Here we are again

It is nearly time to throw away those reminders of what was and when they needed to be. Naturally, I would not want to keep old calendars, now would I? I'll just bet, however, that somewhere in the clutter is at least one, if not more, calendar from some year past. It was probably kept for some reason, like the pretty pictures or some significant date of importance. Actually, I think I know of one day-planner style calendar sitting somewhere gathering dust that is... 2008 minus 1988...twenty years due for trashing. I think I keep it as some kind of personal punishment. It is that kind of pathology that makes this project such an overwhelming undertaking that the general public will never really understand. Still, I trudge ever forward one room at a time (mostly), hoping that errors of the past will fade away.

Bullshit. There are some things that are so tough for me to throw away that it takes years before I am able to do so. There are some errors of the past that will never fade away, as they are frequently brought back out, shined up, and used to beat people like me over the head.

Thankfully, the Mrs. has kept from tossing me away for years, and in light of that, I make greater effort to remove stuff that I don't REALLY need to have around. Lately I have been going through Mom's stuff, and the remnants of Dad's stuff, and surprising myself with the ease of getting it out of the house. Coming across antiquated things can be fun, and while I'll be dead before I get rid of the early 1900's Apothecary Cabinet, sealed cans of tennis balls from the 1940/50's and old books are far easier to remove. Well, that is if someone buys them.

If Only

Reading is fun, writing is funner.

[pause for effect]

Especially when it comes to listing things on eBay. I know that I spoke of this earlier, but I always take such joy when it comes to writing up listings for the clutter I am attempting to sell off. Personally, even if the stuff doesn't sell, I would love it if people would just read the things, and then tell their friends, who would in turn read and tell. Sure it's an ego trip, but who that writes does not pack the ego bags up for a voyage when people are reading, and enjoying, the literary creations that flow from the voices in the head to the keyboard to the universe? Obviously I do, and obviously I have been busy of late, what with the 30+ things I have listed. Go check 'em out!!

One more thing. Time for me to select the next room. I'm thinking 'closet,' but doubt the Mrs. will let me get away with that. Offer suggestions.

It Doesn't, You Can't, So Stop Trying

Sadly, I live in the town that gained some national attention these past few days, due to the actions of one individual. I put off making any comment on the event, not so much because it has little to do with the project (more peripheral than direct), but because my views may be seen as controversial or heartless. In all honesty, I am not even sure I want to express my views. I have learned, however, that it is best for me to express rather than suppress. Yeah, like that has been a positive thing in that past. Still, for all the crap I've piled upon myself by opening my mouth and speaking my mind, I still manage to feel the slightest positive reward when disclosing my views. Again, some of my opinions are controversial, so prepare thyself.

First, shut up. Or, more bluntly, shut the HELL up. I really don't want to hear or read about what happened at that mall anymore. I suppose a large contribution to this feeling is my tendency toward denial. In this case, however, I think it is less denial and more disgust. It bothers me greatly that the ultimate goal of this individual was achieved, that being the 'fame' he garnered for his action. It occurs to me that making such a spectacle of this tragedy serves more to reinforce the sick notion that any one of us can become 'famous' via a traumatic act than it does to deter any future acts. Need I remind anyone that the goal of terrorism is to strike fear into the minds of society and disrupt the status quo?

Second, nobody will ever know what this person was thinking or why he did what he did. We can speculate for eternity, but I can assure you that NO ONE will ever know. From experience, I can tell you that swimming in the 'whys' are just as bad as treading in the 'woulda, shoulda, coulda' waters. Ultimately you will drown, unless you find the shoreline. What I am really saying is that if anyone truly wants to get close to the mindset of this individual, you better prepare yourself for discovering some real ugliness inside. Not him, but yourself. I worry that saying something like that will make a few feel that I am heartless. I assure you that I am not. The contrary is what makes this event traumatic for me. It is probably some evolved positive empathy that keeps me from being the next news headline or top story, as I can very easily step into this individual's thinking process, but that same empathy can put me into his shoes when I close my eyes, recognizing the same potential for insane action. Make me one heck of a FBI profiler, huh?

Finally, the worst component of this event is not the loss of lives. Granted, I feel such pain for those who were present, for those who were wounded, for the families of those who were killed in such brutal fashion. No, the worst part of this tragedy will be glossed over, briefly mentioned, casually tossed into the mix as the media and society continues its exploration. Failure. In that sad, sick, twisted sort of way, this is about how things failed. Without specifics, I can tell you that similar elements of life gone wrong have played out in my existence. Troubled childhood issues, broken relationships, loss of employment, irrational views that the fault is external rather than internal. Yep, been there, seen that. Failure. Not of the individual as much of the 'system.' For all of our supposed progression as a society, we still can't handle the truth of the mental health system's failure to fight it out with the idiots in control, or the reality that our society does more to perpetuate mental health problems than reduce them. It didn't come as a surprise to me when I was told that the office employing my therapist was closing because it was not making enough money for the hospital administering it. It came as no surprise to hear that the shooter of late had mental health issues that seemed to receive little resolution since his first interaction with the system as a child. Time and money, money and time. A lack of either or both in the mental health realm results in a lack of, well, results. A lack of results, more often than not, ends in pain or tragedy.

So, I rant no further, and I put this out there for the globe to consider, and I move beyond this traumatic event much as I have others in my life. Then I go back to my corner of the universe and do my thing, which mostly means finding more boxes of stuff to empty out, and maybe listing some stuff on eBay.

Something

You only thought I gave up on this whole thing. Truth is, I've been busy. Doing something. Now I have to do something else.

Did I recall something?

I managed to let one of those scary thoughts enter my brain at some point during the last few days. One of those thoughts that I have spent years and dollars working to remove, recognizing that thoughts of this sort propel me down the dark alley of depression and negativity. Reeking of futility, these thoughts muddy up the reflection and cloud the perspective. The good part is that I know now how to handle these thoughts, but that doesn't make them easier to accept. The thought, in particular, is that I just as well forget about One Room given that it has been nearly a year and I've yet to finish one room.

As I look around me, I see that I've not come very far in my project. I can count on one hand the reasons for this, with the quickest to surface being the laziness factor. Follow that with obsessions (and compulsions) of various natures, and the joy of MS-related fatigue, and not much time is left in the day to accomplish any task, let alone making progress with One Room. I have to make some change in myself, again, if I want to see success. Change, however, brings fear. No, not because of any LCMS affiliation issue, but more for the general fear of change that comes with the human wiring. In my case, it is high voltage wiring.


Change stomps upon comfort. Lack of comfort brings out lack of control. Lack of control brings out futility, which contributes to depression. Hence, the entire scope supporting the One Room project is inherently depressing. Medications are helpful, but there is no "clean up my mess" medication. Hmmm. There's a money-making idea. A pill to remove the clutter. Riiiight. I know better. So, lacking the magic pill, I have to do it the hard way, which is harder than most would think. And recognizing that talking about the problem is the first step to combating the problem, I will take a deep breath, take another look around me, and see the potential for success rather than the overwhelming lack of progress.

Did I forget something?

Age, a disease that eat brain cells, replacement addictions, non-replacement mental health issues, new household distractions. I suppose I can up with any number of justifications for my lack of posting. I can even say that I was just plain lazy. That hardly gives people anything to read, however. Did I mention that I've been tired lately? Or that people keep wanting to overeat out and all that food makes me lethargic? Maybe I can use the monthly milestone as a springboard for motivation and get some serious stuff done. Or I can go back to bed.

A round hole

Yesterday I found an example of just how muddled the efforts of a clutterer can turn, when said clutterer wants to create a justification for keeping something. It came about after I decided to spend a little time clearing clutter away from the exterior of the garage, given that the weather was fairly decent for doing such things, and since I was tired of looking at that particular clutter, but mostly because I found the ground ivy was attempting to take over the lawn…again. The origin of attack was the area just under the clutter that didn't cover the ground, thus the focus of extermination had to be that same area. You see, I don't much care for ground ivy. When I smoked, I would go out and pull ground ivy up by hand on a daily basis, but I haven't been out for some time, and the ivy knew it. And once ground ivy gets a mind to take over a lawn, it gets the job done. Thus, I needed to get busy before it did.

I faced a choice I similar to ones I faced in the past. Where do I put this clutter I've kept whilst I terminate the growth of the ivy? I thought about putting it inside the garage, but given how long this clutter had been outside, I wasn't sure I wanted the accumulated bugs and slugs to join the accumulated interior garage clutter. I thought about moving it around to the other side of the garage, but the new grass managed to establish well on that side, so I didn't want to kill it off by cluttercation, a most deadly form of clutter suffocation. I thought about the spot on the other side of the shed, but the fencing awaiting a more proper location (for example, around the yard) is stored there. I finally came up with the novel idea of figuring out why I had collected the clutter and then actually tend to that 'why.'

Right.

Some of it was obvious. Screens kept from window spaces that had new combination windows, giving the screens new futures as screeny things. Therefore, screens were to be disassembled and the screen material rolled up nicely and stored. Glass kept from the same window spaces, primarily because it was old glass, the wavy, bubbly kind that comes with older houses, and just so happens to match the glass in the built-in cabinet doors. Therefore, glass windows were to be carefully deconstructed, the glass cleaned and carefully stored. Those were easy enough. More challenging were the long pieces of 2x2 that came from some deconstruction project of days past. Long past. So long, in fact, that the pieces of 2x2 barely resembled pieces of 2x2 and were more like 1.5x1.7x1.88x2 instead. And full of holes, those little kind of holes which explain why old wood is so light, the kind of holes that generally come with little piles of chewed up wood. As I looked at these pieces of wood, I realized that they had long passed the point of reusability, and there had to be some other reason I kept them. It might have been hardware related, as I had other items amongst the clutter that were the keepers of hinges and handles holding out hope for new homes. As I reflected upon this possibility, it hit me that 'hardware' was close, if you consider that nails and bolts and such are also considered hardware. Indeed, I had kept these 2x2 boards because of a discovery of a certain kind of hardware, a square head nail.

OK, so it is more rectangular-headed than square-headed, and it resembles a miniature railroad spike more than a common nail, but I was (at one point) fairly certain that it was old. Maybe even worth something. And where there is one old nail there has to be more. Thus, I kept all of these 2x2 boards until such time that I could cut them to a reasonable size and check them all for nails of a similar style. I obviously found one in the past, which explains why I kept the old wood. I have no idea where it is at this point, but I must have found one, and that is precisely what I found yesterday in that large pile of cluttered used-to-be 2x2 pieces of wood prior to tossing them into the trash bin. All of them, or at least nearly all of them, all saved for one purpose, all becoming clutter for one reason.

One old square nail.

Yet another

Motivation is a wicked thing, especially when it seems to only run in streaks and is easily distracted. Lately, my motivation has been distracted by creatures of a furry nature. In fact, as I type this I find myself attending more to the little four-month-old feline attempting to type for me than I do planning out my efforts to get the guest room finished off. Some who know the situation know that Chester is a rebound kitten, with Noodles fast becoming a memory. The whole story is addressed elsewhere (and I will attempt to get the URL up for people to go read), so I won't spend any more time on it here. Having observed the little guy interact and acclimate to his new surroundings, I am quite certain we ended up better off with this little orange tabby. Could do without the nose chewing and sneezing in my face, but he is still very adorable. Might even get a picture up…as soon as I get my camera back.

OK, so Loki, Smudge, Mickey and now Chester are all waiting for a new place to nap, so I reckon I'll need to get working on that room. That is, if I can find the motivation.

Thwarted by constraints

Now I know why there are so many three-quarter-dollar stores on half.com, and I will state on record that it seems conspiratorial. It seems there is a lower pricing limit of seventy-five cents. Thus, I am now one of those hundreds of virtual street corner vendors competing for attention with the lowest possible price I can place on my items. Yep, time for a different means of getting the attention of the many out there who have no knowledge of One Room.

Life is a cheap paperback novel

The Mrs. has held for some time now that used books don't sell. I would have to grant that used books don't sell fast, but I think they do sell in the right markets. Sadly, I haven't found THE right market. I mean, there has to be more than a handful of people who actually know how to read the printed page, or that paper is used for some purpose other than wiping various orifices. When questioned why I was even bothering listing books on sites like Swap Simple or half.com, I reminded the question poser that books were part of the clutter. I have books, the Mrs. has books, there are books left about the house that prove we blended our genetic material a few times. I even have the blessing of inherited books from Dad and technically inherited books from Mom. [chuckle] Don't even get me started on the Stephen King novels, all hardbound, all in new condition, and probably never read, but MUST be kept. Where's that train?

So, anyhoots, where was I? That's right, books.

I listed a number of bound paper gems on Swap Simple, and have even swapped at least one away, which was the subject of a previous post here at One Room central. I have listed a number of old fashioned communication tomes on half.com and actually needed to send a few to new owners. I know there are people out there who want the tactile feel that only a book can provide, or have some space on their bookshelf that needs filled. I know there are people out there who want the books I can provide to them. Finding these people, however, can be a challenge. I have embraced this challenge. Well, that and decided to tackle the lowballers.

You know them. The street corner sellers who price things cheaper than the stores. Those folks who help make the great american way what it is, a vicious economic wrestling match to get the almighty dollar. The almighty dollar that will never make it into Heaven, I will remind you. The same almighty dollar that has storefront operations named after it, where you can find all manner of cheaper things at cheaper prices. On a certain half-sized web site, there is an equivalent of the dollar store, or rather MANY dollar stores. Technically, seventy-five cent stores, but what's a quarter? I reckon the main objective is to make the elusive profit via volume. Not that this is a horrible thing, as I am a consumer who loves bargains like anyone else. I am also a clutterer who needs to get things out of his house. And, in some regards, I am much like the street corner vendor competing against the storefront operations. Thus, I have resorted to a temporary tactic to move things and bring in browsers. I have taken on those other street corner vendors and will see just what they do in response.

You hear it here first, folks. I dropped the price on a great number of books I have listed on half.com, some at half dollar prices. The reasoning? Uhm, have you not been reading? I just wonder how long before I just have to mail the books to random people. Hmmm, that gives me an idea...

Subliminal messages abound

Having the smallest measure of paranoia is not always a bad thing. Sometimes it is downright essential. Granted, my measure is not the smallest, and I do hold membership with the local chapter of conspiracy theorists, yet this does not keep me constantly checking over my shoulder. Beyond the fact that my neck would begin to hurt too much for my taste, I recognize that it is not all that necessary to constantly worry about things. The Mrs. would love it, in fact, if I would worry just a bit more about some things. Like the month of November looming on the horizon. Yes, that month the guest room will be required. It will get done. I will have it done in time, no worries. And I will do it my way, and...

[subliminal message follows]

If you put it out, they will touch

What will perhaps be the last GaYaPo of this year goes into its final day today, the conclusion of a three day event (as advertised, even). I am happy to say that we sold enough items to cover our costs, and feed us, and best of all, to make a visual dent in the clutter. I will most likely continue to place stuff out today, as is my style, developed over the years by the factors of procrastination and wanting to provide nifty stuff for the end of the GaYaPo crowd, who get there after the selection has been gleaned of best buys and secret valuables. Another bonus of the delayed setting-out is having stuff to fill up the bundle offers, those uniques opportunities to set many items free at the same time to the same buyer, although generally at sub-prime prices. Still, when the ultimate goal is the clearing of clutter, then the latter is not all that bad of a thing. Even my neurosis stemming from the childhood trauma of having a $50 item sold for $5 (technically, a $100 item sold for $5) is not as strong as it used to be, as people assisting with this event attempt to sneak those discounted sales under the "he'll never know" radar and I just shrug. Am I happy? No. Can I do anything? No. Is the item taking up space in our house? Uhm, no. So the cute puppy gets a cheap carry kennel in which to lounge, and the Wolf stares down upon its new owner, an owner who paid $5 less than the sticker price for the framed print. Which , by the way, I don't know anything about. Hehheh.

Yes, this will be the final day of what might be the final GaYaPo of the year, but I'm feeling pretty good about it. Of course, this doesn't mean I'm ready to sell that $700 chair or $1200 trumpet for $5. Not yet, anyhoots.

One last little note. It is being discussed by those who discuss such things whether or not to edit the name of our outdoor sales events, calling them GaYoPoSi sales or some derivative, as there may be the need to reflect the inclusion of our sidewalk usage. I suspect there will be more discussion today.

You might be wondering

The faithful five or so who follow this public record of things private understand by now that certain components of my personality not only drove the creation of this project, but also interfere with the project's progress. As the one I love most in this world is prone to say, if I "would only obsess as much on the project as I do on the games and movies, I'd have the whole house done." Sadly, this is most certainly true. Yes, I could achieve wonders. For that matter, I still can. I have switched the brain circuitry into GaYaPo mode, and have been exploring the calendar for possible dates, consulting with the weather wizard to make sure that it is a decent weekend. You know, no rain and not so hot I have symptoms for a week.

Right.

Now you know why the 2007 GaYaPo II has been delayed, as it has been too hot or too wet of late. Not to fear, it is upcoming, and I plan to hype and hooplah and use a free ad coupon. I have a few boxes of things all ready to go, priced from previous efforts. I have added new items, mostly stuff that didn't sell via eBay or half.com or get swapped away via SwapSimple. And quite honestly, I am ready to have things moved to new homes. So, as the Mrs. goes back to the grind of educating the precious and precocious and dealing with the parental denials, I go back to focusing my attention on something other than killing off Ordinators or watching foreign films. Granted, I have a church thing to finish off, and I need to throw Momma from the train, and I need to tend to pet issues. The lawn needs mowed... again. The vehicles need to be cleaned up and winterized. Meal preparation is an important distraction, as is personal hygiene. And then there are the bills.

So, if you were wondering what was up lately, now you know. Thanks for caring.

Don't stay in one spot too long

I finally got around to preparing some of the "unusual" things I plan to list on eBay. I might even revisit some of the previous items, but without the taunt to Mr. Leno. There is quite a variety of "different" stuff, and while I would love to tell you all about them, I'd rather tease you (oh, loyal reader) into checking out what's currently listed on eBay. OK, just to whet the curiosity appetite, I will tell you about one of the "odd" items that will be up soon. I came about it in a way that requires explanation, which I shall proceed to do now. Granted, it may well become the same explanation I include with the listing, so don't get all bored when you check the listing on eBay. Just sit back and chuckle along with me and the two or three others who will take the time to read the description for the "Bag of Smudge."

Some back story is in order. In fact, I will even use visual aides!! You see, the "Smudge" to which I refer is not what one might automatically think. It might be easy to believe I've gone and done something with the remains of my smoking habit, which I might actually do, but such would not be the case. No, the "Smudge" to which I refer is a lovable, adorable habit I've recently adopted. Et violà:
Is he not the most adorable furball one has seen? This is Smudge, so named because, when we rescued him, the Mrs. thought his pudgy face was sooo cute, and I loved his coloration, but didn't want to use some passé moniker like "Smoky," so I came up with "Smudge." The Mrs. liked it, he had no comment, and the name stuck. Heck, he even answers to it now. Take that, silly mutts of the world. What you can't see from this photo is how he looked when he arrived in our house. He had been living the low life at some rural abode, and had obviously been out in the elements. Obviously stemming not so much from any physical ailments or maladies, but rather from the fact that his fur was so matted that he had the equivalent of a shell instead of a coat. I thought I had a photo of his first arrival, but failed to find it. I must rely, therefore, upon the following exhibit as proof:


Yes, that is all from him, collected gently over the course of days and weeks, small portions at a time carefully removed. Why not shave him all at once, you might ask aloud to your monitor? Hmmm. It was winter. It costs money to shear. I owned several scissors. Mostly though, I had a plan. A devious plan. It came from hearing a story on the Today Show about some lady who made a sweater from yarn made from her cat. Hence, one of my new listings for eBay... "A Bag of Smudge."

Like, you know, it was, like, all like, you know, then I was like

The English language is such a marvel, when you really get down to it. We who speak Americanized English have so many words to use to describe so many things, yet we also have this marvelous tendency to use a single word to represent a wide and varied array of items and concepts. As a native American English speaker, I even enjoy the sound of some of the words available to me and others who share my vocabulary base. I have come to the point, however, that the sound of certain word grates upon my ears, and nearly causes me physical pain, especially if it is used in rapid succession within the same sentence. Sad to say, I just don't like "like." While this has no particular relevance to the project or any successful completion of any phase of it, I just felt the need to share my opinion. Since it is my opinion, you need not agree with it.

Nor, for that matter, even like it.

Feel free to not share your thoughts on the matter. You could better spend that time visiting the blog of my oldest chromosomal contribution at her new blogspot, litwitreviews.blogspot.com

It comes as no surprise

I did not write much lately, as I did not do much lately. This is changing, however, as the summer draws near an end and 'things' need to be done. Not so much my things, but the effect bleeds over. I've begun to relist on eBay with a bit more earnest, and I am preparing for an early fall GaYaPo sale. I might even get the guest room done before it is needed.

Then again…

You gotta do what you gotta do

Just finished planting some new flowers for the yard. I saw some last year, forgot about them, then saw them again this year and took the initiative to find out what they were and get me some. Hibiscus...hybuscis...hubbysicsic...tall plants with really big blossoms!! And I mean tall plants, if you want them tall. Up to six foot tall. I got the shorter variety, two red and one white with red eye. A few years from now I will have to post a picture of them, once they take off. Someone remind me.

Anyhoots, it is now August. My quasi-vacation is over, as I secretly gave myself July off just in case I needed it, due to the change of lifestyle thing with the not smoking. Having made it this far, I reckon I can deal with the associated stress of removing my clutter and dealing with Mom. Yep, plenty to do, but for now I am going to watch the Today Show discuss why we have sex...

Can I get an "ah, man!"?

Took the last of the little blues Sunday, and in celebration, I consumed volumes of celebratory liquid and smoked a pack of my favorite menthols.



Made you think it, didn't I? Hehheh. Not to worry, there has been no relapse, and it would seem I can now become one of those militant ex-types any time. Go about making others feel guilty, restricting where they can engage in the behavior, urging my legislation to raise the per pack taxes to extortionate levels, making funky faces whenever someone lights up around me. You know the type, the ones that come off as a bit holier than the rest of us, but are probably sneaking a smoke behind their pulpits, and hoping that NBC's Dateline doesn't decide to start producing "To Catch a Smoker."

Or perhaps I can just take a deep breath, not cough, and figure out why my newest addiction has to be so problematic that it could make a weaker person say "wtf" and return to the old addiction, just out of spite. I say this for many reasons, not the least being that the void left by the extinction of one addiction is much like a vacuum, and you know what nature thinks of that. Well, you do if you are learned, and if not, think physics. Mommy Nature has nothing on Mum Psyche. A behavioral vacuum gets filled before the old way even has it's butt smacked by the door.

Yes, I can take joy in the success of the Chantix and my brain working together to remove the decades-old habit, but I really need to figure out how to equate staying up late to the evils of smoking. If I find a way, I can then begin research on a little blue pill for that, and I'll dust off my pulpit to prepare for the crusade which will follow. I can begin work on the "Awake Tax" legislation, and compile a list of those who don't care. I can build a web site to warn others of the destruction the behavior can create. I can develop curriculum for self-help groups to use to "cure" the new illness and make room for the next new illness.

Yeah, I could do that. Or I could go accomplish something related to the project.

Kiss another joy goodbye

Everyone is happy with the Chantix-related actions of late, barring certain free market institutions and taxation entities. Well, everyone except the one person who is taking the drug. It really has little to do with the cessation of smoking and more to do with the side effect of the side effect. The Mrs. and I determined this quite by accident the other day, and after the last few days, I may have proven the theory correct.

Which, by the way, really bites it big time.

See, we have determined that the cause of a good share of the gastric disturbances may well be blamed in part to an interaction of Chantix and alcohol. Actually, both of us have a slight recollection of hearing some report on the same, yet we aren't sure where. I guess I could look it up, but I would rather look forward to the end of the Chantix. Giving up smokes is one thing, but giving up booze makes me sad. Next thing you know, I'll have to give up hoarding.

Wait…

My Casa is not Your Casa

Funny how the smallest things can influence the course of history, whether on a global scale or some more personal arena. Having someone over to potentially purchase the glorified recliner that Mom insisted we buy for her, an item she basically used as a nest in which to sit and watch TV all day, rarely using the expensive lift component (or the recline for that matter), I was struck with the tiniest bit of shame over the present state of clutter in the 'public' parts of the abode. While it did rekindle motivation to work on the project, it also rekindled a feeling from the past which is primarily responsible for the clutter in the first place. "It's my house, damn it."

Granted, I am not a hermit, and thus the feelings of the Mrs. must be taken into consideration, meaning that the philosophy of my parents needs to go out the door (along with Mom's chair). You know the one. "It's my house, damn it, and if you don't like it, don't visit." Still, I think everyone has that feeling at some point, although with slight variations. I guess that is why I developed this project, as my feeling is important, but so is the feeling of 'it's my house' that the Mrs. nurtures. "It's my house, and I would love for you to come over." While I can sweep out the personal shame of clutter with the broom of ownership, that same broom is hardly useful to mop up the shame the Mrs. harbors when people do come over to the house. And while I can perch myself upon my owner's throne and Xbox my life away, I have to remember that the Mrs. has thrown her owner's feelings into the cellar for far too long and the true motivation for this project stems from her feelings more than mine. Damn it.

So, here it is, another day, and while I would love to go exploring the virtual world, I need to attend to the…real…world. Finances are a bitch when you ain't got finances…

Butt For the Grace of God

It's been over a week, and lest I become an unreimbursed spokesperson for Chantix, I must say that it ain't been perfect. The ongoing gastric issues are tolerable, but the withdrawal symptoms are still there and make things tough. Granted, the "other little blue pill" seems to be making it easier to get through those moments when my body becomes flush with chemical desire and my habit-center pitches fits, but I can not say that the effort has been smooth. You try having nic fit at 2am or while you are driving and some dorf who thinks he is more important cuts you off. Yeah, that's how I roll of late.

Still, I managed to get a few more things related to the project accomplished, though not nearly as much as I could. Perhaps I will do better this week.

A low growl

While this whole quitting business is not as difficult as it could be, I still sense some of the withdrawal, most notably when I get the "sweats." I also notice that I am a little easier to anger than usual, but some of that may be related to dealing with other issues, such as my choice of replacement habits. That discussion would cause tremendous stress, so I suppose I will let it go.

What news of the project? Hmm. Well, the books I listed last week barely got a peek, let alone any bids, so I reckon I will need to relist them after I post some items a bit more popular. I would love to get the guest room finished soon, if not for benefit of the project, but also to be able to point out that I can get something finished. Not that it would matter, as there is always something unfinished waiting to be pointed out. Still, I do feel it would be nice to get something done, even if it is only this post.

Day Eight, or a new Day One

Two little blue pills, one for AM and one for PM. Hehheh. If only. Anyhoots, for anyone who reads this and doesn't finally have the last week of posts figured out, last Sunday I started a new approach to getting rid of this decades old habit of mine. No, not that one. Smoking. I have quit twice before, but still managed to jump off the wagon, so I am hoping that this third time will be the charm. To be honest, I am not 100% resolved, but it is the closest I've ever been. Because of other factors relating to the nicotine addiction, I decided to try Chantix [now I'm an advertisement for them], as it does not use nicotine to control the problem. Nope, instead it screws around with my brain cells. Like that's something new. Seems to be working so far, although I have felt some withdrawal effects today, and I worry that the Mrs. will tire of my smoking substitutes of sleeping and Xboxing. I keep telling myself that all I need to do is fight the urge for, uhm, four days and things will be a bit easier.

Right.

OK, so I think I'll go exploring for a bit, then do some other things a bit more productive, all in the hopes that I can distract my brain from this topic.

Day Seven

Still two little white pills, but I must be adjusting somewhat, as I have not noticed many side effects of late. In fact, most of the nine I had yesterday (and the one so far today) where conscious decisions to engage and not some "feeling" that I needed to engage in the habit. Truth be told, I was doing fine today until I was passively reminded of all the things being ignored as I explored Morrowind. Yep, it was fun to walk my character into the river, let him drown, and go out and light one up. Not sure what I'll do starting tomorrow.

Well, in the interest of appearing that I've accomplished things, I think I will take pictures of stuff, list stuff, move stuff, pay for stuff, and hide stuff today. This evening I will "Roll With the Changes," even if not in an official capacity. Couldn't justify the $35 cost to sit on the grass, let alone the $45 cost to make a mad dash for an unreserved seat. As long as I can hear the tunes, I'll sit in the free zone until it is "Time For Me to Fly."

Day Six

Two pills, little white ones, soon to be two little blue ones. Yesterday I kept it at nine. Maybe today at eight? It really matters not, as zero is fast approaching.

Finally started listing things again, so I'm in that mode. Not sure if a GaYaPo sale is in the near future, as we wanted to advertise, which means (for us) having a rain date. Too many busy weekends until, oh, September. I guess I'll see what I can do. Tonight, however, I get to enjoy my era music. LRB and KC on the same night? Hoohoo!!

Day Five

Two pills, and if belching and the vomit taste are the worst of it, I suppose I can deal. Kept it at ten yesterday, though I could have done less if I'd have gone to bed earlier. I just had to get to the end of the game, and I was so close!

I surprised myself by remembering how I did the HTML for my eBay listings, so I'm off to get some more things posted.

Day Four

One pill in the AM, one for the PM. Now I understand the side-effects business, given this nasty taste in the back of my throat, and the overwhelming desire to belch at all times. Should have anticipated it it more, given what I know about brain chemistry meds. The first clue should have been the ramping up technique used, as today I start taking two half dose pills, but by Sunday I'll be on two full dose pills. Can't wait. No worries, though, as I suppose the final outcome will be far better than any mild side-effects. Decided to force myself to stop at ten no matter what, so I went to bed about two hours early last night. Didn't sleep, but went to bed.

More tree branches this AM, but also working at some interior stuff. Ever retro-fit door knobs? Fun stuff, I can tell you. Using the bathroom door as a starter, but the guest room is the goal, as it is the current room for the project. I'll get there.

Day Three

One pill, same non-effects. I wanted to cut back to nine yesterday, but managed to increase by one, ending the day with twelve. [sigh] Oh, well. Just means I get to work harder on it today.

I suspect that by some definition, the yard can be considered part of the project. I spent a bit of energy cutting out branches and limbs and piling them up, so I am going to count it as work toward the project. Granted, the Mrs. would love it more if I just finished something in the interior areas. I suppose I shall need to do something about that soon. Maybe now…

Day Two

One pill. Still no noticeable side effects. Lit up eleven yesterday, three of which I'd say were "what the heck" motivated. Shooting for nine today.

Might even get some more stuff listed, and other stuff thrown away.

Day One

One pill. No side effects of any severity. I suppose this can work.

But I like games!

I reckon it was the traumatic childhood, or for that matter the traumatic adulthood. Either way, it seems I have a natural affinity for playing games. Must be human, huh? Nope, can't say that it is a human condition, as I know at least one other human who doesn't have a natural affinity for playing games (name withheld to protect the not so innocent). It really doesn't matter the type of game, although I do have to admit that I tend to avoid the more physical ones, as I am not so much into pain as I used to be. Nope, anymore I like the ones I can play on my computer, or my newest gift, the Xbox. Of course, it helps to know a little bit about the game before you attempt to play it.

See, before I knew I was getting the Xbox, I swapped for a computer game on SwapSimple. To their credit, my children attempted to talk me out of it, not so much because they were worried about the tension it would cause on the homefront, but because they were sure that the only way to play it was online, via a subscription service. No way, I argued.

Way.

So, now I get to attempt to relist it for swap, or sell it via eBay and hope to get my investment in shipping costs back. In the future, I will stick with the Xbox games I have. Ought to last me a good month, the way I figure.

I'm not a librarian

Books. A great many books have I. Various topics, various genres, various ages. Most are on the shelf in something that loosely qualifies as a system, if "whatever I can fit there" is a system. My apologies, Mr. Dewey, but your hard work never really stuck, even though I worked in a Media Center for a bit. Sadly, some of the books are in boxes, in the attic, most likely providing an abundant harvest for the silverfish (or firebrats, to be more accurate). I have a near entire set of some pulp fiction series, a vast assortment of thrillers from the likes of King, Coyne, Saul, Koontz, and others. I have some classics. I have some old books in languages that I never could read, or could read but forgot what the words meant. Yes, a great many books.

Recently, I cluttered things up a bit more by bringing home a box of books from Mom's storage unit. I've listed some on SwapSimple, will put others on half.com, and might give a go at selling the older ones on eBay. One thing I do know is I probably won't do is read any of them. I can't remember the last non-technical book I read. Heck, I can't remember the last magazine I read in full, and there is a stack of newspapers that attest to my lack of reading in that realm. I suppose that one of these days…

Hmm. I think I've said this many times before. Guess I'd better get to reading something or getting rid of something. Maybe I will start with the Owner's guide to the Xbox game I just received.

Shameless self promo

So, I'm driving home this AM, and on the local radio station I nearly always have on the dial (check out www.104star.com), they started discussing packrats. Sound familiar? I jumped out, ran to the phone, sat on hold a bit, and then talked with the morning air personalities about my perspective on the issue. I even promoted the project. It was fun to listen to our conversation when they played it back, but it occurred to me that now I would definitely need to get busy.

So much for my AM nap, eh?

But wait, there's more!

Between house-sitting and sitting in Doctor's offices, I've almost forgotten lately what my house looks like. Oh, that's right, it's cluttered. And today we've someone coming over in an attempt to sell us new windows, at least in their mind. We're in it just for the estimates. Before the sales effort arrives, however, I have been mandated to make things look.... less cluttered?

Furry clutter

Having just cleaned the litter boxes for today, it occurred to me that some of my clutter will never leave, yet I'd better work harder to get it organized. The way I figure it, it was either the new purring addition to the family, or it was the son searching for something, but whatever the cause, I noticed a few things out of place. Out of place in the sense of scattered about. Granted, the fact that my med renewal managed to get delayed, so the order I placed before my visit to Chicago which I expected to be here when I got back home wasn't here, which means I've been out of the "keep an even keel" pills for a few days and have found myself obsessing on the smallest of things, like a piece of paper in a place it wasn't before or a piece of technoclutter on a pile that it wasn't before, or moving the three month's worth of unread newspapers from the couch to the floor to the couch to the floor, or spending an extra long amount of time waiting to get the perfect head shot with my sniper rifle in Halo, or typing excruciatingly long sentences before I get to the end of them. You get the idea.

Where was I? Oh, that's right, the new motivation. Her name is Mickey, she's a tortie, she's loud and loving, and she is really into exploring her new domain. Sadly, there a few places she goes that even the other two cats know to ignore. Thus, I suspect I will keep finding things where they weren't and missing things where they ought to be. I can't wait to see what she does when I open up the guest room to begin the final stages of cleaning it up...

Tilting to one side

For years I've chuckled about the mess the English language can create, given that a single word can take on so many meanings. I'm not the only one either, and some have made a decent living off the phenomenon. My experience with non-English languages is limited, so I don't know that it is all that unique to my native tongue, but I suspect that there is less confusion with languages where one word means one thing and not five other things. What is really fun is to find those instances where one meaning of a word makes the other meaning or meanings near comical, but at the same time very fitting.

For example, when I follow the strong urgings of the Mrs. to take pen to paper and create a series of tasks to be accomplished, and compare it to her series of tasks to be accomplished, the image of knights jousting is not the first thing that comes to mind, but there does seem to be a subtle significance to that image. A joust, after all, was a competition where the terminal objective was to knock someone off their high horse, so to speak. To me, calling the area where the joust occurred a list gives a new feel to creating a series of tasks that need to be completed. Ultimately someone wins and someone loses. Ultimately some task is knocked out and some task is left sitting. Problem is when too few are knocked out and too many are left sitting. Worse, when the group of knights from the next marsh over show up and challenge those left sitting, the place gets a little crowded. You know the feeling. Cross off one task and five others replace it. Yep, 'list' seems to be the right word.

Try this image on for size. Have so many knights around who want to challenge, and then load them up on a boat, and build the battle arena on the port side of the boat, thus giving a new perspective to the meaning of lists, especially when the starboard side of the boat is barely skimming the surface of the water from all the weight on the port side. Too much tilting to one side can cause a serious problem, even sink the boat, a catastrophic event from any perspective. Aye, mate, it be a shame to have the boat list from the lists. Thus we have my view that lists are bad things. Very, very bad. After all, I don't want my boat to sink, or the project for that matter.

Ah, the subtle psychological twists are endless, aren't they?

Home is where the clutter is

OK, so it has been a few days since I last posted anything, but I have a legitimate excuse. The Mrs. and I were exercising the parental option of visiting the adult children. Given that the second born lives far enough away to qualify for the extended visit as opposed to the short visit, it might be more accurate to say that we went to live with her and hubby for a while. Being away from the home means nothing is done on the project, but coming back home is a strong reminder that there is much work to do before it can be called a success. Since we don't have firm traveling plans for the rest of the summer, let alone the year, I reckon I have little barrier to getting most of that work done. I might even see fit to post more frequently.

A Model World

Timing, as someone once said, is everything. Comedy, opportunity, food expiration. The best of these things are highly dependent upon the right timing. Recently, I discovered another thing that benefits from timing, that being listing items upon eBay™. Some explanation is in order.

This month is one of those transitional, do things other than the project months. Clothing had to shift from the dang-is-it-cold to the dang-it-is-hot wardrobe. School ends this month, which means that daily routines will change. Hehheh. This month, the outdoor tasks begin to take priority over the indoor tasks, and new things like watering the garden have to be remembered. This year, the beginning and end of this month are taken up by traveling and preparing for said traveling. This year, this month means the oldest offspring and spouse are transitioning to that stage of marriage known as Real Estate Indebtedness, with the required moving of things that suddenly don't look all that nice. This year, this month also brought the change from a generous supply of household freezer space to a generous supply of "ohmygoditisallthawed" food that had to be eaten (or tossed) and the associated task of figuring out what to do with the freezerbeast if it's broke.

In light of all this, it was decided to postpone the next GaYaPo sale until June, and I avoided listing things on eBay™ that would have to be shipped off to new homes. Granted, there are still the things on SwapSimple and halfdotcom that could suddenly become must have items during my absence, but given past history...well, I am not too concerned that anything will suddenly come into demand. Still, I did decide that there was a brief point in the middle of the month where I could list something on eBay™ and have the transaction complete before I had to travel. I figured that I would take one group of things that I had not listed before, and based upon how many GaYaPo sales they have sat through, I didn't figure that I would be required to wait for too many payments and have to ship off too many packages. Right. This is where that timing thing comes into play.

See, one of the things of which the project suffers is lack of exposure. When things are on eBay™, it is an opportunity to obtain some exposure. The more things that I list, the more potential exposure, especially if the things are popular. Dad's trains were popular, pulling in great numbers of views. Other things, not so popular. Who knew that model car kits would pull in the number of views, especially since they were hardly looked at during sales? In fact, who knew that I would have, of this writing, six of the nine items sold with another day to go? Who knew that I would have, of this writing, some of the biggest viewing hits of anything I've ever listed? Of course, I won't be listing anything else before the end of the month.

Timing is everything, and once again, my timing is a bit off.

Ever-expanding universe

While the project efforts seem to plod along in the slow traffic lane as real-life demands zip by in the commuter lane, I do manage to catch a bit of news now and again that gives a feeling of hope. Not that this has happened lately, but it does happen at times. I nearly have all the painting complete in the guest room, and some of the larger clutter in that room will soon be taking up space in another home, so I can see just the smallest bit of success on the horizon. As I was reflecting upon this piece of happy, I heard a news item regarding the discovery of some planet in some other galaxy that fit some scientific criteria for being like Earth.

Personally, I think this is cool, and not just because it opens up yet another potential market for my clutter. I think it is cool because there exists the possibility that some other planet is populated by living things. Should they be advanced enough, there exists the possibility they are aware of us. Should they be aware of us, there exists the possibility they would desire to come visit. Should they come visit, there exists the possibility that my favorite personal giggle could come true.

Yep, I would love to walk out of church on Sunday morning to find a spacecraft in the parking lot.

GaYaPo Sale

It's that time of year again. The time when the imaginations of youth call them from the other side of school windows, the imaginations of teens call them into the gutter, and the imaginations of deluded clutterers call them from the garages, yards, and porches of strangers. Yes, that glorious time when I once again set my worldly possessions out to be pawed and fondled by all manner of people. When my concept of value is challenged by those who offer give half of whatever price is on the tag, or less. When my ownership nerves are frazzled by watching my "favorite" item get loaded into the car of someone who can't ever love it as much as I did. This time, this particular sale, the first of this season, was a bit different in that I was more willing to sell things. Even the eldest daughter made some spending money selling off things to which she and her hubbie no longer felt attached.

And since I am tired from all the effort, I will end this now, perhaps to revisit the topic in the near future.

Dummie or Complete Idiot?

You know how you just know some things? Not just knowledge things, but all manner of things in general. For example, the other day I am out engaging in my vile, filthy, deadly habit and I just knew that the guy walking up the sidewalk was going to ask for a smoke. From half a block away I knew it. I suppose he has asked in the past, which is why I just knew he would ask again, and despite my best efforts to become invisible, there he was offering up a quarter and asking away. Another example. I just know the Mrs. will ask what I did today, which is more apt to become a focus upon what I didn't do. Again, it is probably the number of years of exposure to the Mrs. and her way, yet I just know she will do it. Another example, to which you might relate better. When driving, you just know which individuals are going to run the lights and stop signs, you just know that when you are in a hurry the slowest drivers will be in front of you, and you just know that when you need the wipers is when you will remember you didn't change them. Still, all these examples pale to that intuitive, hunchy-type knowing that borders upon paranormal. Not that I have any specific examples of that kind of knowing, but I am certain I have had those moments at various points in my life. I just, well…know it.

Still, I encountered another of those "I just know it" (or in this case, "knew it") moments this morning when I checked my email. See, over there (to the left) is a link to a site called SwapSimple. Interesting site it is, based upon a style of barter, and chock full of books, DVDs, and video games. Formed in part as an alternative to getting screwed by the campus bookstores and the used book buyers, the site invites people to join up and meet other swappers who might have what you need or need what you have, as relates to college texts and college distractions. Being farther removed from college than I may want to admit, I joined to appease a certain member of the genetic distribution, and have listed a few things from the clutter. I won't say how long ago I joined, but I will say that an item I listed yesterday became the first one of the many items I have listed that I need to ship out because someone else wants it. Funny thing, I just knew it would be snatched up in a very short time. It was the knowing that made me hesitate for weeks even listing it. It was the knowing that made the decision to list it yet another decision process, that being whether to yard sale it, eBay™ it, halfdotcom it, or SwapSimple it. It was the knowing that brought back memories of American Colonial History, and the slightly disgraceful sociological event that made Salem a common name, and I don't mean the cigarette (although there is some warped significance to an item that is ignited and burns and smokes being associated with the name 'Salem').

Again, a reminder: overwhelmingly college-aged member base SwapSimple has.

What did I list? Hehheh. After considerable internal dialog of a moral vein, along the lines of fighting a temptation to keep it and read it versus fighting an urge to incinerate it versus fighting the desire to visit Pastor and let someone else make the decision, I listed a book upon the SwapSimple site. It came from Mom's stuff. It is called The Complete Idiot's Guide to Wicca and Witchcraft.

Yet another rousing post of nothingness

Quite honestly, I've not done much at all in terms of the project. I suspect that it is because, quite honestly, I've not done much at all in terms of life. Post taxes stress disorder, I suppose. Today is a new day, however, so I am prepared to do battle with the clutter yet again, and tackle the required tasks needed to finish up with the guest room. Of course, the considerable wind whipping up today whipped up, in just the last few seconds, a new chore, that being the repair of my garage door. The fun never ends.

It's

And now for something completely different, a man who has just finished filling out his tax returns.

We can see by his head resting upon the table, this is a very tiring and trying process, but one which enjoys an annual invasion into the lives of most, excluding those with money who can afford the means to not pay taxes, let alone not fill out and file the returns. We know this because it is common knowledge. As the tax deadline is looming, it would not behoove the man to rest quite yet, but all attempts to arouse him have bordered on the obscene and have not managed to succeed to this point. In the spirit of community, it may be good of us to assist the man with the filing, as long as the filling has been finalized, so let's just take a peek, eh? We'll just move his arm, like so, and the pistol, like such, and carefully avoiding the pool of blood we find that he has indeed completed the form, and properly signed it. Finding no check for the $4600 in taxes owed, however, we must assume that he fell asleep prior to cutting the check, although it seems his wrist was more readily available than the checkbook. Not to worry, we'll just include the Form 666z-BM, the standard "Monthly Installments of Turnip Blood and Pig Wings" form, with the "will pay in full when soul is sold on eBay™" box checked.

In related news, George 7, Democracy 0.

Also to be noted, a rather large Yard Sale will be held weekend after next, barring unforeseen circumstances of apathy and drizzle.

A final note: God exists by two falls to a submission.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled program, already in progress.

Keeping the day job

I amaze myself at times with the number of distractions I can create to keep me from working on the project. Granted, I have listed a few new things on eBay™ in addition to the relists in order to reduce some of the new clutter, but it seems hardly enough to give a glowing report of things accomplished. A few of the distractions of late could be deemed legitimate, such as finding the required documentation for the caseworker who will hopefully present some financial assistance to pay off the HUGE debt accumulating with Mom's care. Or gathering up the items needed to complete the joyful task known as Tax Return Filing. I really don't mind filling out the forms, I just have this aversion to seeing how much I owe. This is probably why I have so many distractions for the distractions. One of my recent efforts to avoid battling the Tax Return Filing Beast, as well as to reduce the amount of sleep I receive, involved following through on one of those things that could be found on a "things to do before I die" checklist, if I had such a thing. Understand that this goes beyond the more common "things I ought to be doing," such as going to the Fitness Center and working out. The change of seasons allows me a bit more time outdoors, which tends to be less expensive than the Fitness Center, so I've been taking longer walks, generally on a daily basis. PT Lori might take comfort in that, especially if she discovers that I haven't been to the Fitness Center for a few weeks. In a way, "I ought to be working out" is being accomplished, just in less of trackable fashion. No, the recent effort to which I refer was definitely a "before I die" kind of thing.

It began with a sleepless night. I am not sure why it happens, but there are times when my brain decides to go into hyperactive mode just about five minutes after I go to bed. I have adopted the '30 minute rule,' which basically means that if I am still awake 30 minutes after I go to bed, I get up and do something. Usually the something is turning on some late night show or putting in a movie or following random links on the internet. This particular departure from the bed, however, I sat down at the computer and typed out the chaos that kept me from sleeping. The end result was an effort at creating [drum roll] a stand-up comedy routine. Hehheh. For years I have harbored this desire to determine if I could actually do such a thing, given my involvement in theatre, but self-censorship and self-doubt interfered with ever engaging in the activity. This time, however, I decided that the only way I would know if I could do it was to, well, do it. I took a small piece of what I wrote, found a local open microphone opportunity and sullied forth to discover that I was funnier five minutes after going to bed than I was hours before going to bed. Granted, the venue was not exactly the best for doing stand-up, so I might attempt once more to get up on stage and make perfect strangers laugh, but I will have to let the recent experience fade into the scary recesses of my brain that hold such things as auditioning for The Full Monty and taking the Jeopardy contestant test. In the meantime, I have a cluttered room calling out to me, and it isn't full of people wondering why the heck I'm there.

Nothing, really

It's not so much that I haven't been working at the project, it's just that I really had nothing to say about it, so I didn't sit down to write anything. I mean, I suppose I could go on about the little details of how I finished vanilla-ing the south wall of the guest room, or how I finally got Mom's previous bed assembled and immediately piled with things, or how I brought in one of those metal shelf units and can now keep the listed eBay™ items in one place other than the couch or love seat. Heck, I even managed to take some pictures of stuff to list, which I will be doing shortly after I post this. No, the absence of new posts is not directly related to any failure of the project, just not anything interesting to share. Well, not anything interesting that is directly project related.

I have had other topics of interest that I could have typed up and posted. For example, when I realized at some point a few days back that it was rather amusing how ALL of my prescribed meds barring the injections state "May Cause Drowsiness" as the first side effect. It is amusing because fatigue is one of the most prevalent problems that MS has tossed into my life. Fatigue, meet drowsiness, drowsiness meet fatigue, time for a nap. Or I could have written about how I have this not-so-secret ambition to show others the influence people like Bill Cosby, Bob Newhart, George Carlin, Robin Williams, and Richard Pryor have had on me. Mix that with Benny Hill, Monty Python, a healthy portion of Lewis & Martin, Abbot & Costello, and the Marx Brothers, and it explains a bit about my sense of…perspective. Perspective that caused me to suddenly think of putting up a post entitled "Read this and get ten bucks" with "buck, buck, buck, buck, buck, buck, buck, buck, buck, buck" as the body. I might have done it, too, had I not suddenly thought of it at 12:04 this morning. Just would not have had the same effect.

Nope, there really isn't anything for me to post, as regards the project, which is what this blog is all about. Perhaps some inspiration or event will occur, but in the meantime, I suspect I better get to working with those pictures and listing stuff. Fun, fun, fun.

So…How Much Is Postage?

I am fairly certain that I previously discussed the difference between a collection and clutter, but it bears worth repeating at this time. Clutter, loosely defined, is a jumble of items. A vast disorder of things, just a notch above the total chaos of the nest of a pack rat. A collection, again loosely defined, is an accumulation of items, generally with some common connection. Unless it is Sunday, then a collection is an accumulation of cash, but that is hardly relevant to this discussion. Well, sort of. More on that later. The common connotation associated with a collection is one of order. Granted, the order is not always clear upon first glance, but generally a collector has some structure, some way that individual items fit within the collection. Shelves lined with Beanies, grouped by family or year of release. Cabinets of curious curios, matched by size or style or origin. Walls filled with art, bookcases filled with books, racks filled with CDs. And albums of, well, stuff that one puts into albums. Like stamps or coins.

As I go through Mom's worldly possessions which she can not have with her at the skilled nursing facility, and which is taking up a considerable amount of space in my house because the unskilled storage facility is full, I have found her "stamp and coin collections." Ahem. The woman has stamps. Hundreds if not thousands of stamps. She also has a few albums. Funny thing is that most of the albums are empty or nearly so. Hear me laugh. Why laugh, you might be asking? Mostly because of another key difference between clutter and collection. The latter, organized in some attractive fashion, has value. The former, while having inherent value, is functionally worthless. Want to guess what an old envelope full of stamps is worth? Not much. Want to guess what those same stamps are worth in an organized album? A lot more. The same goes for coins. Mom has a serious number of coins, most of which qualifies as pocket change, but a few of them may actually be valuable. Hard to tell, though, when they are all jumbled up together in a margarine tub. I attempted to tell Mom that an old pill bottle of coins was closer to a church collection than a coin collection, but the concept was lost in the paranoia that I was going to do something with her "collections." Gee, maybe I will do something. Perhaps something like organize them.

Of course, for the moment, that organization is pretty much going to be along the lines of "this box is stamps" and "this box is coins."

Old Habits

The chat with the Geriatric Psych dude who met with Mom yesterday, and subsequent reflection upon said chat, brought about that battered phrase regarding learned behaviors and the difficulty of removing them. Not just Mom's. I've my own box of habits, as most humans do, and not all of them the greatest things. The One Room project stems from the habit of keeping. There's the habit of putting things off, which explains why I miss bill deadlines or sticking that dang needle into the zone of the day or not posting as frequently as I could. Lori (the PT), the MS clinic, and Dr. Mike are all in line behind the family in urging me to lose the tobacco habit. These habits are among those I have that I am willing to work at removing. This time of year, however, brings out another habit which I enjoy, although it does tend to get the mood swings going. Let's just sad that "Madness" is appropriate in some cases.

Yep, it's time for the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament.

For as long as I can recall, I've loved basketball and loved to pick the tourney. Even the Mrs. gets into things this time of year, although for her it is mostly the watching and rooting. I average about 75-80% correct picks, which explains why bets don't enter the picture for me. Granted, I have participated in a few "office pools" with little return on my investment, but I think sports is too volatile a thing to risk reducing available funds. For me, it's about the bragging rights and verifying the coach instincts. In fact, one thing I miss the most is coaching, which explains just a bit of the sadness that hangs in the air. Still, the fun of watching the underdog win at the last second, even if I picked the higher seed, pushes away most of the negative emotions. Anyone who picked Duke this year knows what I mean. Wait, I picked Duke.

Oh, well.

As of this writing, I am 10 of 16, which pretty much means I blew it this year, although only one of my Sweet 16 is gone. Also as of this writing, I am only relisting things on eBay, and slowly making space in the house for the things that are cluttering up the guest room. I expect that come Monday I will be locking myself in the guest room with the goal of taking pictures of stuff to sell and getting things back to working order before the next round of basketball. By the way, for those who care, I look forward to watching Coach Roy take on his old program in the finals.

In Duh Moment

When I began the One Room project, it was my intent to develop a website in conjunction with my efforts, designed both to describe the project itself and provide links to relevant stuff (like this blog). Unfortunately, my hardcode html skills have long since vacated the neural storage areas, so I was hoping to find a certain piece of software I just knew I had…somewhere. For weeks I hoped to come across it, but sadly the software made no appearance. I didn't want to delay the oneroomatatime.net announcement too long, so I redirected the site to the blog. I figured that at some point I was either going to have to relearn all the html skills or learn some new freeware to build the site as I wanted it.

Until yesterday.

Yes, I found my software of choice, the one I knew I had somewhere. Little did I realize that the somewhere was right over my shoulder, on the bookshelf, next to the software I used in a previous existence. When my eyes actually decoded the visual cues, my mouth expelled the sound "duh." So, after a quick refresher and other issues of a technical nature, I will soon be constructing the One Room web site in all its deserved glory. Mostly.

On a 1RAT related note, Mom's stuff is really in the way. I haven't even been able to work on the guest room since we moved her stuff into the house, but I did manage to reclaim the entryway and get the love seat cleared off. Spring, however, is just around the corner, which means YARD SALES!!!

This week is that week

Almost forgot to remind folks:

National Multiple Sclerosis Awareness Week
March 5 - 11, 2007


In honor of such, the toys are back on eBay™.

Playtoys for kitties

Things are progressing slowly, yet are progressing. I actually have a path through the living room, and my entryway is clutter-free once more. I actually began to relist items on eBay™, so feel free to check them out. More things will be listed in the future, although not as quickly as perhaps needed. I still want to get the guest room finished.

In the meantime, I will keep kicking the rubber ball to watch the cats chase it and laughing at them as they jump into the newly emptied boxes.

Obstacle course

I know…there is…a computer…here…somewhere. Aha! Found it!!

Having completed the removal of Mom's things from her independent living apartment, I now enter the next phase of things clutterish: dealing with her stuff, stuff that has turned my house into a sadly familiar environment. Moving from A to B once again involves lifting skirts and stepping lightly, and that is just so the cats don't get squished as they check out the myriad new exploration opportunities. Knocking piles over has once again becoming a daily routine, as has moving piles from here to there. Thank goodness for the assist from the eldest daughter, because I am not sure where we would have put the things that DID sell. Unfortunately, I still have way to many things left, and not just furniture. It was actually the Mrs. who declared it what I now use as title for this post. Yep, seems fitting. My other title option was "Omigodwheretheheckismy?"

Well, I expect that I will once again enter the eBay fray, more out of necessity than desire. That is, if I can find the packing supplies in all this…clutter.

Things that make me go "Mom!!!"

You know the drill. Mom goes to the skilled nursing facility, but her stuff doesn't. It must go somewhere. The oldest tax-deduction-of-the-past, otherwise known as the eldest daughter, is making effort to help in relocating things so that Mom's clutter doesn't compound my clutter and make the project implode. To make those efforts easier, I went to take photos to post. It would have been nice if I had checked the battery before I got to Mom's apartment, thus avoiding the second trip to it, thus avoiding the haste that brought about blurry pictures. Sorry. In addition, I didn't take Mom's clutter off, so it is just the furniture that is available for new homes, not the clutter in/on it. No secret where I get some of my dysfunction, eh? Here are photos:


Bookcase w/doors
59"h X 24"w X 9"d
Doors are 14"h
Sold!!


Bookcase (matches above)
39"h X 24"w X 11"d
Sold!!


Dresser
32"h X 50"w X 16"d
Mirror is 40"h X 32"w


Desk
31"h X 40"w X 18"d
Sold!!


Lift chair
42"h X 34"w X 36"d
All features work


Lamp
67"h


Glider/rocker & ottoman (2 of these)
41"h X 29"w X 32"d
ottoman is 14"h X 19"w X 16"d
SOLD!!


Entertainment/display center
76"h X 48"w X 18"d
comes in two pieces; mirror and top glass case are lighted


Dining table w/leaf; 4 chairs
table is 29"h X 42"diameter; leaf is 10"
Reclaimed

Doing the Math - Week Twelve

Due to the break, there is no math homework.

I always wanted to say that…

Mmmmm, vanilla

Working on the guest room is a nice change of pace from stirring up the frozen dust in the attic, but I still find the need for the space heater. Cheaper to run that than pay ANOTHER overpriced gas bill (the bills for last two months have extorted over $170 from us). Some of the chill comes from broken windows, which I will have to add to the list of things to do to fix the room. No big deal. OK, maybe a slightly larger deal than I let on, but I know that it will get fixed. In the meantime, the cleaning and painting is moving along nicely. Even managed to get a chuckle out of things yesterday.

See, when we went to get new paint for the room, we took along one of the curtains, as they were going to remain in the room. As stated before, I did that manly thing of holding it up against the color swatches for the Mrs. to approve choices for the room, and we picked ones that matched elements in the curtains. Who would have thunk that we would pick a color for the walls that is nearly identical to the existing color? Yeppers. I get things taped and begin to paint and discover that something didn't change. I mean, come on, this was to give things a new look, not be all same looking. Granted, it is nice to have a fresh coat of paint to cover up the evidence of little human fingers smearing God-knows-what on the walls, as well as to cover up the spackling spots where various holes were filled. But the same color? After my initial distress, I started to chuckle at the situation. Why? Because you know that if we had gone in to match the paint, we would never have accomplished it.

Still, there is one great difference that stands out. Actually, it kind of wafts out. No, not the smell of fresh paint, although the waftage did have something to do with the paint. See, as we were shopping for paint, we came across this POS display promoting a paint additive called "Paint Pourri." Keep in mind that recent olfactory memory of this room involved the combination of teenage male, pissing dogs, nasty rabbit habits, and a bit of mildew. Not pleasant. It would come as no surprise that the Mrs. and I both gave this product a closer look. Essentially, adding this to the paint made it become a "long lasting air freshener." Cool. Had all manner of smells to choose from, each with a little scratch-n-sniff spot. We chose a smell that we both could live with, one that was a favorite of the Mrs. and could be tolerate by me (allergies can be so problematic when it comes to aromas). Of course, I suppose our food bill will go up now. Want to guess the smell?

Now you see it

I figured I would give you a peek at the room of interest, so that your interest could be retained. As I stated before, we actually began to work on the second bedroom…uhm, guest room, when the last little bird was pushed over the edge of the nest. All of the carpet was yanked out, exposing some truly nasty nastiness underneath. While the "No More Dogs" proclamation might be rescinded in the future, I am quite certain the "No More Rabbits" and "No More Teenagers" proclamations will stand indefinitely.


As you can see, no room is safe from clutter, although this clutter is more worthy of existence than most around the house. Some of it is Mom's stuff which is slowly invading the place (and had better invade quicker as it has to be out of her apartment by the end of the month), and some of it is packing/shipping related, stuff that tends to relocate every time I need to send out an item that was sold. The problem is, I don't really have a different spot to put most of the stuff, so it has been necessary for me to move it to one side of the room as I work on the other. Must love dropclothes, which I'll have you know are old shower curtains. Hah! And the Mrs. thought they should be thrown away.


From this angle we see the secret closet. OK, so it's not all that secret, but it has a secret. No, not the "hiding spot for things Mom and Dad would be pissed to find" secret. The "guess where the door is" secret. If you go back and look at the attic pictures, you'll find it. Yes, I used it to separate the attic storage from the attic (un)finished. More on that later, I reckon, when I get to that room. As for the closet, I am not quite sure how it will change when all is said and done. We might be nice and let someone store things in it.


I included this picture, not so much because it shows anything truly different than the other two, but because it has a better view of what was used as the foundation for redecoration decisions. See the curtain? OK, squint hard and you might find the color scheme for the final phase. And if you think that is funny, now imagine me walking about the hardware superstore with a curtain in my hand, putting it up against the color swatches in the paint section. Required some serious chest hair ripping that day...

Executive decision

I think it's a Sheryl Crow song that says it best. "A change would do you good." After reflecting upon my bout of negativity last week, I decided to change course a bit. The causes, as usual, were numerous:

1) The whole debacle with the returning trains. It wasn't so much that they ended up returning to the clutter, but that they returned because I didn't take the time to check them out (and in the case of one of them, failed to pack things as securely as I usually do). The cost of their return also brought about poopiness, as I had spent some of the funds and had to scramble to replace it. Realizing that I had become caught up in the money, I decided to ease off the selling aspect of the project. I'll still put an item or two up as I come across them, but the effort to do so will be minimum or I won't obsess on it.

2) The attic is cold. Even a portable heater isn't all that helpful, and given that there really isn't room downstairs for all the sorting space required, I didn't feel much like hanging around shivering while I decided if anyone would benefit from my "collection" of magazines, or as I determined just how much that antique doll is worth.

3) The attic is dusty. Between the meds that dry me out, the dry winter air that aggravates the situation, and my nasty tobacco habit, my sinuses are a wreck. Just five minutes in the dust gives me a headache.

4) Mom. And her stuff.

I'm sure there are a few other factors that contributed to the sad state of mental affairs last week, but just these causes alone could drive even the most stable of people a bit off the track. So, as I stated earlier, I decided to make a change in the project direction. I decided I needed a little positive success energy, sort of like the energy derived from finishing off the entryway. Thus, the one room of One Room is no longer the attic, although I might stop up there on occasion to grab a box. No, the one room is now…the second, or 'guest' as the Mrs. has taken to calling it, bedroom.

Seemed a logical choice, actually. We had already moved out the previous resident to a college setting, and pulled up the nasty twenty-plus year old carpet. We had already discussed what we wanted to do with the room and bought the paint to redecorate. We, mostly me, just found many other things to do rather than finish up the changes to the room. Well, not any more. In fact, as I type this I have half a ceiling awaiting my paintbrush. I'm even feeling a little excitement at the thought of taking the 'after' picture to post for you (with the requisite 'before' picture) once things are finished. Almost giddy.

How's that for positive publishing?

Doing the Math - Week Eleven

A green engine with five connected train cars leaves the station from the Midwest headed for Florida. Days later, a yellow engine with three connected train cars leaves the same station headed for California. If the Florida bound train travels 1330 miles at an average speed of 55 mph, while the California bound train travels 1720 miles at an average speed of 70 mph, how much does it cost for them to return to the Midwest?

$80.

Told you the project was about the process, not the profit.

A New Day

OK, so yesterday was an example of a down day, a bad day as it were. Today is a new day, and as such, I am working on a new appreciation of what I have accomplished rather than what has gone wrong. In fact, I have the seed of a plan germinating in the fertile chaos field known as my brain. Stay tuned…

That Old Feeling…Again

If fighting the clutter weren't enough, events of the last few days have brought about the sad situation I now find myself facing. Without getting too detailed, I will share that this is one of those times when the meds aren't enough to stave off the mental demon of depression. My traditional coping behaviors (generally consisting of naps, excessive smoking, and other less attractive options), have slipped back into the daily routine. Talk about draining energy and ambition.

OK, maybe a few details.

First, the experiment of sharing our home with Mom was a disaster. The Mrs. is a saint, but even her patience was strained to the breaking point by having to deal with an uncooperative, obese retiree who is severely Passive-Aggressive. We concluded that it was best for all to have Mom move into a setting that was designed to provide the kind of care she requires. Of course, now I get to deal with explaining to her that she will not be leaving any time soon to return to her Independent Living apartment. Actually, it is more like not returning, seeing as we gave notice of her moving out. Sadly, there is a vast difference between paying the rent for an apartment and paying for 24/7 care, and there was no way to pay for both. Unfortunately, our last visit to Mom presented a challenge, in that we discovered that our expectations of quality of care and the home's provision of care don't quite match. Thanks to the small amount of time she lived with us, that option has lost any appeal whatsoever. In addition to of all of this, I also have the added responsibility of moving Mom's worldly possessions once again (which also involves figuring out where to put it all), and discovering that her pack rat skills have not decreased one bit. Two dozen used paper napkins? Oh, my goodness.

Combined with this is the sadness of recently having to issue TWO refunds for items sold on eBay™ due to damage, both issues unknown to me and one compounded by failure to anticipate the degree of torture a package can go through to get to its destination. It is difficult to explain just how much anguish it causes to recognize one's failings and how much self-anger can be accumulated in such a short time from events like this. Best fuel for depression I know. Best way to stifle motivation.

So, I'm going to go puff one off, then take a nap. Maybe when I wake up I will discover a strong supply of energy to tackle the project, and other responsibilities, with the same positive level of purpose I had when I initiated the project. I mean, anything is better than hanging out with that old feeling…again. Right?

Doing the Math - Week Ten

Although Psychology was never my first choice of majors, it was ultimately my final choice. I was one of the many who chose the field of study in order to fix myself rather than others, and to a greater extent it has been helpful. I mean, at least I can identify my faults if I still can't fix them. While Abnormal Psych was fun, and Behavioral Stats met some inner math addiction, I really enjoyed Social Psych the most out of all the coursework required for the major. It may have been the background in Theater or the recognition that I was not alone in the universe that contributed to this enjoyment, but whatever the source, I discovered that Social Psychology tickled my fancy in a way that almost made me seriously consider going into the field. Go figure.

A prime contribution to this strange twist of thinking was my exposure to the work of Stanley Milgram. You know, the we-do-what-we-are-told guy. The person who showed the world that if one put on a lab coat, carried a clipboard, and had an air of authority, one could make others do things they would not normally do. A rather, ahem, shocking disclosure, and one that our global society still has yet to fully fathom. Just look at current events and you'll see continued proof of this concept. Milgram also worked on another social phenomenon known as the Small World Phenomenon, perhaps more known by a popular moniker, Six Degrees of Separation. People in theater circles may recognize this as John Guare's play, or as that game involving Kevin Bacon. People in mathematical circles may associate Paul Erdös and collaborative distance with the concept. In any case, the idea is that the entire world is just a few people away. What does this have to do with doing the math? It's simple, Pinky; this is yet another plan I have for taking over the world. OK, maybe not taking it over, as that is just too complicated, but becoming exposed to the world is closer to the true goal of my devious plot.

Here is how it works. I have a nuclear family, an immediate family, an extended family, a modicum of friends, and a vast number of acquaintances. All told, a healthy number of first level contacts. A numerical breakdown would follow:

Nuclear = 4 (spouse, children)
Immediate = 10 (parents, in-law parents, siblings, in-law siblings, in-law offspring)
Extended = X (nuclear and immediate of above)
Friends = Y (varies by day, event, and liquid assets)
Acquaintances = Z (varies by day, event, and mood)

Obviously, the last three categories involve messy numbers, and since I don't feel like messing with messy numbers at the moment, I'll just use the first two more finite categories. That leaves me with 14 primary first level contacts, or "hugables" as I shall call them. If each of my hugables were to tell one other person who is not in the primary set (that is, get your own damn hugable, don't use one of mine) about the One Room project of which I have so enthusiastically informed them, then I would have 28 points of exposure, right?

14+(14*1) = 28

Let's say that all of my hugables are highly motivated and tell, say, three other unique members of the global population. The potential audience doubles:

14+(14*3) = 56

Now, if each of those new followers of the One Room project were to share this discovery with three other unique members, things get interesting:

14+(3*(14*3)) = 140

Becoming overwhelmingly impressed, these new converts then tell three others:

14+(3*(3*(14*3))) = 392

Word spreads like wildfire, and three others are told by each member of this group:

14+(3*(3*(3*(14*3)))) = 1148

This continues on in simplistic fashion for one week:

14+(3*(3*(3*(3*(3*(14*3)))))) = 10220

It would seem that I could make a small dent in the daily conscious dealings of the global society, with only the slightest of effort. Sadly, mathematics and reality part from each other at times, as might be the case with the popularity of this project when one considers how many people view this blog with any frequency. There seems to be a great difference between 10220 and 4. Yes, I said 4. That is how many hits the blog had yesterday, and one of them was me.

So, Pinky, we go back to the drawing board and do what we do every night…