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 While the "No More Dogs" proclamation might be rescinded in the future, I am quite certain the "No More Rabbits" and "No More Teenagers" proclamations will stand indefinitely.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…

Don't Trust A Dead Man

For those who read this and don't know it, my late father was a model train guy. It was one of his interests, and like most things in which he developed an interest, he spent a good deal of money on developing it. Upon his death, and Mom's moving, I inherited the train stuff. Mind you, I like model trains, but not to the extent that I would ever give my house over to it, even if I did have the approval of the Mrs. to set everything up in any available space. This is why I have been selling off the G-scale items on eBay™ recently. With only one or two mistakes of identifying things, I have had no problems with finding new homes for it, as Dad did pass on a few explanations of what he had accumulated. In fact, I generally accepted that his stuff was what it was, and ignored my ignorance of the hobby.

That was fine until today.

I was checking the eBay™ account as I usually do at least fifty times a day, and I found I had a message. A message from a buyer. A buyer of one of Dad's trains, one that had been shipped last week. It seems there was damage to the train, damage of which I was not aware. Damage which devalues things a bit. Damage which might require a full refund. This is a sad situation. I can't sell something as new or nearly new if I have to open it, but I can't sell something as new if it is damaged, even if the damage is hidden.

I have a rule when I sell things on eBay™ or at yard sales. If it doesn't work, I say so and sell it cheap. If it does work, I say so and ask a fair price. The only things I have ever sold that I neglected to mention the possibility of malfunctions are a few automobiles I have traded in to get different cars in the past. I suppose this is karma.

Thanks, Earl, and thanks, Dad.