Tonight my mom asked me if I was going to get straight into my jammies. I told her I might.
After jury duty last Tuesday I spent all weekend at the Ancestral Manse, packing and sweating and eating at Mr. Pickles. I can't tell you how much pleasure Mr. Pickles gives me. The dewy-fresh youngsters who make my sandwich just right are adorable. Being there in their midst transports me to the restaurant where I worked during my senior year in high school. Life seems so simple when I'm there listening to heavy metal and waiting for my sammy. The last thing I will do when I leave my home town is to get a sandwich at Mr. Pickles, eat it, and walk over to the church across the street and ask about its architecture. More on that later.
Over the weekend I clarified what was on offer to the auction house. My family had decided to keep the Asian art because it's not worth what we've been insuring it for all of these years. When I notified the auction house that we were keeping the Asian stuff, they politely gave us the finger, which caused certain persons to say that we should put the stuff in storage. Argh. I get that my house is the baleen of the family now, but I'm so pooped and have so little time left. Oh man.
By this morning I was allowed to offer some Asian art to the auction house and we're now back in business. omg. This is my life now. And I really want to be working and playing with my mama.
Anyhoo, back to my sweet mama's observation. My current relaxation is to sit in the chair of my father and grandfather and listen to records from our Tribunal list and reject, reject, reject terrible ones.
Finally, some control.