As you may recall, last month we spent a week in Milton-Freewater clearing out MIL's house. With MIL's blessing, much of her stuff was sent across the country to us, traveling on a slow truck.
In preparation for the new stuff, I have been sorting my current clutter. Luckily our neighborhood is having a community yard sale in two weeks. As I unpacked box after box with labels reading "glasses from old house," and "small items," I had visions of selling the multitude of vintage chairs, glassware and miscellaneous clutter I have accumulated. The house would be free and clear, ready to accept the new bounty, and we might make enough to buy a pizza. Ah, what good intentions I had.
The moving company called yesterday. The truck will be here on SATURDAY (which, by the way, is also Maryland Sheep and Wool. They better not show up before 3pm.)
Saturday...the day after tomorrow. My living room/kitchen/porch is still full of yet-to-be-yard-sale'd items. Where the *(&*(^!! am I going to put this new crap??
Panic has set in. I have temporarily become the de-clutter monster. That set of Fiestaware? On the block! The Iriquois China? Outta here! The Wonder Woman tumbler? Well, I might have to save that one.
I even considered thinning some of my precious stash. Fortunately it was only a momentary impluse.