I am a sprinter - no cross-country 'running' in my life. Ever. I start off doing something, go like gang-busters for a while... then blah. I poop out. Lose steam... and that my friends is where I am.
I am SICK. OF. BOXES!
I'm not sure why, but someone had the impression I was done w/ all 400 boxes. Yes, you read that right - all 400 boxes. Don't you just wish you were me? No? I don't blame you.
6 people, 2300 sq, 1 work shop, 1 - 2 car garage, 12 years, 1 funeral = 400 boxes of assorted, ahem, *crap*.
This is where we were when the movers piled us high w/ our 'treasures'.
I worked like a mad woman for about a week. And as of yesterday, this is where I am.
I feel good about life.
Although I don't particularly 'like' the cedar chest that we are using as a coffee table (I honestly loathe the smell of cedar and every time I open it I gag), I feel uber good that its getting used (its always been something 'off to the side' in my life). My great grandfather made it. My Mom gave me 2 'thumbs-up' and I've been toying w/ painting it. Opinions?
And then I go to the 3rd garage and see this...
I think I am going to need a trainer for this. Its going to take more energy than just a 'sprint' & I don't want it to take 3 yrs.
Oh dear.










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