No, not the show. It is my deepest and most sincere wish to be OUT OF THIS HOUSE by this summer. We've lived in the church's parsonage for a long time - two years after Jeff stepped down from youth ministry - and it is well beyond time to leave. Besides the fact that it isn't my house, I am tired of feeling obligated to someone else. So we are saving up money and trying to decide when to start the official search for rental property, which could, I should add, be a lengthy search. People just don't rent in this area. Apartments are nonexistent. The nearest place with apartments is 30 miles away, and Jeff doesn't want to commute. There's no telling what we are going to find - if we find anything at all.
At the moment I am far more concerned with the daunting task of sifting through eight years of accumulated junk. This includes all my ephermera from high school and college. We have an entire bathroom that has been dedicated to Christmas decorations and excess boxes. There are boxes in the hallway. There are boxes in the garage out back. We have an obscene amount of junk, and my packrat tendencies are going to make it hard to minimize the pile.
I have at least started, however. Last night I went through Bebo's room. That child has literally hundreds of matchbox cars - most of which were given to him by someone besides us. So I gave about 2/3s of them to our toy benevolence program at church. I also sent bouncy balls, ride-em toys, wheelbarrows, etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. - and it still doesn't look like I made much of a dent. Of course, that's partly because his room is tiny (no more than 8x11) with no closet space whatsoever.
So I've dug through one room. I still have two more bedrooms, an office, and a bathroom/storage room to sift. Those are going to be the really challenging rooms.
Good grief.
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