Yeah, no post yesterday, but in my defense, I was very busy finally introducing Tony to Doctor Who. Full-day crash course in the history of the series, followed by a viewing of the reboot’s pilot episode. He is intrigued. This must be what missionaries feel like. I am doing the Time Lord’s work.
I’ve been watching Property Virgins for about eight hours straight. HGTV has become my great motivator of late, but I may have found my limit. Anyway. Since my room never seems to lend itself to productivity, I decided I should extricate myself from therein and plunk down in our family room with two big boxes of nonsense I’ve been meaning to sell for eons and get the hell to it. A full work day later, and here I still sit, photographing, weighing, estimating shipping, and fighting a growing urge to discover time travel in order to meet up with myself from ages eight to twenty-five, give myself a good, hard shaking, and steal my wallet for my own damn good. Remember that time I owned five different porcelain figures of various characters from Disney’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame? Plush versions of Leonardo Da Vinci, Edgar Allen Poe, Jane Austen, and a bunch of different composers? How about the time I owned over 120 different Buffy the Vampire Slayer comics? Yeah. It’s fine, Past Heather. I totally don’t ever want to own a home. Keep on spending like some kind of demented hotel heiress.
OH THANK GOD WE’VE SWITCHED TO LOVE IT OR LIST IT. I don’t even care that it’s an episode I’ve seen before, I just couldn’t take another thirty-minute session of people younger than me stumbling through their first real estate investment. Maybe I can build a home out of my Disney memorabilia? Instead of a floor I’ll have a stuffed Cheshire Cat, and instead of a window I’ll have a collectible Hunchback of Notre Dame bas-relief plate. And oh, how I shall weep.
Do me a solid and go buy some of my stuff? Be a pal? Thanks bunches.