Normally, I’d have a blog post go live at 6am today. However, with preparing for the move (is that all I talk about? Gah! I’m becoming to predictable.) my brain is whirring, but it’s all about punch lists, inspections, packing and purging.
This is truly a learning experience. When you’ve lived in one place for 15 years, no matter how well organized and “neat” it looks, you have NO IDEA how much stuff you own. If you didn’t know by now, I’m a reader and have a lot of books. There are enough books that I could have built a decent sized library on to my house and filled it. That’s fine, IF I could get rid of books, but I can’t. It must be my old soul, or a past life,
screaming at me telling me “books are sacred!”
Did you hear that sigh? That’s me, exhaling loudly. I’m not sure if it’s exasperation, or frustration. Both two different feelings, but I’m pretty sure they’ve combined into a lethal combination of “Meh.” Meaning, I should be packing and doing more work to get rid of things that are no longer loved, but I’d rather play air banjo or listen to 80’s New Wave and do the “white man’s overbite” dance.
I know you’re reading and saying “Lisa, you really need a vacation.” And yes, yes I do. What I’d love is to go somewhere tropical, possibly ski in Switzerland, or visit a very large city — say London or Paris — and just walk for hours. If I were to be in either of those cities, I’d also go to every obscure museum you’ve never heard of. Like the Musée de la Serrure a/k/a Musée Bricard in Paris. It is the most gorgeous little museum of locks and keys. It’s closed to the public, but I’m hoping it reopens before my next trip abroad.
So that is that. Or something like that. I’m sitting down to empty my thoughts online, in my diary, and by making lists. In fact, I nearly started waxing poetic about lists just now and stopped myself, as I’ve tortured you enough with my ramblings and don’t want to frighten you away.