The past three days have been non-stop doing.
The Grandson spent the weekend and the past few days with us. He's a sweet, bushy-headed, 6'3" munchkin. Sixteen years old. Grandmama's Boy. I'm so proud of him and have been so happy to have him here. I've fed him breakfast and taken him to school for the past three days. (It's been a while since I've had to get a kid off to school!). One of his friends, another bushy-headed munchkin, has been driving him home in the afternoons, which made me a little nervous, not knowing the kid.
Yesterday afternoon, he asked if we could go to Walmart. He wanted to buy some CDs to listen to in his truck, which he can't yet drive because he doesn't have a license. I consented and took him to Walmart. His music choices were Nirvana, Willie Nelson, and Creedence Clearwater Revival. We tried to listen to one of the CDs on the way home, but there's a CD stuck in the player in my car. When we got home, he went to his truck.
I said, "You want to drive it?"
His eyes lit up.
We drove for miles and miles and miles. Backroads. The highway. He did fairly well, but he needs more practice, especially at coming to a stop then turning; he almost laid rubber a couple of times. And he was a little too focused on the music.
He went home to his mama this afternoon.
We'll practice again soon.
What's got me so worn out is the inventory I'm doing at work. Heavy boxes, heavy books. Every time I think I'm about done, I discover more stuff. I hope to get this basement room (which is actually 5 rooms) done this week, because we're leaving town Sunday and won't be back for nearly two weeks, and I hate picking up where I left off after a long break, regardless of what the job is.
Today I cleaned out a closet under a stairwell to get to some 30-year-old financial records that need to be disposed of, anyway, once we get proper authorization. It was a nightmare of junk, tossed in haphazardly. There were computer program manuals for computer programs that don't exist anymore. I pawned them off on the IT guy, who was stoked about their "historical value."
At the bottom of the pile were half a dozen nasty, moldy rugs. I called maintenance and asked them to come get them and some warped rubber chair mats that had turned brittle. The guy who came to get them said he wasn't going to throw them away, that maybe somebody could use them to lie on while working on wet ground. Whatever floats his boat, but there's no way I'd walk on them, much less lie on them.
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