Four work days left until I am supposed to wing my way airily down to Santa Monica.
First off -- My back is feeling better. Not completely, and strangely enough, it is worse at night, especially when I try to lay flat. But better is a good thing.
Second -- I've finally got some boxes of books packed for the fair. Eight boxes. Not what I NEED or what I'd like to have done by now, but better than the NONE I had three days ago.
Today was a non-starter for work. Sort of. Instead of doing data entry (which STILL needs to be done), I went and discussed a book for possible consignment. All I can say right now is that it went well.
It IS, however, the first time I've ever allowed myself to do a consignment type of arrangement and I'll have to see how things go. Normally I try to pay outright for stock as it makes life MUCH simpler. But...
Third -- I'm dreading taking the boxes (and right about now I'm estimating 25 or so boxes for this fair alone) from the house to the car. I'll do it, and I'll probably be sorry I did do it, but it has to be done. On the up side, when I get to the fair, there are wonderful helper guys who help unload for me.
And if you're wondering why my crew of menfolk here don't help -- My husband just recently RE-dislocated his shoulder and is forbidden from lifting heavy stuff (he lifted son number two, the feather weight and pulled it again), Son number one tried to lift a box -- picked it up -- and put it down two steps later. I'll have to start weight training on him (he can use partly filled boxes of books.... hey, there's an idea). As for son number two -- well, he weights about the same amount as some of the boxes and LESS than others.
For someone who's been noticing the bathroom scale inching up recently, having to hear him moan about the fact that he CAN'T even gain ONE pound (still stuck at 51 lbs and this is going on about a year now) makes me want to throw things (not at him).
So it's me and the boxes. And the dratted bookcases which weigh fifty pounds or so (wooden, four shelves), not to mention all the other sundry items that go along.
And then there's the drive down. Six+ hours sitting on my rump doesn't make my back feel much better. I do get out every two hours or so just to see if my legs will hold me up. That's fun to watch -- how many (mmph) year olds do you know who have to wildly grab for the door of the vehicle to hold themselves up when there legs decide NOT to work after a stint of driving?
Yeah, I'm going on a bit.
Yeah, I'll make it just fine.
But it's fun to complain about.
Maybe tomorrow I'll get more work done.
Maybe the boxes for the fair with magically fill themselves with priced, dust jacket covered, perfect books.
Maybe not -- FOUR MORE DAYS!
Tomorrow, the plight of the truly clothes-less person...