I’ve got dirt under my fingernails. The plants are finally repotted and they just won’t shut up with their thanking me for all the new and wonderful root space.
I finally gave up on my awesome, vitally important plan to go through all boxes, gleaning the good and tossing the chaff, and having the entire house completely organized so that when the earthquake comes and the power goes out and it’s the middle of the night and you can’t see anything and you have to find your shoes, a flashlight (should be in the garage, 2nd shelf on the left after the detergent), the spare batteries (should be in the hallway drawer, 3rd down from the top in a sandwich-sized ziplock), a snack pack of animal crackers (should be in the long cupboard in the kitchen, behind the soups), and the binder fully organized with all our important papers including passports, (DOES NOT EXIST), I know exactly where everything is. Now? We’ll never make it out alive and it’s all my fault. Also, now that the boxes are jammed into the garage I can see how much birdseed is all over the carpet. Awesome.
This weekend I’m going to pretend to be normal. Wish me luck.
Bossy organizes therefore she is.
I try to neglect my plants. Caring for them makes me attached and that can only lead to heartbreak.
My mother has had the same ficus for 30 years, though. So I guess if you are one of those kind of people it might be less risky. But still–can’t risk it.
Good luck pretending to be normal! Please post any tips you pick up.