I shall now pass out or die, whichever is easiest.

There is something incredibly wrong about focusing on one small section of my room, bulldozing through it, and coming away with four cardboard boxes and two giant bags of trash. Especially when you consider it was mostly a pile of magazines. I may drown in magazines. It won't be pretty.

Now, because I'm much more likely to actually do it if I've said I will, the plan is as follows:

- Move all the stuff from the front of my room... elsewhere. Dunno where, don't care. Off sides, people.
- Move my mini bookcase, TV, and accompanying junk to the now clear front of the room. Any other crap gets shoved the hell out of the way.
- Drag bed back in front of windows
- Redistribute crap where I see fit.
- Die a painful death.

There. That should only take forever. And the only reason to do all this crap, other than it's nice to be able to walk through my room without knocking stuff over? The very slim chance that Ryan is actually going to visit for Ari's wedding. If not, I'll have a nice clean room to begin the psychotic break. Yay!

Oh, and somewhere near the death, I'm to call him. Yes, this could be interesting.

And now a memory sparked by agent_alpo mentioning otters. When I was younger, I used to spend just about every semi-warm day over at Kate's house. They lived right on the edge of the not!lake and where it met the intercoastal waterway, which meant we did all sorts of stupid things, like walking out towards the drawbridge over pluff mud/marsh. Brilliant.
Anyway, one summer, Kate's dad gave her turtles he found at the pond by his office. Kate declared they needed to eat something from the lake, so we walked to the giiiiiiant pipes that fed the lake, courtesy of the waterway. Fascinating stuff, though the most we normally saw were a bunch of fiddler crabs. However, I think this was the summer of the mini jellyfish, so we were intrigued by what else was hiding out behind her house. In typical ten year old logic, we hung over the sides of the pipes [the fall wouldn't kill you, but the pluff mud might. Oi.] and watched the water rush back to the waterway. Which turned out to be exceptionally dull. After awhile we decided to head back to the turtles, but before we could leave, something comes flying out of the pipe, sending us both screaming like, well, girls. The thing?

An otter. Which meant we then spent the next hour waiting to see if we'd find another. We didn't, but we kept looking for the rest of the year.

For some odd ass reason, I keep hearing church bells. Odd.