The only thing that keeps us distant is that I keep fuckin' up

By ten this morning it felt like my day was over. I'm tired and frustrated and a big whiny bitch. Spent most of my time wrestling stuff around and cleaning my room enough that I could fit my dresser into my closet, which will give me more working space in my room.
I had measured everything out and knew the dresser would fit in there. What I didn't measure was the size of the entry, and whether it would fit through that. It won't. And now, I realize, that I'm lucky I didn't wrench it in there because then I wouldn't have been able to open the drawers. Which somewhat defeats the purpose.
So my room and the hallway are a complete shambles, and access to the back half of the house is problematic at best, and I still have about eight million things that still need to be done. And there's food sitting on the counter which ostensibly was going to be breakfast. I think I can get it back into the refrigerator before it spoils.

What a difference a day makes

Dramatic turn around from this morning. Yes, there's still a metric assload of stuff I need to do and no time to do it in. But after curling up on the couch and crying a little, I made some executive decisions, hauled a bunch of boxes down the stairs and out to the garage and then hauled all the bureau drawers down the stairs and out into the garage, and then hauled the bureau down the stairs and out into the garage. I shuffled and tidied things, until I realized my arms were mightily pissed off about the bureau hauling and refused to do any more work. Then I begged Cindy to loan me the cargo space of her car, and went to Le Target to buy two smaller plastic storage units to do the job of the big heavy wooden bureau. By five-thirty there was no evidence of the morning's cock up.
Then I retreated to my room and drew up permanent files for the cover art and liner notes for Git in Mah Belly and pushed and prodded at the Oakenfold cut and used a different software system until I got a CD copy of the Difficult Listening disc to burn *with the track on it*. Whatever the problem was earlier, it's either gone now or it's only a problem on the Roxio software. (Amy, Ellie and whoever got an old version, let me know if you want a new one too.)
So. I conquered the bureau, made PhotoShop my bitch, and pummeled the CD burner into submission. I feel much better. But I'm still exhausted.