The Mess Before the Clean, continued

Still can't edit on my tablet, so when the cursor (sp?) disappears it is best to start again.
The problem with sorting, is that everything else remains in a total mess.  I'm talking disaster.  I'm also packing for Mixed Minded so the dining room which I use as my art studio is also a mess.  Funny, I used to be able to live in mess, but my tolerance for it is growing weaker.  At last.
Back to the Big Sort.

The Mess Before the Clean

It is totally out of character for me to want to clean and sort.  Yet here it 5:30 in the morning (and mornings don't even exist as far as I am concerned) and I am sorting through 15 years of teaching papers.  Basically, I am throwing my life for the past decade and a half - or a bit more - away.  It is a very odd feeling, considering the amount of sweat and tears that went into the accumulation of so much stuff.  I've only just started and am dying to finish, but the amount of stuff I dispose of is limited to the number of times my poor joints allow me to go up and down the stairs.  But moving into a place with no stairs to hamper my movement is the prize at the end of the exercise.  Don't know why, but I can't sort in situ (sorry, couldn't get the italics to work).  Everything must be dragged into my bedroom to be gone through.  I found the library card I lost many years ago!

The

Houston, We Have a Problem

Anytime I find myself challenged technologically, that famous, titular phrase comes to mind.  I remember all the moon and space missions, at least before the shuttle made inner space routine, and the calm understatement of those words have always made me catch my breath in admiration.

Of course my dilemma is miniscule, but in my small world it does tend to stymie me.  I had a very busy (for me) ßhopping 'spree' yesterday.  I made stops at two different places, scooter in and out of van, in and out of van.  This is something I try to avoid by shopping in malls and big stores, with a lot of planning.  But I wanted a new TV, which required a stop at Best Buy and the cable company so I could see more than channel 11, the local station.  I did collapse and disease-enforced nap when I got home.  (Annoying because I missed 3 live events I wanted to watch - one on TV (car race), one on radio and TV (baseball), and one on the internet (live art lesson).

So Saturday, I read manuals, put together the stand for the TV (lets not even think about tightening screws).  But I got it all set up (yeah me).  Sort of.  I just can't get the cable box to acknowledge the TV exists.  I tried to introduce them nicely by inputting each of the plethora of possible codess in turn, but to no avail.  Alas, they still won't talk to each other.  I'd gladly pay someone to come in and fix this for me, ut 'who do you call'?  There should be Technology Busters.  I know I will eventually get it to work.  I went through this with another similar set of devices.  But it will take a while , while I fiddle with codes, with pressing buttons in the rightnorder.  Or maybe I will have to give in and call a neighbour.  (My misplaced sense of independence hates to do that,)

Sigh.  Not again.  I really wish there was a Technology Busters.

Blanket Update

The new black blanket got itself washed (laundry is not something I can do, so anything different, that takes soaking, for instance, is kind of hit and miss as to when it gets done.)   Somewhat to my surprise, it looks fairly good on the bed.  It's lovely and soft and rather light weight, which is good for summer.  But oh my goodness, does it shed.  Their are little black balls of fluff on just about everything.  So now, not only am I covered in cat hair despite many de-fluffing attempts, all my clothes (and sheets) are now polka dot.

Dressing Dilemma

Have you ever noticed halfway through the day that your T-shirt is on inside out?  And then you can't be bothered to fix it because no one's going to be there to see you anyway?  And truly, the cats have no more fashion sense than I do.

Kaliko has just done her multi-times-a-day walk up and down my body, from toes to chest, placing those delicate little feet on my leg bones as if they were a highway, making sure to step on all the sore spots (and I adore her so much I rarely stop her.  She has this delightful  way of sitting on my chest and touching my lips ever so lightly with one paw, just as if she was kissing me.  Who can not love a cat.)   She didn't say a thing about my shirt.  (Crazy cat lady alert.)