Home cleaning...

Possibly the least sexy subject to blog about. Ever. And yet, blog I must, as I know that putting things into words will help me actualize it. (Note to self -- blogging about a subject does not actually count as doing it, no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise.)

I need to run to the dump landfill Residential Drop-Off Center. The fact that I don't even know what to call it should be telling. But there are things in my apartment that need disposing of. Useless boxes of things. A couple dead lamps. An old TV. A ferret cage with the bottom beginning to rot out.

Many of these things, in order to get them out of the sight of company, have been shoved into my office. Which is fine, except that they have grown a rudimentary form of sentience, and are slowly, very slowly, encroaching on my desk. I'm pretty sure I saw one sewing a little flag for the lot of them. Soon, they will have their own cable TV, and be unstoppable.

This is, of course, my own fault. I've put off dealing with rubbish as much as I can, for as long as I can. Bah. It can no longer be avoided. Not if I want to reclaim my office and the corner of the bedroom where the cage is now.

Will probably need to rent a truck or some such, there's so much rubbish.

At some point afterward, there will probably be Ikea. And the cycle will begin anew.