Well it seems that I’m never going to finish cleaning out this fucking storage unit, but what I will do, over and over, is overdo it! I had twelve boxes left in there and some other miscellaneous shit (isn’t there ALWAYS miscellaneous shit?) and I told myself that I would bring home four boxes over the next three days. WELL I got there and I don’t know if it was the Adderall talking or the morning coffee, but this inner dumbshit got all gung-ho and said “I GOT this!” and I loaded up the car with TEN boxes. It’s so fucking easy to load from the storage unit! About five steps from the unit to the car, plop, on to the next. And then I got home. And I have to come in the front door, through the living room, family room, down the stairs to the basement, open a little trap door, climb up onto my desk, hoist the box in, crawl into the crawl space, pick up the box, and go stack it somewhere. Which begs the question…what in the fuck is WRONG with me??? What made me think I could do this TEN TIMES in a day??? Yes I have a bad back and bad knees and a little thing called “Fibromyalgia” and I’m almost fifty years old…does the word “limits” mean anything to you? No. I guess not. So I actually just got all the boxes downstairs, sitting on the floor, fucking up my Feng Shui, nothing has been moved to the crawl space yet, and I’m icing my back, writing this, and cursing myself. I don’t know why I make such poor decisions. You’d think I’d learn. Does anyone else have the fantasy that they’re still in their twenties and can do all this shit lickety-split? There must be a name for it. Besides STOOPID. Oh well. My break is over. Time to go move some boxes. Hope you’re having a stellar Leap Day! Peach out, homies!