guh....

Been working on the other house today. Cleaning, mainly. It's dirty, dusty, and exhausting work. Sorry, my alliteration is out to lunch. The upper storey is now completely cleaned and vaccuumed. Tomorrow, dad will hopefully have cleared enough of the ground to give us a place to start. And then it's the basement.

And hauling the boxes that are still there out. And dad is insisting on keeping our rusty, useless, bikes. Sigh.

I feel crappy, thanks to having a cold on top of everything.

Had a call from B. Loehr. They've got a job, but it's a long-term one. I need to call Monday and find out how long 'long-term' means. Because I really don't want to be stuck there in five months (or less) with them saying, "Oh, you can't leave *yet*!"

Eh. Hrm. But it's money. And I'm nearly to the point where I need money again. If I take it, I'll miss Friday at WW, and, well, let's just say Dragon*Con will be a short stay. Unless they're very lenient, and they let me take off any days I want like Linda did. Cross your fingers.

I sleep soon, I think.

The Great Box Migration of 2003

It had been a mild winter, and a damp spring. This was sad, for many of the older boxes began to become moldy and otherwise disenchanted with life. But they perservered in their duty, holding their contents as any stalwart and true box could.

But then the day came. The day they were to be moved. Except it didn't happen as they thought it would. The boxes found themselves emptied, their contents given to other, younger boxes. Some were sad, some relieved. And all gathered at the base of the basement stairs to await their final dispositions.

Word came down the line. It was time to migrate! A new place had been found for the boxes, and they were to end their days providing help for the environment!

Many of the older boxes gave quiet sighs of relief. To mold in the basement until their end of days would have left them sad and lonely. But to do this, to go out with a bang--why, even the newer boxes, that had gained their contents couldn't boast of such fortitude.

Some of the younger boxes, however, were not so sanguine. They resisted mightily being taken up the stairs into the ground floor. Some of them tumbled back down again and again, until the last had been dragged aloft.

But it didn't end there.

The migration continued, out through the kitchen and into the hot and humid afternoon. Many of the older boxes muttered and complained about this, certain that their inner rot would go much faster in the clime.

Journeying down the backyard gave them their first casualties. Boxes that were too infirm split apart under the demands of wind and toss. Others were accidentally crushed during a freak stampede when someone turned on the hose.

But the journey continued until many boxes found themselves sharing space in larger boxes at the end of the driveway. It was a strange situation for them.

And night was beginning to fall...

The Migration continues tomorrow.