to go. You just . . . . don't want to do that.
Okay, one last final thing: in case I haven't mentioned, there are more ways to watch me say stupid things on the internet.
Snack blog which I won't be able to update until I find my book that has all my internet passwords written down in it.
Twitter (yes, I did. I thought it would make me feel less guilty about not journalling because any time I get a weird, random thought, I feel I should journal about it. So hopefully this will take the pressure off. Unless I stop using it, which is pretty dang likely.)