On my way home to meet the appraiser, I got a call from their office: would it be OK to push the meeting back to 7:00pm? Not the six hours I had wished for in the morning, but a nice three hour chunk that I put to good use.
The next load for charity is accruing in the truck. The shredder got quite a workout. Beloved's cowboy boots are actually in the closet, as are three pairs of my own shoes. The box of CPAP supplies is unpacked and its contents put to use. The empty box is in the trash, and the trash bin is on the curb. The pile of stuff on the fallow side of the bed is significantly diminished. The guitar stand is assembled.
I am about to tackle the contents of another smallish box. It looks innocuous. (This is the part in a movie when scary music starts to play and you yell at the screen.) The top of the desk by my bed is still ridiculous. That's OK. It can wait awhile longer.
I am hoping there will be time between work and the Primary presidency meeting to go get my banjo. That hope will sustain me through this morning's docket meeting and whatever piled up on my desk after I left the office yesterday afternoon.
Hey, box! Fear and tremble! You are no match for a future banjo player!
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