You Said That You Could Let It Go*

OK, I don’t have much time here. I have to hurry rush go very very fast to get downtown and sit for about 6 hours. OK, probably not sitting the whole time, but it’s deinstall day at the Don’t Shut Up show…it wasn’t up for long, but we did a lot of stuff while it was up. So much work to put the show together and then it comes apart in a day.

I preloaded a bunch of resized photos onto a flash drive and I’m hoping someone will be nice enough to share the school wifi password so I can write a couple of blogposts for the two art groups I’m in. It takes a good 5 hours to write those posts sometimes: Find the photos. Resize the photos. Ask people for better photos sometimes. Start writing. Find all the artists’ names. Find all the names of the art. Resize things again because Blogger is a pain in the ass. Check all the spelling. Email three people whose labels you forgot to photograph. Save a draft. Save a draft again. Preview it. Go back and fix everything you fucked up on. Rewrite Blogger’s code because that’s easier than starting over. Save it again. Maybe publish it.

Now do it again for the other art group. And then sit back and wait for the stuff you know people will want you to fix.

So I’m gonna try and get that done today in between people picking up art. Or maybe we’ll be able to start spackling and painting…who knows?

Yesterday was mostly about cleaning the bedroom. I don’t know about you, but I have no freakin’ clue why I have so many hangers…I don’t even hang most of my clothes up. I live out of the laundry basket most of the time. In fact, you could take my wardrobe down to 7 pairs of black pants and 7 black shirts and I’d probably be OK with that.

IMG_6683 small

I still haven’t dealt with most of that pile. It was overwhelming. I walked away. Cleaned something else.

Then I found this. Oh sigh. Really? So we grew up (and this may be some weird thing with just my family; feel free to tell me that) with wooden coathangers that some poor soul had crocheted over. I think when my grandma died, my mom packed up all of HER crocheted wooden coathangers and put them in a plastic bag with my name on them. This was early on post-divorce, so I apparently shoved them in the back of my closet.

IMG_6684 small

Where they stayed for like the next 10 years. I think. I just don’t even remember taking possession of that bag, and now I have to figure out what to do with all these.

When my parents die, there will be another 100 of those fuckers.

After dinner, I headed for the couch. I did pistil stitches in a white variegated thread in the very bottom area. Trying to branch out. Or fill in. Or whatever I’m doing.

IMG_6689 small

Boychild joined me and merged the dogs into one. They should be easier to take care of this way.

IMG_6693 small

Then I cut stuff out while watching A Series of Unfortunate Events, which was pretty funny.

IMG_6695 small

I’m so not done. I’m taking this with me too, just in case there’s no wifi. My hand hurts today though. Shockingly.

IMG_6697 small

The stuff on top still needs cutting out. I did about 3 hours yesterday and I think I’m 9 hours in total right now. I didn’t start until late because I was cleaning most of the day. The cleaning is very difficult…I have to spend way too much time thinking about the implications of the 100 vintage scarves and hankies I found, plus the kid’s book that my grandma’s grandma made (do the math…I can’t). Like where the fuck do I store stuff? I have too much stuff in that room. It’s traumatizing. And cleansing. And dirty and stressful and at some point, I just gave up and vacuumed the living room because it was easier. And then I resized 150 photos for the two blogposts.


OK. There we are. Feeling better. Need food, need more caffeine. Leaving soon.

*Gotye, Somebody That I Used to Know

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.