Running out of room

I finally realized that I need two distinct and separate wardrobes. One is cheap stuff that I LIKE but won’t cry over when it gets ruined; that stuff is for work. Then there’s the bulk of my wardrobe, which is stuff I love and would cry over if it got destroyed.

In an RV, that kind of wardrobe is just not feasible. There’s no fucking place to keep it without cramming it into every possible nook and cranny and dealing with a clothing avalanche every time I want to wear clothes.

Recently, I got fed up with it all and went to my favorite fashion & style forum. I asked if anybody had any suggestions for how to stay sane for the next few months until we get moved into the house, because I was ready to donate half my closet just to stop the clothes avalanches. The suggestions I got were so obvious they made me say “doh” like Homer Simpson.

I guess I couldn’t see the forest for the trees. After our first summer in this RV, I did a seasonal changeover, bringing out all the warm clothes and putting away the summer clothes. That was some bullshit, and I vowed never to do it again. When the good ladies on that fashion forum suggested I stow the bulkier garments, it was like “why didn’t I think of that?” I bagged up two big-ass black garbage bags worth of sweaters and shit, and I had Sunshine help me haul them down the hill and hide them in the closet. I had to think of it as putting things in a holding zone, because seasonal changeovers are some bullshit.

The rest of the RV is in the same shape. I can’t open a cabinet door without risking getting trapped under a landslide of objects. The house is nearing a point where I can start moving shut in there, but it’s not there yet. There’s still too much dust and shit flying around, and that will continue to be the case until the kitchen cabinets are installed and wrapped with reclaimed wood on the exposed sides.

I’ve had to take most of my yarn stash and bag it up for temporary off-site storage. All of our winter weight blankets and comforters and shit have been bagged up for off-site storage. Some of my shoes are in a pile in the closet of the new house. I’ve moved most of my laundry detergent to the house because I mostly use my own washing machine these days. I’ve moved some of my hoard of body lotion & body wash down there

All that, and I’m still running out of fucking room in the magic bus.

I’ve enjoyed the last several years of self discovery that living in an RV has given me. I’ve learned what’s important, and what’s just “stuff”. I’ve been able to strip away some of the extraneous in my life (like TVs for every room), and add things that enhance my contentment (like my yarn crafts). The challenges of living this small have been interesting, but it is directly conflicting with the intentional, simple life we want to live. Canning, hunting, gardening, crafting, Sunshine’s art; these activities require a lot of gack, and we are running out of room.

Final note: gack–all that stuff on a live event production that is not otherwise classified. Microphones, speakers, props, wardrobe; these are all examples of classified items. Gaffers tape, sharpie markers, a stash of granola bars, dry socks; that’s gack.


Tool time!

I am acquiring enough tools that I’m going to need a she-shed pretty soon.

I have hand tools, many of them given to me by Rude Ass.

I have more hand tools hiding under this pile of junk.

I have jeweler’s tools.

I have a chainsaw of my very own.

And now I have my very own lawn tools. When I discovered that cordless weedeaters were a thing, I knew I had to have one. Weedeating has been a consistent problem out here from day 1. I actually attacked it with an Amish weedeater my first summer here.

I now have nobody to blame but myself if the grass around my RV, my house, or my container garden gets out of control.

Sunshine and I were at one of the big box building supply stores this week, and he fucked around and took me to the gardening section so he could get some oil of some kind. It happened to be located near the weedeater aisle. So of course I had to check their prices on cordless weedeaters.

The weedeater was priced at $70, which wasn’t bad. However, right next to the box with the weedeater was a kit that included the weedeater, a blower, a battery, and a charger for $68.

Of course I made him buy it for me. It was kind of a no brainer.

It was fairly easy to assemble them; just a few screws to hold the string guard in place, everything else snapped together.

Which sounds cheap, until you factor in the 180 rotation that the weedeater head is designed for, to make it also functional as an edger. As for blowers, they all have snap together tunnels for the air to come out of.

Now, I just had to clean out the rubbermaid storage shed that I intend to claim as my she-shed so I can lock up my tools to keep them from getting stolen. Because tools around here have a habit of going missing because someone borrowed them and left them wherever they got done with them.

Once the shed was cleaned out, Sunshine helped me move it to a spot closer to the new house

and I started putting my big tools in it.

If only I could find the motivation to actually move all my shit into one pile in my she-shed, I’d feel like I was accomplishing something. Until then, I’ll leave you with some pictures of the village idiot on Christmas morning me checking out my new tools.

What’s in your wallet?

A fashion forum I belong to has a thread going around about “what’s in your bag?”

I decided I needed to share it with you guys because I can’t figure out why on earth my bag is so freaking heavy. Hopefully, you will have some insight for me.
I’ve been afraid to look deeply in my bag for a couple of weeks now. My bag has gotten heavier and heavier, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. So, I’m diving in while there’s a community of friends to send search & rescue if I don’t resurface soon.
* several pounds of keys. I don’t know how it came to this.

* my wallet

* Revo shades and my eyeglasses for driving at night

* two ink pens, a folding hair brush, a cleaning cloth for glasses, and what I thought was a lollipop stick turned out to be 1/3 of an ink pen

* inhaler

* travel bottle of biotene mouth rinse because my b.p. meds are good at giving me cottonmouth

* vertigo meds. I learned the hard way not to leave home without them

* a cigarette lighter. Since I don’t smoke, I can only assume that this is there in case I ever get stranded on a deserted island & need to start a signal fire

* eyeglass repair tool

* leftover medicine from cold & flu season. I’m guessing these were left here in case I wind up on a deserted island

* my sobriety medallion given to me by my meeting group last year

* enough hair elastics for an entire squad of cheerleaders

* not one

* not two

* but three tubes of hand lotion. I guess I’m expecting that entire squad of cheerleaders to be stranded on that deserted island with me

* a band aid

* a band aid large enough to treat a gunshot wound. Because there’s sure to be a gunshot wound on the deserted island.

* a little snack for the deserted island. Apparently, I only need something to hold me over while I cook all those cheerleaders over that signal fire I started.

A labour rebellion

I’m on strike. Again.

Sunshine is out of town more than he is home. I’m trying not to be too bitchy or whiny about it, because I get that he doesn’t want to be away but we need the money to finish the house.

The boss had a family emergency last weekend, so I worked Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday AND my usual Friday plus he took my Sunday and had me come in Saturday. On Saturday, we were moving some tables and I tripped over a cross tie and did something bad to my hip/lower back. Yep, that hip; the one that has had sciatica since the great septic system debacle. Yesterday, I barely got off my ass except to make a desperately needed 12 step meeting.

This morning, I’ve got all of my DK/Sport weight yarn out because I’m mid-project finally making a something out of the fun yarns my niece gave me for The Christmas. I originally thought “blanket” but as I look at it, I’m thinking tree skirt for the holidays. The upside to a tree skirt is that I can leave the ends alone instead of weaving them in to hide them, because the back side will be against the floor and tree stand. I really hate weaving in ends.

My neck and shoulder hurt from work and Pilates. I’m still dealing with some sort of allergy sinus problem (this is my fourth bout with upper respiratory infection in 2018 and I’m disgusted with it), which means antibiotics. For the second time this year. If this keeps up, my body will be more bacteria free than a bottle of bleach.

I’m about to do a whole lot of nothing this week. I’m on strike. I’m fucking sick of being the only adult here to deal with chickens, cats, mail, construction decisions, house cleaning, laundry, and everything else one has to deal with in order to seem like an actual adult instead of the overgrown 12 year old I am. I have a tree skirt to work on. I have a closet to clean out and organize; The Purge is beginning here in the magic bus and it’s going to get ugly.

Side note: seriously ugly. I’m going to be getting rid of a lot of clothes, yarn, shoes, and anything that annoys me. Sunshine isn’t here to stop me, so nothing is sacred and nothing is safe.

In the end, I’m realizing that my “whole lot of nothing” is actually a lot of different somethings. Which makes me a total fucking liar when I say that I’m on strike. I guess what I really mean by “I’m on strike” is ME FIRST. I’m putting on my oxygen mask before I try and help anyone else put on theirs. I’m doing a whole lot of “whatever in the fuck I want to do” this week, with a dash of “whatever Mollie wants to do” thrown in for good measure. My body and spirit need it.

The view from up here

Recently, Mr B rented a scissor lift thingamajig. It was needed for the quonset hut that was being constructed. Mr B, being the overgrown toddler that he often is, had to play vroom-vroom with this piece of equipment (and really, who can blame him?).

Mollie and I hitched a ride, and he drove us around and raised and lowered us until my inner ear decided to revolt.

I did manage to get some pretty cool aerial shots of this junkyard intentional community.

The insanity ends now…

…until next weekend, when I do the same shit all over again expecting different results.

This is what happens to my home on weekends, because I work weekends and don’t have time to adult or house.

Normally,  I’m one of those “a place for everything and everything in its place” kind of girl. Normally I limit the amount of stuff that comes into my home; if I get new shoes/pants/whatever, I get rid of an old one. One in, one out.

With the house starting to actually look like a house or something,  I’ve been relaxing that “one in one out” rule somewhat.

Side note: Let’s get honest. I’ve just thrown that fucking rule right out the window.

I’ve been keeping things, because I’m about to have space for things. I can have more than 9 pairs of shoes.

Side note: Let’s get honest. I don’t think I’ve ever owned only 9 pairs of shoes.

Weekends, I’m so tired when I get home that I just stuff shit wherever it will fit. Which means that Mondays are spent unfucking my habitat.

Now, I’m off to do some unfucking. Wish me luck!