11:00 and I've done none of my Leisure-Time projects. I finished up the last of the work I brought home to do for Her, though, so that's something. I "owed" Bernie 10 hours when I left last Friday. Now it's down to seven. :D I look upon it as working off my debt to society.

I've got two loads of laundry in and two more to do when those are done. (This will be the first time I've had to wash that hand-made quilt my mother and her sisters sent me. I'm crossing my fingers that those burgundy panels are color-fast.)

Yesterday I got all side-tracked on tidying instead of cleaning. I'm still there today. Working on my second box of books for Goodwill at the moment.

(She's IMing me. She's been IMing me all morning. She couldn't remember the password for the mail system that was written down right in front of Her and when I gave it to Her a second time, She logged in, didn't instantly see a flashing message explaining Her problem, declared it beyond Her capabilities, and called the on-call tech support guy. Bernie's going to love getting the bill for that.) (Now, Bernie has questions about another project and wants me to call him.) (And, yes, al of this is going down on my sheet against the time I "owe" Bernie.)

Third load of laundry in. Second box of books full. Starting on a third box.

I'm at the point where I honestly can't tell if I'm eliminating the mess in my bedroom or just moving it from one place to another?

I'm moving the books around (which is where the "mess gone, or just moved?" question comes in) to try and make those left-over-from-my-poverty-stricken-youth black plastic bookcases look less nasty. I should just replace them with the better quality black steel ones I found. (Not as utilitarian as they sound.). The metal ones hold twice the books in less space. But I'm unemployed and not spending extra money right now, right?

I've made a gross mess in my bedroom (she said with a certain morbid satisfaction). I can't even walk in there. Boxes o'stuff for Goodwill, a giant trash bag, that last load of laundry on the floor. What on earth possessed me to start a week-long project at a time when I could logically offer only a day or two of part-time effort?

Sping! I'm spring-cleaning!

I can't believe it's after 1:00 and I'm still working on bookshelves.

Give until it hurts. That's what they say, right?

I'm willing to suffer a few pangs, but not actual pain. I might not read all of Dickens every year, but that's no reason not to keep those books. Ditto for Tey, Bradbury, LeCarré, Trollope, Williams (Charles), Crispin, Doyle (and other gaslight-era detective novelists), Twain, Sayer, Smith (E.E. "Doc"), etc.

And then there's the stuff in storage. 20 years of Heinlein, Asimov, all my favorite "children's" books (including a rare copy of a rare Baum book), and who knows what else?

And yet, the bookshelves are still loaded.

It would seem clear that I have been insufficiently ruthless.

Back to the bedroom....