Miles To Go Before We Sleep... (A Photo Essay)

I can't quit now.

Just from where I'm sitting, for example, I can see something desperately needing to be done:

Ain't it cute? It's Superman. Johnny's nephew drew it on my desk when he stayed with us a couple summers ago. How old was he at the time, you ask?

26.

I didn't do anything about it at first because he said he was coming back and I was going to make him do it when he got here, but he knocked up some girl and never did come back, and I put my dictionary over it (which is maybe what he should have done, if you get my drift) and pretty soon I almost forgot that it was there.

Almost.

Then there's this:

When I finished stripping woodwork after however many years, my (thanks for not hitting me the other day!) sister made these curtains for me. I finally got around to actually hanging them a year or so after that, but I forgot that if you don't have tab curtains then you need to position the brackets out from the window a bit or it winds up all pinched and anal-retentive looking.

And yes, since you're asking: a window most certainly does have an anus. That's why you can never get them 100% streak-free. (Because also, apparently, all windows are boys.)

Yay, poop jokes!

Moving on...

I painted the porch windows this lovely cranberry color the first year we moved in...

...but I forgot that, when you opened the windows, the outsides of them (the lovely chippy-dirty "white" part) would be on the inside. Also, come to think of it, those hinges could use a shot of 5F5.

Still Life With Wood Panel (AssVac, 2007):

Then of course there's this damn door left yet to deal with:

(that's a close up of where the water it absorbed this time actually formed a little puddle and ran down -- see the drip?)

There's also this door, of course:

And this one (which you haven't seen yet, but which is really, really special):

ooh, hey look! In the bottom left, there? Them's my boobs.

Mommy, Dearest, don't look. I have a booby shot on the internet. Or the top of one, anyway. Which, apologies to Dave Barry, would be a great name for a rock band: The Boob-Tops. Booby Shots. The Booby Topshots. Booby and the Topshots. Booby Topshot and the Streak-Free Windows?

All righty then, so that's one dick joke, one poop joke and a handful (so to speak) of boobs. Anything else?

Well, the back hallway could use a second coat of paint...

And here's where baseboards are supposed to go...

The bathroom's not completely finished yet -- but I'm not going there (get it? going? to the bathroom? oh, I kill me)...

Some proper shelving for the likes of these would come in handy...

though I think they might be reproducing when the lights go out, because I found this in there this morning:

and I don't read Oprah books (well, except for The Corrections, but that was a coincidence and, anyway, I think it hardly counts).

There's the scary cubby under the stairs...

And the closet I just cleaned out...

... which Johnny decided was "creepy-looking" and so he closed the door. (CONTEST ALERT) Anybody see any reason why that might be a problem?

I think this wants stuffed and mounting...

This, cleaning....

And I hardly need to hire an electrician just to change the faceplates on these horrid things...

Finally, and at the heart of everything, there's always this to worry about...

So you see, Prudence wasn't quitting these past few days after all, she was merely making a queer little stop in the woods along the way.

I'm going to come up with some new rules for myself, though, because this every-day thing was kicking my butt -- I'm not sure I even realized how much until I did nothing (nothing, nothing!) yesterday (well, except go to work of course) and was shocked (shocked) at just how many hours there can be in a day. Plus I kind of miss the other little essays I used to write, even if nobody else does.

So sometime later, or tomorrow or something, I'll post again with a new plan, and then I'll let Goody out of the basement (I couldn't keep her locked in the attic in this heat -- I know, I'm such a softie) and we'll be off.