I recently moved, and I have yet to find the garage. No, that’s not a misprint; I can’t find the interior of the garage. Someday I’ll have room to actually move things into the house where I live. In the mean time, I’m walking around boxes. Every time I move it’s a brand new challenge as to where to put everything. The problem here is that I keep moving into progressively smaller homes, and there’s always too much stuff. Every move means I have to shed more things.
Someday I will be able to walk through this, then, hear me roar.
Now, I do have my priorities. First thing I did (as I always do when I move) was find the toilet paper. There’s no point in even being here if I can’t use the facilities.
Never let it be said I don’t know how to set up house.
Other things aren’t so simple. The bookshelves that fit comfortably in the last home don’t quite fit in this one. We had to downsize the couch and now space in front of the TV is at a premium. I had to give up the desk I waited ten years to get because there was no room for it. Once again, I’m stuck at the kitchen table or a built in work station made for somebody a foot taller and with arms roughly the length of King Kong’s. I’m still trying to figure out a reasonable place to put the wine cellar. I’d say there’s no point in having a wine cellar if there’s no place to put it where you can successfully open the door, but that simply isn’t true. An inaccessible wine cellar works in your favor because you can put all the good stuff in there and make it too damn inconvenient for anybody else to tap it. Don’t worry about me. If I really want to get my drank on with something vintage, I will go through the effort of moving the table to get to it.
It drinks the same right out of the box. Quick disclaimer: These are not the original boxes it came in. The need to adjust bottles to the proper temperature may apply.
Even though I’m a scientist, I’m not without my superstitions. One of my priorities was to make sure the family was properly looked after in my absence among the boxes.
This is the tikki on the mantle. Not exactly Martha, but I wouldn’t dream of striking out to a new place without him.
In the mean time you’ll find me lost among the displaced possessions in the garage. It’s such a pain in the ass having to move every year or so. I sure as hell hope the rest of the pinko commie liberals manage to help people keep their homes. Oh, who am I kidding? That won’t happen any time soon. Meanwhile, I’m left to deal with this.
That sheet has pee stains on it and holes. I used to use it to cover a chinchilla cage. It now serves as a moving blanket.
I can deal with boxes. I never bother to unpack some; it’s just not worth it. I don’t think I’ve hung a picture in the past six years. As I get ready to spend the holiday weekend working (as usual, but it doesn’t bother me), there is one last thing I have to take care of. I never, ever forget to hang up my favorite door decoration.
That sums up everything.