I Blame My Pack Rattery On Mom.

Big Sis told me today that my blog is looking stale.

Um, I do not know what you mean. Just because I had to pause and think about what my address is when typing it into my browser.... That proves nothing.

Today I would like to talk about junk. As in, all the junk I own. That I have to pack. Because I am moving. And that depresses me. Not the moving part. That should be fun and exciting. After I find the apartment, that is.

But the PACKING. Where did I get all this stuff??? And seriously, I did some purging last year when I was unemployed and all restless.

The last time I moved, one of my friends remarked to me that I would have to get rid of some books because I was out of room on my bookshelf. *GASP* I am still friends with her, but it's been rocky, to say the least. I question her values, really. So skimming down on the books is out.

I've thought about getting rid of all the shirts that I don't quite fit right now. But then what will I wear next month when I have lost 10 months from the stress and physical exertion of moving? Really, one must be practical.

Shoes. I could get rid of some shoes. I have a few pairs I don't ever wear. That should free up... an eighth of a box.

Pottery. I could get rid of some. But I made it! And I don't want to throw it away. So pottery for one and all for Christmas, I say!

Old nail polish and assorted old stuff under the sink in the bathroom. Okay. Now we are getting somewhere. There goes 1/16th of a box from the bathroom.

Broken stuff. That should knock down at least one medium size box. Shut up. I was going to fix it all.

Old magazines. One small box. Because I was going to read them again. Some day.

What else? How do I make it all go away so I don't have to pack it? And don't say the gnomes. 'Cause they are totally going with.

I Feel It Is My Duty to Inform You...

I just read that one third of women's purses have fecal bacteria on the bottom of them. I am so disturbed. Girls, hang them on the hooks in public restrooms! Also, go to the first stall. It's statistically the cleanest.

Also, the kitchen sink is a dirty, dirty place.

I feel so enlightened now.

Why I Hate Crafts

Okay, maybe hate is a strong word. Maybe I should say Why I Do Not Enjoy Crafting. It's not that I don't value crafts. I have friends, like K, who are very crafty, and can do amazing things with crafts. I am not one of those people. When I make crafts, they end up looking like the creations of a three year old. Not to knock the creations of Little Man. He is turning three this week, and is quite a handyman. But my creations are always the crooked, limp, sad looking crafts.

My lack of love for crafting does not come from my craft-challengedness, either. I am actually not generally too concerned about my craft looking perfect. In fact I'm quite proud of my odd looking little creations. I've come to realize something about myself recently. I don't enjoy crafting. I don't care that my craft looks funny because for the most part I just want to be done with the craft. I think that when you really enjoy a hobby, it gives you a good feeling, like a buzz, when you are doing that activity. When I craft, I am bored. I want to be doing something else. I usually finish quickly (or don't finish at all) and then dance around or tell stories or sing songs while my more crafty friends take HOURS to complete their crafts because they derive pleasure from their creation (all the while trying to figure out if it is wrong to hot glue my lips together). I do not derive that pleasure.

The one exception would be my pottery. I love throwing pottery. I don't mind taking the time to create it. I love to show it to people. I love to give it as gifts. If I've given you pottery, that means you have one of my babies, and I gave it to you because you're special and I believe that you will give it a good home. If I think you will laugh at my pottery or make comments about how hideous it is later after I leave, you can't have it. If you've received pottery from me in the past and made fun of it, I want it back. If you hesitate in accepting my pottery when offered, you may never get a piece of pottery from me again. You've now been duly warned.

You only wish you owned creations like this.