It's becoming quite clear to me that the universe is trying to tell me something.
And that something is: stop putting things off, girl.
The original plan for Wednesday was to come home, stay up, and pretty much kick butt on the house: get the second coat of paint on the parlor window, put the sash locks back on, clean house, do laundry, move some furniture and--most importantly--pack up the 5 billion fragile little things in my great-grandma's china cabinet so that Charlie and I can move furniture on Friday and start in on the floors.
Instead, I slept until 1:30 in the afternoon. (Totally Charlie's fault for not calling me on his lunch break like he usually does, right?) Then I straightened up the house a bit, colored my hair, and went to supper and movie night with my bestie Amy. "Meh," I thought, "I can do all that stuff on Thursday, no problem." Which would've been true, except...halfway through the first movie I got a page from work that I was being called in on mandatory overtime for day shift on Thursday. Day shift. Ugh. But as my friend Colleen tweeted, "Just think though, it's extra $$." True. OT pay which will go towards stain and poly and picture rail and other stuff. It's a good thing.
Thursday night I am cleaning my house. Then I'm pulling all the small furniture into the other parlor. Then I'm packing up the china cabinet. I am. Really. No more putting things off. I need to be less like the fabled grasshopper and more like the ant.