A couple of sapient souls looked at the sale and drew some conclusions about the remaining stash which are as true as they are embarrassing.
Yes, I like yarn. I have...some.
This is the yarn closet.
Circs on the door to your left, boxes of buttons on the top shelf - between the printer paper and the interlocking floor tiles. Running down the leftmost side of the shelves, from the top, is a box for dpns, a box for notions, yarn, two boxes of sock and lace yarn, some candle making stuff I've never used, and a fourth blue lidded bin.
Almost all the bags are devoted to a single project's worth of yarn, except for that middle ziplock on the left, which has a few small things - mostly orange, for some reason. Technically, these belong in the blue bins, Small Quantity City. The top shelf with the canvas bin? Mostly coned yarn. The canvas bin towards the bottom is mostly cotton.
The left hand stack of bins just visible in the back are EMPTY, beautifully empty, miraculously empty, NEWLY empty, thanks to you all for helping me lighten my load.
Imagine: Room for my handspun to begin to have a place and also, ahem, room for the three or four batches of yarn I gathered up from the rest of the house while I was cleaning last night. I need to inventory them before they go in.
Yes, there is an inventory.
Shut up, it isn't a spreadsheet. Yet.
No, this does not include the fiber. Most of which is on the living room floor. Think I'm joking?
The rest of my life is not as organized as the yarn closet (the living room is in a particular state right now and as soon as I finish typing this and fold some laundry it will be restored to a more civilized condition) - as I was just reminded by my neighbor who delicately inquired when I planned to do something with the front of my house. He's expression implied that he found it a bit ghetto.
Which I must admit is true in all senses of the word.
Though I already knew he felt this way because I heard him talking with what turns out to be his contractor about whatEver those people were thinking about THAT house outside my door a few days ago. When I mentioned this to him he said, Today? So they've obviously had this conversation more than once.
The inside of my house is rather nice, but the outside is ..sketchy. It has never been a problem before because this neighborhood is also in some ways a bit sketchy. And its on the list. There's a lot of things on the list. Furnace. Repair ceiling where roof leak came in. Upgrade bathroom. And yes, paint the house.
I was just talking tonight about getting some prices to get it painted today in fact. Now I want to leave it shabby-assed and patchy for another 3 years.
It makes me annoyed that he's so clearly worried about my house dragging down his. It makes me angry that I explained myself to him rather than cheerfully agreeing that yes indeed I am a scandalous hillbilly. And it depresses me unutterably that my lovely, quirky, friendly, half-restored Victorian 'hood is ....becoming tasteful. Possibly even....upscale. The sudden influx of new dogs in the park trailing unfamiliar young professionals and the new families I've seen are taking on an ominous cast.
I can't decide if I care about being the topic of disparaging conversation between people I barely know, I'm troubled that I might act, or modify my actions because of the disapproval of others. I was planning on weeding my walk and planting some flowers in the planters next week. Would it be small if I left it all scraggly and bare a little longer?