As the time passed and the end of unemployment checks are in sight, I got that familiar bug up my ass. This bug has come and gone throughout the years, but for the most part, the bug was busy doing it's own thing, while I taunted and ridiculed it with "I'll get to it", the bug seemed to be okay with that for quite some time. I had learned to manipulate the bug into thinking it was getting things done, when all I was really doing was shuffling shit around. This bug, knowing my free time was coming to an end, got Kill Bill on my ass.The bug returned this time and apparently decided to colonize in my ass and refuse to leave. A lot had been done prior to this past week, but I'd have to say that I've gotten more accomplished this past week than I have in years. It's truly obsessive, I'm exhausted, my arms hurt, I have the sinus infection from hell that, thanks to the years worth of dust, has wreaked havoc up me nose. All that is left is two boxes of magazines, most of which document a particularly poignant marker of my life or history and I'm hoping to have those sorted and dealt with by the end of the day. The storage space is cleaned and organized, one side filled with stuff I'm keeping and holiday decor, the other side has the gardening tools and boxes of stuff (merchandise to the buyer, stuff to me) to be sold on eBay all the pictures have been taken, most have been uploaded to the computer and ready to go.
I have a huge bedroom, I probably noticed that when I moved in, but cluttered it up over the decade, with the crap dealt with, I still have huge bedroom and it looks like a bedroom, not another storage space. Now that the shit has been dealt with, the bug has tempered itself somewhat or it's just exhaustion physical and mental.
No more excuses, the palette soon to be clean, I can continue projects that I started months ago, some years ago. Elizabeth has been worth every penny I've paid her, she's kept me motivated, she's listened to every fucking story about everything we touched and did so compassionately. This lease, the one in which the bug up my ass has signed, is soon to expire and a new lease will be written. I won't miss this bug and I hope that I'll never have to entertain the little fucker again, but I appreciate the bug, otherwise I'd still be where I was months ago, it wasn't a bad place to be, it just wasn't where I wanted and needed to be to move on with my life and dreams.
So, if you get a bug up your bungholio and it's a productive bug, not a drunken Jew slandering bug (Sorry Mel, you were drunk, I know), embrace the bug, imagine the horror a of bug bomb (the horror) and get on with getting on.
