I’ve been lax. Really lax. The only thing I’ve accomplished this week is finalizing the home office/ [not sure what to call it] room.
If you’ve been following along, I’ve been slowly consolidating all my sister and niece’s stuff, and taking back the room behind the garage. There is a LOT of stuff. But I’ve hacked out a space for my computer stuff, and another space for people to hang out and whatever.
Would you believe there’s a hidden dick move in all that? Dickdom is creepy and sneaky, and sneaks in where you least expect it. The reason my niece’s stuff is here, is because her previous landlord hauled her stuff up here, and just more or less shoveled into whatever space. Not cool.
She wants to go thorough the stuff and donate it to a thrift store, which makes good sense for some things. But not underwear. I like shopping at thrift stores in general, because sometimes they have weird quirky stuff, or that one obsolete cable I need to restore someone’s old computer.
But I was disturbed, when I saw a box in the store, of used underwear. Laundered, to be fair, but. No. Hard pass. None of it appeared to be in bad shape, appeared to be the intended colors, but … no. I’m not sure what makes me cringe more — that someone donates it, or that someone wears it.
Is your state four-twenty friendly? Mine is.
Have a great day, and I promise the next post will be an absolute banger.
The Night Driver 