This past week has been crazy with moving home and everything that comes with it. Which includes various family gatherings and outings and planning and shopping and general dog bothering.

Poor Doomsday had a traumatic move. She isn’t a fan of planes, trains or automobiles, and now we can add van to her list of hated vehicles. That ride home was a bouncy house from hell. Next time I’m just going to take her out of the carrier and stick her in my collar because the poor girl looked like she was hyperventilating.

Now she’s in a brand new giant cage and staring at me like I’ve betrayed her because she’s been in there for a few days because my room has been such a mess as I get rid of the old and try to organize the new.

I own 60 dresses. I just hung them all up in my closet. Can you even believe that? I know I wear dresses a lot, but SIXTY!!! That’s nuts.

I just found a trunk of books in the basement that are my most prized books that no one was to touch. Sigh. I have so much stuff.

I’ve already gotten rid of two trunks of stuff that I will never use again. Teddy bears from childhood that didn’t manage to outshine Winnie the Pooh, the first scarf I ever knit (I use both the words “scarf” and  “knit” loosely here. It’s a mash up of seriously ugly yarn and I increase and decrease stitches by accident.), and blurred photos of people I was once friends with and now would like to see there names on a headstone.

Okay, that last one was a little over the top. But you get my point, useless accumulated trash that I have kept for years because I carry around this one word with me at all times:


I am perpetually living in the land of “Someday” and I got a good grip on reality today while I dragged all of my stuff upstairs to my room to sort. I do not need glass plates that my mom gave me for some random birthday when I was little with Winnie the Pooh on them because once she told me that I might want them for my future childrens room. We agreed today that that was insane and they are in a pile of “garage sale”.

Why do I need 75 cookbooks on baking when I have one favourite, one school one, and one on a variety on cookies that I use regularly? Because “someday” I’ll have my own bakery and want to mix it up.

Why do I need a bunch of Kathy Reichs novels that I didn’t like? Because “someday” I might pick them up and appreciate them again. (To be fair, my mom likes her, so she took them.)

I have hundreds of books. HUNDREDS. Because ‘SOMEDAY’ I will have a Beauty and the Beast library.

That is a valid ‘Someday’ though. You don’t get the library without the hard work, let’s be real here.

Constant vigilance bitches.

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