I'm knitting, I swear. And reading JenLa. And that's about all.
Mostly, though, I'm cleaning out the garage and office. Why? Well, dh and I had a Marital Moment on Saturday, and I was reminded that I am 40 and have certain adult responsibilities, several of which I have allowed to languish despite my ample unemployed free time. He's right. (Egad, don't tell him I said that.) So I got out my Martha Stewart label maker, several large plastic bins, and a box of contractor's garbage bags, and got to work.
A week later, the end is in sight. Yes, a week. What? Oh. I'm a pack rat. Irrefutable evidence: I still have (or had, until I pitched it this week) the Ryder truck rental agreement for the truck I rented to move from UCLA to San Francisco for law school in August 1987. Just to give you a little perspective, that summer Whitney Houston didn't take drugs or even know Bobby Brown yet--she was busy skipping through her videos singing "I Wanna Dance With Somebody." Madonna was still pairing snow white hair with jet black eyebrows. And Michael Jackson was touring "Bad" instead of being on trial for . . . well you get the idea.
I have to go get rid of more stuff. God only knows what I'll find next. Shoot me. I mean it.
