Another long day.

I have a crib in my room now. A crib. It's sick; there's a huge metal contraption for small children wedged into the area by my windowseat, where it will remain for the next. seven. days.

On the other hand, I got a large bag of stuff sent off to some random charity center, and my room has been twice vacuumed and Febreezed for freshness. Not only that, it's actually CLEAN (well, except for the closet, where everything I didn't have anywhere else to put happens to reside). All I have to do now is change the bed linens tomorrow morning. And maybe commandeer my stereo for my parents' room.

I miss Lannie. *sniff*

More Spam.

I *physically* hate spiders.

My legs have broken out into hives from knee to ankle because, genius that I am, I went up into the attic to put away luggage wearing my pajama shorts. And of course there are spiders and their gloriously annoying clingy bits of webbing everywhere.

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In other news, Mom has expanded her diagnosis of Ruffles' continued health decline to be either cancer or a further level of her congestive heart failure issue, which started last fall.
Mom sure hopes she gets a third Pekingese.

The only things left to do *inside* the house, on the Official List of Chores Before Guests Come (drumroll, please), are:
-vacuum the upstairs. Yes, all of it. Again. For the third time.
-vacuum the tile area. Because the mop is outdated.
-do the backyard windows. Windex or ammonia and water. One comes with a refreshing berry scent.
-evacuate the rest of my room to an undisclosed location down the hallway. In enemy territory.
-change the linens on my bed. Hope the guest room linens are clean.
-put the furniture that's piled up at random, uncarpeted locations about the house, back where it belongs *on* the carpeted areas.
-get the smell of incense out of my room. Wouldn't want the rest of the Clan thinking I smoked or something. (Good luck getting this one done, I think.)
-figure out where I'm going to live for the next seven days, within the confines of 15862 Bowie street. I'm rooting for the rabbit hutch, myself.
-hope the fact that the house is twenty-three years old, and has been lived in accordingly, occurs to the guests, so that all the dirt we -couldn't- scrub out of the upholstery, carpet, walls and floors doesn't look quite so dirty.
-organize my Tools of Torture, should I be stuck with babysitting duties.
-if stuck with Toddler Tending, sum up a list of demands, not the least of which is some monetary reimbursement for the agony involved on my part.
-flee the western United States. Move to Florida. Assume the alias Miz Kittie and live a life free of small children and unwanted guests.


And people *wonder* why I prefer being antisocial.