If a bomb went off in my kitchen...

would anyone notice the difference?

I haven't washed dishes in two days. Moving an office and decimating dust bunnies (though, I hope I did more than decimate, because that only means kill one in ten and I'm really hoping I got more than that) leaves one with odd aches and pains (why, for instance does my elbow hurt?) and all the whacking my head and slipping on slippery floors and bashing my fingers didn't really help either, so I just can't bring myself to wash dishes. Even though I am out of spoons.

Who needs spoons anyway? I can drink my soup and eat the fiddly bits with a fork. And when I run out of forks there are knifes and wine bottle openers. And some other odd implements in my what-is-it drawer that I've never found a use for. Until NOW!

But then I prepped the kitchen for some last minute painting. Husband *was* planning on painting the cabinet doors. So I took 'em all off the cabinets, cleaned 'em, made a newspaper protective carpet for the floor, set up the banana boxes, laid out the cabinet doors (sans handles), and cleaned the areas around where the doors had been. Making kind of a mess in the process, but ... bygones, the doors are READY.

But then husband got some phone calls from some sources and then the newspaper and has spent most of the day working on a story that had been shelved until suddenly it WASN'T and he had to do something about it.

So my kitchen as it stands... or not so much at the moment... is doorless and the cabinets all naked and exposed, with food and towels all higgeldy piggeldy (I swear I folded the towels before I stuffed them onto the that shelf) and dishes pilled in haphazard post-modernist sculptures (at least they are rinsed so it's not like dried food is holding the piles together... oh, wait, then what IS holding the piles together?) and screws and knobs in rows (sometimes I can be VERY OCD).

Speaking of OCD, I was pondering how to organize my husband's tool boxes (he just got another one for a birthday present) (yes, his birthday was actually some time ago, no I didn't get him anything other than the continued presence of my wonderful self) (whadday mean it's weird for ME to organize my husband's tool box?)...

Too many parenthetical sub-clauses and things... let me regroup.

Right, so I was thinking of how I can organize my husband's tool boxes and I decided that one box should be for things that screw.... And I laughed so hard I had to sit down. Then I got up and began dancing (more like spastic sashaying) and singing (in my head, thank the lucky stars) "Screws to the left of me, hammers to my right and here I am... stuck in the middle with glue!" Which led to me leaning on the wall and gasping for air.

No one saw me. And that's probably a good thing, since I'd be posting this from the loony bin otherwise. But, boy, I crack myself up!