There is crap in my room.
Wait; there's always crap in my room. Allow me to rephrase.
THERE IS CRAP IN MY ROOM THAT IS NOT MY CRAP.
Generally, clutter/crap in my room doesn't bother me, because it's generally my crap. This means I can clean up, rearrange, or dispose of it at will. When the clutter/crap isn't mine? I can't do a thing about it. It just sits there, mocking me.
We're having carpets cleaned today (not in my room, praise wool), so stuff from the rooms-to-be-cleaned gets moved into rooms-not-to-be-cleaned. This means I don't have access to my bed, currently. Which sucks, because I really do want to clean up my crap (mostly from the move home), and I need a big open space to lay stuff on in piles. I cannot emphasize how much this really stresses me out.
I will cope with this turn of events in the following ways.
1. Ripping/ reknitting the top of Brian's Spiderman mitten. (Too tall and pointy.)
2. Working on my grandpa's socks.
3. Reworking Chris' gift, which has been ripped. (Gauge issue. Let's not talk about it.)
4. Attempting to finish Carly's 2nd gift.
5. Attempting to placate the dog, who is distraught at being cooped up in my room with me. (This is not a dog for those with low self-esteem. Also, he appears to be part cat; he's gotten into my yarn FOUR TIMES in the past week. Fortunately no chewing on it, but he does smack the balls around like a giant cat.)
5. Blasting Relient K's Christmas CD as loud as I can stand it.
6. Dancing in joy at the small number of gifts I have left to finish. (Four. See that? Four.)
7. Stop dancing because some of them need to be done a week from tomorrow.
8. Get off the computer and go accomplish something.
In other news, this is quite possibly the niftiest thing I've ever seen. (Read: I want one.) And it's TSA compliant! How cool is that?
Done now. Back to the needles. Sigh.