I was going to sleep in today

but, as usual, (sigh) I learned something from the sunday school teacher and the preacher, a double whammy.  After this depressing little missive, I will see if I can relate some of it.  The bruises should be faded in a few days.

I just don’t seem to get enough sleep on a weekend.  It’s not the lack of sleep, it’s the stress of not being able to decide which project to tackle next.  They are laid out like a smorgasboard in my mind.  Any of them attended to even partially is an accomplishment of sorts albeit a weight on my shoulders.  I need a jump start.

Honey is building radio cabinets and speakers for the company he works for.  If we hope to claim associated expense deductions, we have to keep track of them.  I bought the forms, the journal, and mileage book.  Now I just have to post the receipts. My ambition is fueled by the tax bill we have to pay in this year, precisely tomorrow.

Another project is to go forward with the First Family application.  That means sorting through the documents I do have and figuring out what I need and how to get it.  This is not a crucial project, just a simple mess to organize at this point.

There’s a hole in the front yard where a dead tree used to be.  A new tree is on the list waiting for the stimulus check along with creating shade for the decks.  That reminds me to add a grass mat for the bank by the mailbox to the list.  Speaking of landscaping, I need to pick up sticks and branches in the woods. Someday.

But the project that seems to be inching toward the front of the line is the closet cleaning for contributions to the church rummage sale.  That’s a two-fold benefit — get rid of stuff we haven’t needed or used for however long and tax deductions we never seemed to get around to the last 4 or so years, no doubt also inspired by paying in this year.  My problem is letting go of things I might need.  To be fair, there are things I got rid of when we moved that I wish I hadn’t, such as the fat clothes I didn’t think I would ever wear again.  Silly me.  I could have worn them for at least 6 months before I got even fatter than that and they would be hanging among all the other clothes that mysteriously shrank.

I know I’m image-impaired.  Every time I threaten to toss something I used to wear into the bag marked Rummage, I think I can lose just a few pounds ——- I have to stop and tell myself that yes, I can, and when I do, I need to have nothing to wear, a legitimate excuse to go buy something new, a reward, that if I do get back into these things that by that time they’ll be even more hopelessly out of date than they already are.

Yesterday I cleaned the kitchen, ran the dishwasher, did a load of laundry, and watched three movies.  Today I napped.  Next Saturday is purge day. I sure hope I can sleep in.  Won’t someone lay hands on and pray for me?

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