Cabin fever

Do you know what drives me right up the walls? Or sorry, do you know what hinders me from driving myself up the walls because of frustration and cabin fever??

How about awakening my inner organization-fascist (the organizing spares NO ONE!) with a vengeance and having me getting into making shit happen, just to have my back post a letter that says "Fuck you" and then personally delivering it to my door and then slapping me in the face with said letter and a surprisingly rough glove at the same time.

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I’m SO CLOSE to getting shit together in the bedroom! So close! And it does look like chaos, and it will continue doing so because its a basement, but it’ll at least be an organized basement.

The letter arrived in a timely fashion just as I had gotten that famous thumb out of my ass and actually started the little ol' project we have in the house called "Rearrange the entire basement". It's a sequence of events that need to happen to get some order down here in the shadow dwellings. Everyone who has had a home where anything had to be done, you know the drill.

For us to be able to get some order in the garage and a sewing table for me in the basement, we needed to move the huge table from the garage but before we get the table into the house we need to move the hutch in the... in-suite* (and I mean that in English, not French) craft room, but in order to move the hutch we need to move the cabinet but to move the cabinet we need to move the hanging clothes in the bigger room and in order to move the hanging clothes I needed to move a shelf in the bedroom and to move that shelf in the bedroom I needed to shuffle all my clothes to a new shelf and to do that I needed to dye the shelves and to do that I needed to be outside for hours and hours and to be outside for hours and hours it needed to be at least humanly friendly to be so, and it wasn't. For many reasons.

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Oh look there’s me, in a glorious time of my life where I could actually do anything at all.

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But! When the shelves were finally dyed, I couldn't place them until I painted the pipes and to paint the pipes I needed to clear the space out and to clear the space out, I needed to put things everywhere in the rest of the cellar, which just makes everything go round and round.

But, finally, the day came! I cleaned the old (and new, bah) cobwebs out, took things off of the walls, we bought paint and I painted the pipes AND the wall to eliminate the terrible foresty green mess. I do like green, most often, but here, this way and in this shade.. no.

I had already dyed the shelves and they'd had time to dry so I put them into place and mounted the clothes hanger and sorted my clothes and was just about to move the clothes from the room that needed to go in bedroom order to make room for the cabinet... and my back went out.

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Gold and beige instead of forest green, white, black, rust and more green. Live that extra life, guurl! I know there’s like three people who has parts of my interior taste as their rolemodel, but I don’ know if this is the end of that era…

Right out the window it flew, like a scared bird having seen way too much when accidentally flying into a human bedroom. A had to cook and bring the food to me personally like a man-servant that night because I couldn't stand up in any orderly fashion. While I do appreciate the gesture, or rather, having him keep me alive when I'm not able to do so myself, having a man-servant isn't all that it's cracked up to be.

And here we are, three days later. That dang bird hasn't returned yet and my cheek is still chafed from the rough glove. I'm still waiting for a nicer letter of explanation because I've ever been broken up by someone just leaving before and I need a reason, dangit.

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So my craft/sewing room has a toilet and a washing machine in it? So? Are you implying, like our friend’s five year old son did, that our house is weird?

The best place for me to hang out is, fortunately, or unfortunately, in my computer chair in front of my computer. In the basement. Staring at everything that needs to be done. It's mocking me. Mocking!

The only lesson I can gather from this sudden and quite unexpected back crisis is that the Universe is trying to punish me for whining so much about not doing "anything". Okay, that and that I should probably get a gym card. I get it, Universe. THIS is what it feels like doing nothing, and not the hours I actually spend every day doing things like laundry, dishes, or projects. I get it now. Can we just get this over with? Can we just unite in the fact that my whining is a... quite accomplishment-driven angst over being a waste of flesh and not really me whining about the changeable fact that I'm not doing more with my life seeing as I know I should take this time to heal mentally and physically from an impending burnout? Please?

Although, yesterday wasn't completely wasted. I did spend seven hours writing the blog post about digital and physical planners. Yeah I know, I'm not proud. It's like my mind went into some slow zen-state of wasting time to heal my back while not toppling over with boredom and/or cabin fever.

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So the electrician has to access the walls of the garage so we had to bring the table in even though I’m not at all done with anything. It’s not scary at all having a huge slab of table just resting there, ready to tip over at any second, crushing you under its laminated weight of death.

So here I am, eating cheeseballs in front of my computer, feeling a little forlorn while getting tipped by youtube to watch videos about people playing the Untitled Duck Game. It's a lovely game, that's for sure. I do love ducks.