Patch procrastination
Dad started patching last night, but it was late enough that the natural light was poor and he couldn't see that well. My task today is to scrape off any nubbies on the walls as well as to clean them more thoroughly. I have scrubbed at all the icky marks, but apparently this is a task for something other than just vinegar and water. Oh, also, we'll need to sand the patches and then re-patch; we figure the painting itself won't start until at least Sunday. In the meantime, my closet is about 95% empty. My clothes have now been moved into the computer room, with most of them placed on top of the two closet organizers and the nicer items in that room's closet. What's left: My stuffed animals and the boxes that I'd jerry-rigged to hold up some shelves.
Meanwhile, the computer room is stuffed to the gills. This is where I plan on sleeping when the time comes, and there's just enough room for my mattress; otherwise, you can barely walk in here anymore. Last night I asked mom if I could move the ironing board into her room, and she about had a hissy fit. A simple no, not yet would have sufficed, but she had to go into how she didn't know what she was going to wear tomorrow, and she didn't know if she would need to iron, and it's too soon, and blah blah blah. Never mind that having the ironing board in her bedroom would make life easier for her, and she definitely has the room for it. Oh my God. You know, I'm totally anal-retentive about things, but even I can roll with certain punches. My mother makes the biggest deal out of the smallest things. Hello, you're the one that wanted me to paint in the first place, woman. And of course she complains about how much stuff I have, and how I must be a hoarder, and it's like pot, meet kettle. At least I only have one bedroom full of stuff; she has two. And I'm trying to get rid of things. I've been working on that for a year. But she can never see the similarities between what she complains about me and herself. It's so frustrating.
Totally unrelated: I have the Weather Channel on to check the radar and there was just a commercial with Al Roker and Jimmy Fallon regarding Al's new TWC show. Oh, my.
Meanwhile, the computer room is stuffed to the gills. This is where I plan on sleeping when the time comes, and there's just enough room for my mattress; otherwise, you can barely walk in here anymore. Last night I asked mom if I could move the ironing board into her room, and she about had a hissy fit. A simple no, not yet would have sufficed, but she had to go into how she didn't know what she was going to wear tomorrow, and she didn't know if she would need to iron, and it's too soon, and blah blah blah. Never mind that having the ironing board in her bedroom would make life easier for her, and she definitely has the room for it. Oh my God. You know, I'm totally anal-retentive about things, but even I can roll with certain punches. My mother makes the biggest deal out of the smallest things. Hello, you're the one that wanted me to paint in the first place, woman. And of course she complains about how much stuff I have, and how I must be a hoarder, and it's like pot, meet kettle. At least I only have one bedroom full of stuff; she has two. And I'm trying to get rid of things. I've been working on that for a year. But she can never see the similarities between what she complains about me and herself. It's so frustrating.
Totally unrelated: I have the Weather Channel on to check the radar and there was just a commercial with Al Roker and Jimmy Fallon regarding Al's new TWC show. Oh, my.