Coffee heat rising

Cleaning, Throwing Out, Moving Around…

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When I’m feeling out of sorts, one of the few things that can make things feel better is to do something I hate: cleaning house.

SharkVacuumThe shack hasn’t been cleaned in weeks. Though I’ve managed to keep most of the junk more or less picked up, the dust and the dog hair and the kitchen-tile spots continue to settle on the floors, like snow on the open fields. Ugh. Dog hair piles up like dunes behind the bedroom and bathroom doors; gunk builds a lovely antique patina across the kitchen floor; dust mice, which prey upon dog hair, gather in cozy tribes beneath the sofa.

Complicating matters, some major furniture moving and junk ejection has been preoccupying my fevered little mind for quite some time. And really, it’s not very practical to do all that without beating back the filth first.

Hence: cleaning frenzy.

Cassie the Corgi has been holed up in the shower stall the entire afternoon — she thinks the vacuum cleaner, the dust mop, and the rag mop can’t catch her in there, I guess. The floors are now clean but wet as a shower-stall floor. It’s about to rain, and so although the floors may dry sometime during a human’s lifetime, that human would have to be Methuselah.

But now that the worst of the dirt is shoveled out and wiped up, the sinus or migraine headache (unclear which) that’s been making me crazy for the past two days has about resolved itself. I’m still cranky as a cat, but probably will no longer bite without provocation.

And I’ve finally come to some major decisions about the expensive and the not-so-expensive hardware around this place. Videlicet:

1. The fate of the television

It’s about to be gone. The TV set, I mean, not Fate.

I can’t afford cable, nor do I especially want it. Not interested in television in general, and certainly don’t care to spend hundreds of dollars a year for 40+ channels with nothing on. Broadcast television, however, is effectively broken. It’s a rare evening when anything is playing that anyone with half a brain cares to watch. And even the few tolerable shows are a lost cause: every commercial program has more advertising than content. PBS now blasts you with advertising, too, but about half the time the PBS stations are engaged in endless beg-a-thons, during which they fill their air time with superannuated pop stars and bird-brained speechifying hucksters. For reasons unfathomable to me, when they’re begging for money they replace all the content anyone would want to watch with the likes of Suze Orman and Wayne Dyer, a strategy guaranteed to drive their regular viewers away during their fund-raising frenzies.

I just turn the television off during PBS fund-raising seasons…but lately, those seasons have come faster and thicker, meaning even less viewable content than is normally to be had in the Great Wasteland. Most evenings, the television is off. It needs to go away: the thing just occupies space and collects dust.

2. The fate of the iMac

Whatever is wrong with the back causes unbelievable, excruciating pain every time I sit down to the desk where the big desktop computer resides. Maximum length of time I can sit in front of this machine is about 15 minutes, after which I have to get up and walk around for 15 or 20 minutes. This, as you can imagine, reduces a ten-hour workday to five hours of usable time, at most. Much less than that, in reality: the kind of work I do requires long stretches of uninterrupted concentration. When I have to get up every 15 minutes, I can’t focus on the work and nothing much gets done. All day long.

Four different desk chairs, one of them very expensive, have done nothing to help.

moserrockerHowever, in another room sits a wooden rocking chair that, come to find out, is the only chair in the house that I can sit in for any length of time. If I haul the laptop to this chair, lo! I can tolerate an hour or 90 minutes of work without crippling aftereffects. This is about how long I need to get through a single train of thought or focus on a decent chunk of academic copy.

So that’s where I’ve been working for the past few weeks. Indeed, it’s where I’m writing this very post.

The rocker came from Thos. Moser. Very expensive. However, just this moment, Thos. Moser is having a sale.

It looks like I no longer can use the iMac, which has a larger screen than my television’s, for work purposes. However, why couldn’t I stream Netflix on it? That would solve the problem of nothing to watch when I have time or inclination to watch. And it’s cheap.

3. The fate of the aged Ekornes chair

ekor-chelsea-aThis thing is sterling uncomfortable and has been occupying space and gathering dust in the office. Years ago I purchased the contraption because my former MiL went on and on and ON about how wonderful hers was. What was I thinking? The woman never did have good sense…apparently I didn’t, either.

Select your role models with care…

Now that this expensive leather monster has resided in my precincts for 20 years (and been sat on maybe a dozen times, total, in all that time), it’s time for that thing to go, too.

4. The fate of the aged but high-quality and still nominally functional stereo system in the office

This set of gear was given to me by a friend, who dragged it to my house to yard-sale it and didn’t want to drive it back home. Hooked up to a couple of small speakers, it makes very high-quality sound.

Until the late, great room-painting fiasco, I enjoyed listening to NPR on the thing. But the painting morons yanked out the speaker wires and the antenna, rendering the system nonfunctional. My son reconnected the speakers but not the antenna, so it no longer works. Even if I knew where and how to connect the copper wires in question, I can’t move the cabinet by myself. But I have no idea how to fix it and have given up asking.

The cabinet, however, could be used to hold the reference books that are presently in the closet. Then I could clean out a closet shelf, which would clear enough room to put a couple of file crates in there, which would allow me to get rid of the rolling metal file cart, which I hate.

Ah hah! A plan: Convert the iMac into an entertainment center by subscribing to Netflix and maybe Hulu, with added bookmarks to favorite shows like Jon Stewart and some PBS and BBC programs. Get rid of the decrepit old television and its ancillary, unused junk. Clean out the TV armoire and convert it to a linen chest, which is what armoires were meant for in the first place. Give the kid first dibs on the Scandinavian Mid-Century leather throne and the stereo equipment; if he doesn’t want them, try to peddle the junk through My Sister’s Attic, and failing that, off to Goodwill with it.

Since the Thos. Moser chair is the centerpiece of the family room and since I’m feeling pretty flush just now, buy a second rocker to place in front of the iMac, allowing for several hours of relatively uninterrupted viewing time. That also will provide a place to grade papers and work on similar mind-numbers on the MacBook while some movie or TV program creates enough noise to keep me awake.

* * *

While I’m in the middle of writing this post, M’hijito shows up at the front door. Yes, he does want the Ekornes chair! He loads it into his car. Then comes back in to try to assess the wisdom of The Plan (above). He’s not nuts about it. He suggest a couple of popular variants of office chairs; I explain that I’ve tried these and they hurt. He thinks Netflix has advertising, but suggests I try their free month before buying a new Thos. Moser chair. I point out that Thos. Moser is having one of its extremely rare sales: for the first time in recorded history (and probably for the last time), they’re offering a 10% discount on the thing. But I do allow as to how if Netflix also besmirches its offerings with endless ads, then I can do without it as easily as I can do without the television.

He fixes the stereo system, mooting the scheme to get rid of that, and then climbs into his chariot and cruises off.

The stereo sounds great! Now all I need is a chair in there, so I can listen to it.

 

Tomato Soup with Wonderful Low-Salt Product

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The other day at Sprouts I came across a new-to-me tomato product that turns out to be totally wonderful. Every time I hit Sprouts, Trader Joe’s, or Whole Foods, I search for low-sodium canned tomato products, which are nonexistent in regular supermarkets. Although occasionally one or the other of these purveyors will stock a few cans of no-salt-added tomatoes, most days the pickings are slim. However, last week I came across this stuff:

Pomi strained tomatoes

The contents are billed as “strained tomatoes,” but the package copy natters on about how you can use it as pizza sauce. And, more to the point, it boasts NO ADDED SALT. It has nothing else added to it, either.

Grab!

Well, after I’d brought this little box home, I decided nothing would do but what I should try to make these “strained tomatoes” into some kind of soup. After having tasted the product, expecting to find it saltlessly bland, I was astonished at the rich, zingy, full-bodied tomatoey flavor. This, I figured, could work.

Here’s how to go about this…

First get your hands on the following:

Pomì brand strained or chopped or peeled tomatoes
A fresh tomato, if you happen to have one that tastes like anything (otherwise, ignore)
About half an onion — more, if desired
A stick of celery, if you have some on hand.
One or two cloves of garlic
Dried herbs of your choosing (I used some herbes de Provence, but just about anything would do nicely)
A little water
Wine, if you happen to have some laying around (I used cheap red; white would do; sherry could be good)
Olive oil
Yogurt, sour cream, milk, or real cream, if desired

P1020642Coarsely chop the onion and the garlic. Skim the bottom of a deep frying pan or everyday pan with some olive oil. Gently cook the onion over medium or medium-low heat until it’s well softened and starting to brown. If you’re using celery, cook it along with the onion.

Add the garlic. Continue cooking, stirring now and again, until it releases its lovely aroma and softens a bit.

Add the box of Pomì tomatoes. If you’re using the strained tomato variety, you may want to thin a little with wine or water. Allow to cook for twenty minutes or so, until the flavors blend nicely. Remove the pan from the heat.

You can let this cool for awhile or, if you’re daring, proceed with care to the next step.

P1020644Ladle the cooked mixture into a blender jar. Don’t fill the jar more than about half full. Cover tightly and purée like mad. If the result seems too thick, add a little water or, if you want a creamed tomato soup, you can add some milk at this point. You also could thin it with chicken or beef broth, if you wished.

Collect the puréed soup in a bowl large enough to hold it all.

At this point, what you have is quite delicious. You now can add any number of goodies to it.

If you like creamed soup, mix in some milk, sour cream, yogurt, or actual real cream. I used yogurt and think I would not do so again — personally, I’m just not nuts about most creamed soups and thought the deeply flavored tomato broth was fine the way it came out of the pan. But it did provide a nice kick of calcium.

Other possible additions: cooked rice, pasta, quinoa, cooked beans. You can return the puréed tomato broth to the pan and add any number of veggies to it. Reheat and simmer until the vegetables are cooked to your taste. Chopped-up carrot is very good, as are sliced zucchini or other summer squash, corn, bell pepper, wilted spinach or other greens…it’s extremely versatile. Another nice addition is shrimp, which if raw you can simply cook through in the hot broth.

This turned out amazingly good, and I was vastly impressed by the salt-free, weird chemical-free, flavor-filled Pomì tomatoes. Selection at Sprouts is minuscule, but Amazon sells them by the 12-pack. I intend to buy some of those!

woot! Incredible Estate Sale Coup

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So last week La Maya and I descended on an estate sale in an upscale central Phoenix neighborhood. The organizer had photographed and marketed effectively — and they had something good to market — so we got on the road by six in the morning. Numbers were handed out at 7:00 a.m., and we were numbers 32 and 33. Having secured our place in line, we went off to grab breakfast and returned at 8:00 for the opening.

Absolutely amazing! The client apparently was an affluent woman, living alone, who had a great deal of money and a great deal of idle time. Evidently she assuaged her boredom (depression?) with recreational shopping. The house was filled with goods of all kinds, from expensive kitchenware to expensive pocketbooks, that still had their price tags. Wads and wads of costume jewelry, piles of scarves, clothing, tchotschkes, artwork, on and on and on.

I snabbed one item that I won’t describe because it will make a nice Christmas present for M’hijito. Picked up some beads and fake pearls that will be good in the fake jewelry-making enterprise. And then on the way out, as we were standing in line to pay for our loot at the mobbed check-out, what should we find but a box of leather gloves.

Well, I’ve been needing a pair of gloves for my walking project — early mornings at this time of year can be kind of nippy. The other day I looked at Macy’s and almost fainted at the prices, which ran from $60 to $80. Finally ended up buying a pair of nylon things for four bucks at Costco, which do the job but aren’t very attractive.

La Maya grabbed a pair first, in a really beautiful gray leather. Then she noticed they were made in Italy and lined with 100% silk. I found a black pair and an ivory pair that fit, and, not inspecting them any closer, plonked down the $10 per pair to claim them.

P1020635

They were clipped together with spring-loaded office paper clips. When I got them home and freed them from the metal clips, I discovered that the black pair was still tacked together with its original little piece of thread — they had never been worn! The ivory pair had been used, but not much. And both pairs were labeled “Made in Italy. 100% Silk Lining”!

Also picked up a hand-made, fine leather wallet that similarly has no sign of ever having been used. My wallet is shot — had to replace the zipper pull with a safety pin — and I’ve been looking for something to take its place. Five bucks!

P1020638

Wow! How cool is that?

 

 

Got Parents? Keep an Eye on Them!

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It is freaking amazing how vulnerable we old folks get to scams and sales pitches as we descend the steps toward the grave. Lissen up,  you young pups: if you have parents, it is sooo incumbent upon you to quietly keep an eye on whatever financial mischief they’re getting up to. If not to protect them (as most of them did for you when you were too dumb to know better), then to protect whatever assets you might inherit or to delay the day, as long as possible, that the old folks become dependent on you.

Here’s what brought on that outburst: Semi-Demi-Ex-Boyfriend called, all hepped up about having dropped something in excess of five grand on an improvement to his 35-year-old tract house in Sun City, a venue that most Boomers avoid like it was radioactive. While the house is ideal for a single person who doesn’t live there year-round, Zillow believes it to be worth $6500 less than he paid for it in 2004.

Here and there around Sun City, you’ll see old masonry houses that recently have been clad in stucco. Most of these get a layer of insulation under the new mud, which in theory should save on power bills.

Welp, one of SDXB’s neighbors decided to do this. Curious, SDXB stopped by to inquire, and that gave the contractor an opportunity to offer him a smokin’ deal if he would just sign on the dotted line before the guy moved his crew out of the area. So now he’s all excited because he expects this will increase the value of his hard tent (his term: a guy with terminal wanderlust, he wishes to spend his dotage in constant motion, using the place in Sun City as a place to camp out during the winter, when the weather’s livable). And it is true that the houses modernized with a layer of stucco do look a lot better than those with naked slumpblock walls.

So now he’s saying maybe he’ll sell the place, taking advantage of what he thinks will be spectacularly improved property value, and upgrade to a better place on the golf course.

Well. This sounds grand, until you think about it:

a) During the winter, it’s a rare day when you’ll turn on the heater. Today as we speak we’re in mid-November and it’s 73 degrees on my back porch. Last month my power bill was $66; this month it will be less. Ditto SDXB’s.

b) In addition to her house in Sun City, New Girlfriend owns a lovely home in Boulder, to which she repairs at the first sign of undue warmth. SDXB either goes up there with her or soon follows, every spring. She stays there until October. He spends most of the summer there, when he’s not hanging out with his relatives at the Hood River in Oregon or visiting boyhood friends in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Thus, when my  power bills run upward of $200, he has exactly no power bills. None. Nil. Zero. Zip.

c) The two of them have developed a love of ocean cruises. They are merrily squandering their kids’ inheritance on wonderful cruises, and having the time of their lives! In summers past, they’ve been all over the Caribbean, to say nothing of the trip to Italy. And just now he’s got NG persuaded that nothing will do but what they must head for the South Pacific. Thus, between the summer home in the high country and the constant peripatetic mode, they’re hardly ever there!

d) SDXB has taken his neighbor’s word for it. He’s done nothing to check this contractor out or to get competing bids. This is SO out of character that it defies belief.

Well. IMHO if you plan to spend the entire year in one of those hard tents and if you believe you’re going to live in it until you croak over, this stuccoing scheme may not be a bad idea. Although God only KNOWS how many years it will take to recover the cost if only utility bills are taken into consideration, SDXB’s slump-block home is fully painted. A new paint job, if it’s done with a decent grade of paint, will cost him two or three thousand bucks. Newer forms of stucco come dyed to the color you please and, in theory, never need to be painted. So assuming that’s true and assuming he lives, say, another 15 to 20 years, he could save as much in paint as he spends on mud. In that case, whatever savings he realizes on the air-conditioning (which could be non-negligible, should he ever break up with NG) would be gravy.

But as a practical matter, SDXB has no intention of EVER spending another summer here in the Valley of the We-D0-Mean Sun. So that leaves us with the question of

W

T

F

???

IMHO, this is a case where a competent family member — a son or a daughter, for example — needs to be on hand to keep an eye on big-ticket decisions for an aging parent.

Of course, none of us wants to give over our autonomy to the younger generation (or to anyone else, for that matter). And naturally, none of the young folk wants to have to take on the responsibility of riding herd on an increasing frail (and so increasingly annoying) parent. However…it must be recalled that, after all, those parents shouldered 18 years or so of responsibility for the pups. Or, less altruistically: our assets are their assets. Whatever we refrain from squandering will help to keep our kids in the middle class, to the extent that a middle class survives in this country.

So. Keep an eye on us old buzzards, you young thangs.

😉

.

 

I. JUST. HATE. THIS. STUFF!

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Day from Hell #1,247,80: Attempt to get through what looks like a pretty benign list of things to do.

Well. It would be benign if it weren’t for the five stacks of paper to plow through, residing on the office floor.

November 15, 2013. To Do:

√ 7:00 a.m.: leave for estate sale with La Maya
Read 4 more chapters of client’s copy; return edits to him
Write blog post
√ Cook batch of chicken for dog
Chop chicken in food processor
√ Clean up dog-chicken mess in kitchen
Make bed
Water plants
Go for exercise walk
Walk dog
√ Pick up office floor
√ Do bookkeeping
…√Reconcile credit union accounts
…√Enter debits in budget spreadsheet
…√Enter debits & credits in Quickbooks
MAKE PHONE CALLS!
…√Bosch/Sears: why won’t cycles operate?
…Dermatologist: appointment
…√Cardiologist: appointment
…√Radiologist: appointment
Repair broken nail
√ Fill new wallet
√ Remember to put opera tickets into purse for tonight
√ Make tomato soup
√ Make cucumber soup
Pick up house
Dust
Sweep
Mop

Notice how a) I haven’t gotten to the paying work and b) I haven’t gotten to the pigpen clearance.

6:15 a.m. Phone rings. La Maya: if we leave a little early, we can hit another sale before the one we’d planned. I’m in the middle of fixing breakfast but say OK.  Hurry. Produce dishwater-weak coffee, something I abominate. Should’ve known: it was an omen.

6:40 a.m. On the road to Scottsdale.

7:00 a.m. Hit the first sale. It’s in an old house on McCormick Ranch, once Scottsdale’s crown jewel of “planned communities.” Stick-built stuccoed houses do not age well. Original owners must have aged in place, never updating much: cocaine-white 12-inch tiles, dark wood parquet floors…meh. Apparently the residents petrified along about 1986. Neither of us sees anything we want. We leave, feeling smug about how much better-built and nicer our center-city homes are. We revel in our reverse snobbery.

Shortly before 9:00 a.m. Reach second sale, slated to open at nine. Line of bargain-hunters goes down the street. This one is organized by a company that treats customers poorly; normally we would not grace this outfit with our presence. But on their web page, La Maya has seen a few small tables that interest her.

9:00 a.m.: Sale opens. The bastards let people in two, three, four at a time. We stand and stand and stand and stand and stand and…

9:30 a.m. Recycling pick-up truck arrives. Driver flies into rage at all the cars parked up and down the street, blocking the recycling barrels (it’s illegal to block a recycling barrel here in lovely uptown Arizona). In frustration, he sits there and LEANS ON HIS HORN. Ever here a garbage truck horn? It’s amazingly loud.

Finally he has to get out of the truck and move trash cans out onto the street so his machinery can pick them up. House is on a cul-de-sac. To maneuver with every square inch of curb parked up by shoppers’ cars, he has to back and fill with his gigantic rig. Vast HONKING horn blasts intermittently, an automatic thing when the vehicle is in reverse. That notwithstanding, he very nearly runs down several line-standers who refuse to give up their place so as to get out of his way.

About  a quarter to ten: After a good 45 minutes, during which the idiot at the door lets in one or two people at a time, we finally get in the door. Of course, the tables in question are already marked sold. They weren’t much, anyway — images on the website were deceptive. This is another old, tired tract house. But tireder, much tireder than the last one. It’s dirty, and there’s absolutely nothing of any interest.

About 10:30, we arrive back at La Maya’s house. La Bethulia is conferring with a financial planner in the living room. La Maya makes coffee and then she and I slink out to the front courtyard, so as not to disturb them and so as to take the morning air. We gossip for quite a while. She describes current antics at GDU…what a place! I am soooo glad not to be working there. She would be very glad not to be working there, too, but needs an income. I think she could do handsomely by marketing her increasingly professional-looking artwork, if only she knew how to market it.

Around 11:30: Return home. Call Bosch customer service. Learn, after about ten or fifteen minutes of experimentation carried on over the phone, how to make the machine’s various cycles operate and why the “reset” function hasn’t been working and how to make it work.

Make a fairly amazing tomato soup (recipe pending). Eat lunch. Put dog meat on to cook.

Call the cardiologist. After long slog through punch-a-button maze, reach a receptionist who says I don’t need to make an appointment until December. I say it’s already almost December. She says all their December appointments are filling up fast — would I like an appointment in December? Thanking god she can’t see me roll my eyes over the phone, I say “sure.” She proposes to schedule me smack in the middle of the comparative mythology section’s final exam.

Call radiologist. After long slog through punch-a-button maze, reach a receptionist who says I’m not in their records. Spell my name (interminable and unpronouceable) and repeat my birth date again. Eventually they allow as how they kind know who I am. Make appointment for 7 o’clock in the damn morning next weeek.

Noonish: Enter office and begin wading through deep piles of paper.

Grow increasingly frustrated while trudging through endless series of profoundly disliked chores. Enter numbers, enter numbers, enter numbers, enter numbers, enter numbers…can’t find entries I know I made; can’t find entries I never made, can’t figure out where they went. Reconcile four accounts. Can’t find file folders in reorganized file drawers whose arrangement I imagined would be so crystalline clear. Enter numbers, enter numbers, enter numbers, enter numbers, enter numbers…

Realize the $44 I paid for two Bach concert tickets could not POSSIBLY cover four tickets, two for me and two for my friend. Call. Get shunted to the director’s day job. Get past the gatekeeper. Reach the director, who also happens to be our choir director. He says no problem, I should just pay him on Sunday. This means a) I can’t charge them to AMEX and collect a kickback, and b) I’ll have to bring a checkbook, and c) therefore I’ll have to drag my goddamn purse to choir on Sunday, something I never do because I do not want that extra hassle.

Purse….purse… Need to put tonight’s Lyric Opera ticket in purse so I won’t leave it behind when I race out the door.  Where’s my purse?

Yes. WHERE’S MY PURSE?????!!!???????

Think I’ve left it in La Maya’s car. Call her. Of course, she’s not answering the effing cell phone. NO ONE answers cell phone calls. Send high-priority e-mail. Totally FREAK OUT!!!! Every credit card to my name is in that PURSE! As are the checkbooks for my personal bank account AND my business account!!!!!!!!!

Holy sh!t.

Realize I’ve left the chicken sitting on the counter all afternoon. Cover it with tinfoil, lift up the plate and…slop GREASY CHICKEN LIQUID ALL OVER THE COUNTERTOP AND DOWN THE CABINETRY AND ALL OVER THE FRONT OF THE DISHWASHER AND ALL OVER THE FLOOR!

Scrub the counter, scrub the cabinetry, scrub the dishwasher, scrub the floor.

La Maya calls. She’s on the way to the school to pick up the grandchild, of whom she and La Bethulia have custody. She says she’ll bring the purse by.

That is, assuming it’s still in the car and hasn’t been stolen.

Time passes. Continue trying to track down phantom and unexplained bank account entries; continue entering data in spreadsheets.

Around 4:00 p.m. La Maya shows up. She’s found the purse, but not until after a brief scare. When she went out to the car, it wasn’t in there.

OMG, thinks she: someone has already taken it out of the car!

Then she realizes the car is still locked and none of the windows are broken, so it’s not likely the purse was stolen out of her vehicle. This means she has to trudge back into the house, dodging two dogs (one of which wishes for nothing more than to slip out the door and head for Yuma at a dead run) and search for the purse. She finds it on the kitchen counter. Neither one of us can remember my having carried it in there. Relieved, she delivers the satchel to my house.

By now my hair, not surprisingly, is sticking out all over like a witch’s. In mere minutes, I have to be ready to head out to dinner with a friend, thence to a lyric opera musical play.

Plug in hot rollers, throw on a few clothes while they’re heating. Roll hair. Brush teeth. Paint face. Unroll hair, comb hair — not bad, for an old hag!

Exhausted, sit down in front of computer and start writing this post.

5:00 p.m. Phone rings: my friend is outside in the front driveway.

We had a very fine dinner at La Grande Orange, one of the stylish Phoenix-based Portofino restaurants. We decided to try their alleged gluten-free pizza, just for the helluvit, and were delighted to find that it was very delicious. In fact, the thin, crisp crust was actually better, in both of our opinions, than a regular soggy pizza crust. Toppings were outstanding.

So was the wine. But then it should have been: one glass of the house wine cost more than a whole bottle of the plonk I buy at Costco.

11:30 p.m. The musical was fun, long, exhausting. The dog was not fed before I raced out; tossed down some food for her and now will have to wring her out before climbing into the sack, lest she decide the servant should get up at two in the morning to let her out.

And so, to bed, there to hope for a little less craziness tomorrow…

What Happens When You Don’t Keep Up with the Incoming Paperwork at the Funny Farm

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AUUUUUUUGGGGHGHGHGHGHG!!!!!

Just LOOK at this!!!!!!!

P1020632

Over the past two or three weeks, I’ve been not feeling on the top shelf. Not only that, but every time I sit down at the flicking computer, I get up so damn spavined I can hardly stand up. So, as you can imagine, I’ve been putting off whatever I could, because I don’t want to sit at the computer any more hours than absolutely necessary, because it hurts to sit at the damn computer. Everything that can’t be put off goes on the front burner, and that includes nothing more than what someone is paying me to do — and not even all of that. The rest of it gets put off for another day.

See that thar, above?

FIVE FLICKING STACKS OF INCOMING!!

• We have stuff to file.

• We have stuff I need to do something about, ASAP.

• We have transactions (in some cases unending lists of transactions) to post. These annoying pieces of paper will then be moved to the TO FILE stack.

• We have the mounds of incoming paper related to the latest identity fraud attempt.

• And we have piles of sh!t that I don’t even know what to do with!

That doesn’t even count the MOUNTAIN of junk that goes directly from the mailbox to the recycling barrel.

And it’s just come in over the past couple of weeks, while I really, truly, haven’t felt like dealing with it.

Am I the only one who feels harassed by the need to keep up with incoming pesky paperwork (or online statements) and overwhelmed when even a week or two goes by without constant upkeep?????

Go ahead. I dare you to click on the photo to see exactly what all those five mounds of paper entail.