the dead and unburied

The year is still not over still trying to finish the unfinished. Mostly shifting books around, deciding which projects should be just declared dead and buried. Scribbling notes about stuff I need to get done in ’08.

I usually never make new years resolutions, I don’t really see Jan 1st as the beginning of anything except that period where you keep trying to turn a seven into an eight in your check book. But perhaps it’s the whole middle age thing, or perhaps it’s with herself breaking bones, I can actually see a time when I have to move – something I despise down to my deepest dark crunchy center. I have been in this building for 30 years, I have crap stored in every corner of it and every outbuilding and one day I will have to deal with all of it. The only bright side is that it’s not all my crap, Herself and my brother, Himself are both much more pack ratty than I am. I have used them as bad examples and tried to keep mine down to a dull roar.

In no particular order things that need doing before I die, but preferably in 08:
• Sell or give away deadwood books
• Produce a paper catalog for
• Clean out the hoarded reams of paper and cardstock
• Publish a third edition of my book repair book for booksellers.
• Sell that service of 16 of Wedgwood in the basement.
• Make more instruction & demo videos
• Invest in higher end books for resale
• Dress less like a homeless person
• Rebuild the website make it look less homemade
• Sew more while I can still see
• List more items on eBay
• Waste less paper
• Shoot more film

I was supposed to spend the weekend sewing prototypes for a book wrap thungumbob but Even in 50 degree weather New Englanders have to shovel, all those pretty white snowflakes have turned into big honking icebergs melting and draining in to the century old basement. For the last couple of days Hiimself and I have been moving mountains, shifting them from one side of the house to the other. And so now I am back to popping Claritin and washing them down with Nyquil. Crappy part about feeling crappy is you can’t read. All those damn books I have been squirreling away are going to waste.

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