So I called the guy who is renovating the Previously Horrible Office, and he said a bad word. He said, "Wednesday."
I had never thought of Wednesday as a bad word before. However.
Exhibit A: the dining room. Underneath those stacks of books there is a dining room table. Now I understand that in some houses the dining room table is largely ornamental. In this house, however, where the kitchen is about 7 feet wide by 12 feet long, the dining room table is in use for every meal of every day.
We ate dinner out last night. And lunch today too.
See that bookshelf against the wall? It lived in the Horrible Office. It was mostly reference books and so I have been attempting to purge its contents (see the precarious stack behind the table?). Really, how many hard-copy dictionaries does a family need in the third millennium? If the zombie apocalypse happens and we lose our internet connection, we will have more pressing concerns than the etymology of "inspissate."
Alex came in during the purge (the attempted purge, I should say), and said (of the American Heritage Dictionary, circa 1984), "How can you get rid of this? I spent every day of my childhood reading this book!" He opened to a random page and said dreamily, "Numismatics: the study of coins."
Exhibit B1: the bedroom.
That alarming pile of books came from the south wall of the Horrible Office, where Elwood built shallow, closely spaced shelves to accommodate the largest possible number of paperbacks. They work better on those shelves than piled on that desk, I'm telling you.
Notice the file cabinet in the corner, blocking the door of the closet where the games go. We took two crates of games on our trip and there is just no way to unpack them.
Exhibit B2: the bedroom, continued.
In order to move the office furniture into our bedroom, we moved the bedroom furniture into the traffic pathways. That's my husband's dresser, blocking my closet. I can't unpack, really, because I have to hold my breath and reach in blindly to get anything into or out of the closet. I can get out clean underwear, because it doesn't need to match anything else, but my other wardrobe options will be limited.
Exhibit C (oh, please disregard the battered loveseat -- resolution #1 for 2013 is to reupholster or replace the loveseat): the music room.
Our little music room took the overflow items. It is a small space -- maybe 10 x 12 -- and in the middle of the floor there are a paper shredder, a toolbox, a yoga mat, a laundry hamper, a garbage can, and the giant box for the food processor I broke in September. (Its owner wants it back but we haven't been able to coordinate schedules for me to hand it off.)
This would be less overwhelming in another season, but just now we have all of the Christmas... detritus is not a very good word to use here but I am struggling to come up with another one... STUFF to deal with: our fat tree, dripping needles, and the Advent wreath and the Nativity set and all of the still-homeless gifts.
Next weekend I should have a pretty pale blue bedroom in which I can ensconce myself serenely. Our handyman has ripped out the Horrible Office's flood-damaged ceiling and ripped off the hideous paneling and ripped away the trim that was savaged by the previous owners' dog. Next weekend I will have a dresser and the homeless books should mostly be re-homed and the Christmas things will all be back in their boxes in the basement.
I'm thinking, though, that it could be a long week.
PS! And! How could I forget this part? I am sharing my kitchen, my 7 x 12 kitchen, with a turtle and a gecko.
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