More nonsense

I've finished unpacking my books (no this doesn't mean I have them all put away, just that they are out of boxes). Why is it that the last box, which was the most deformed, was the one to contain the old and precious books that sit on my dresser? One of the books, which I would offer to my cousin if I was a nice soul (but my cousin is a wanker--I hope no Brits are reading this since they'll be more offended by the word than my American readers will) but I'm clearly not, is warped into the strangest curve I've ever seen. Actually, many of my books are curved out of shape, which makes my anal retentive self nuts, but this particular one is too old to make me comfortable just piling loads of other books on top of it to flatten it back out.

Why did I focus on the book boxes rather than organizing the back room in the basement where the Christmas decorations are completely buried? Never let it be said I am rational.

Is it time to throw out the leftover turkey yet?

Why is it that every room I enter seems to have a burned out lightbulb? And because life can't be easy, every light fixture in this house seems to use yet a different kind of bulb. So the people at Lowe's are going to start greeting me by name shortly!