
In my case this has manifested in a ludicrous display of organizing. Last week I disgorged all the closets, started sifting and sorting their contents, and then shoved 'em back in the way I like. Today I wrote a list of which boxes of toys were in each different closet or cabinet around the house. In most ways it's quite fab, for instance the beautiful state of our main closet here; last week there was so much crap piled in there you wouldn't be able to reach those shelves without two hours and a good machete.

We did all of Zack's laundry at the laundromat. These clothes are tiny! I got my best ever score on Ms. Pac-Man. The laundromat may have more than its fair share of drama, but it does have a working Ms. Pac-Man machine.

8 comments:
You look pretty cute in my glasses. How did you get a picture of yourself so close to the ceiling?
I should go put the tiny clothes in the dresser now. I have been also organizing and nesting, but I tend to fall asleep pretty early on in the process. Then when I wake up at 5 a.m. to go to work, Octo is like, "Let's take a tour of all the closets so you can see what I've been doing all night!" It's pretty fun.
That's the best picture of Octo I've ever seen, hilarious! You must have some power, Julie, Octo hasn't been able to keep an area clean since he was 12 years old!
Did he ever tell you that my dissertation was on compulsive hoarding?
You do look good in those glasses! I was going to ask if that was a new pair.
Happy nesting!
137K. Damn impressive.
"Clean" isn't really the word. Just super organized. Octo doesn't like, mop, or anything. I need to mop this place someday.
A word about our laundromat. Well, the one we used to go to anyway. After this last time, we have to switch, even if that means leaving behind our beloved Ms. Pacman machine.
It's just a hangout for the homeless in there. I think I'm starting to understand their little mini dramas, and it's just not a soap opera I'm interested in following anymore.
There's the retarded guy who can't figure out the machines. (I gave him some soap--I just couldn't watch him struggle anymore.) The black woman who helps him and the black man who yells at the black woman and says, "You damn bitch. I'm foldin' all your clothes and you ain't coming back with me tonight." I don't know what the story is there. Is he using reverse psychology so she will really want to go back with him? Then there's the flamboyantly gay drunk who has a dog and taunts the laundromat owners. And then there's the savant who haunts the Ms. Pacman machine, taking breaks only to drink out of a giant plastic container of iced tea.
Isn't there some kind of upscale laundromat somewhere? Somewhere where your average folks go to wash their clothes, not have drug induced fights? Our cheap landlord only installed a washer but no dryer in our building. I will hang clothes on the line, but Octo won't. And maybe we should have hung those baby clothes up. I think I shrunk some of them to an even teenier size.
Excellent work Octo. That's quite a muscular high score. Can we assume you reached the level where the ghosts don't turn blue?
Ooh, I don't know. If you mean the level in which you eat a power pill and the ghosts immediately go into "flashing white and blue and about to turn back to killer" mode, then yes. If there's a further level where power pills have no effect at all, then I'm going to have to go back to do more laundry.
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