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It's become quite crowded in The House recently. First, Doofus moved back in; then JJ brought 4 large suitcases of her worldly goods and took over the remaining floorspace in his bedroom. At this point, I don't think they have a cleared-off space anywhere--except the bed, which holds everything destined for the floor after dark. It's in direct contrast to my Zen-inspired cleanliness and minimalistic intent in my room and the living room...or as much as a packrat and procrastinator with a penchance for collecting 'things' (but what if?!) can achieve. But I have entirely clear floorspace, not to mention a dresser-top and side-table that I haven't seen since the day I moved in. My closet can breathe again, and all my shoes are cleaned and polished with saddle soap--they're lined up at attention, and I've discovered shoes I forgot I own. (How many shoes does one girl need? The good news: I tossed out a pair of Ike Turners. It was hard, but I'm not taking it any more.) It cost me a Saturday night, but it was going to be finished before I fell asleep--and going out would have prolonged the inevitable, as well as made Sunday morning's Pancake Breakfast (Fat Sunday!) that much harder.

The insanity continued thru Sunday afternoon when I tackled the mother lode: my desk...and therefore, my finances. You might think a rational and mature (enough) almost-adult would be capable of organized record-keeping in the finance department. One who majored in accounting. Public Accounting, where every receipt must be saved and organized (if not indexed)--a profession obsessed with saving money every which-way possible... Alas and alack, I have maintained my high-school-aged fiscal responsibilities and have only piles: pay stubs, bank statements, and credit card statements, and *other*. Within these stacks, you could learn everything you need to know about me...as long as you first create order from the chaos. I have no idea of my net worth, other than it's positive, and I have no statement on my spending habits other than 'I need it, ergo I buy it.' And another injustice: I know my pay stubs reflect the government's unending desire to deny me my God-given rights to *spend* the monies I *earn*. It's not like I'm going to see my Social Security, so just give it to me now. How can I help un-depress the economy if I have nothing to work with? You'd think they'd get it...

So yes. My desk is rapidly becoming a table again, one that I could use to write charming handwritten correspondence on, or use to create my latest artistic masterpiece, or just somewhere to set up my trusty sewing machine and attack the curtains I've been meaning to make/finish since November.

November.

I'm a crafty gal. I know my way around the business end of a hammer, a pair of Ginghers, and a paintbrush. But to actually finish a project after the initial manic energy runs out? Lord help me... I admit that I work well under the combined forces of a deadline and expectation. But latent perfectionism can rear its ugly head and the pressure can crack me into fine, jagged pieces. So, curtains? Soon. Finishing my shelves? Soon. (It requires artistic commitment and glue. ::shudder::) Hanging the last two pictures after five months of wavering? Don't count on it. I've got committment issues.

Back to Doofus: I think he's quickly reaching the end of his rope, because there are not just three females now in The House, but four. You see, our aunt is here. You know. Aunt Flo. In a stunny display of grrrl power and solidarity, all three womyn have declared war on men...and Doofus has nowhere to hide. There are seven spacious rooms for us, and only two are available to him. His room, and the kitchen. Grumpy, grumbly women do not enjoy men underfoot when we have nothing better to do than lie curled up on the sofa while wondering just how permanent a hysterectomy would be, and wait--is that a man over there? Kill him! Actually, it's not all that bad. D is curled up in the den, hugging pillows and Evita-ing herself (some use Lloyd-Weber AS poor-man's Percocet; others use Percocet FOR Lloyd Weber); JJ is working out hard, stuffing herself with healthy food (and she gave up sweets/desserts--is she crazy?!) and wandering between Doofus and the living room. Me? I'll take any excuse to sit cocooned in my bankie, watching tv (100 channels, baby, where there's always something on) while eating pudding from a giant martini glass.