Nought To Sixty And Mental Cornering

I am sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by boxes and bags, covered in dust and with an odd Popeye twitch blink.
Two remarkable things about this tableau are:
1) I can actually sit in the floor. Not a lot of floor but STILL. FLOOR. I CAN SEE CARPET. 

And 2) I am not swearing or in a miserable heap, sobbing into a binbag. 

For November, with my defective brainmeats, that is nigh on a miracle. So am celebrating/binning/grinning madly. Especially since a few weeks ago I was ready to crawl into a nest of the rubbish bags and stay there till at least the end of March. Then with a medication boost I was a strung out Nic Cage with an attention disorder. Sort of “A little tired, a little wired, oh, SQUIRREL!” Definitely shades of Gone In (Less Than) Sixty Seconds. I make a terrible Nic Cage though. At least I hope I do. My ordinary state is quiet, still and inclined to nap, much like an elderly cat. When Nic Cage was on board my inner elderly cat was in a state of clawy panic and hanging on desperately. 

Naturally, with this titanic battle waging between my ears, I couldn't concentrate and ran out of dehoarding motivation fairly quickly. The elderly cat would merely wonder if it could sleep on an item and if not, lose interest and Nic Cage ran about yelling about bunnies and forgetting what the question was. 
It was an exciting time in the Dragon Hoard and no mistake. I raged about the Hoard to no purpose at all, or lay on my face eating biscuits. Major Dragon couldn’t work out whether to yell at me for my lack of work in the Hoard, give me cake or cautiously ask about what was going on. She generally settled for picking one each evening depending on what mood she was in. Since Major Dragon hates this time of year too, we are an operatic party of fortissimo voices and clattering kitchen rage at the best of times. The neighbours have probably stuffed entire pillows in their ears. 




…Ooh SQUIRREL!




Um. Where was I? Well, I would like to explain how everything worked out in some sort of sensible way how I wound up on the floor binning but I am not very sure. I have memories of having Nic Cage moments at stupid hours of the morning and I think I gave up and tried to find something to do. Next thing I know it is… some time later and I have filled the wheelie bin. And I am a good chunk calmer. I don’t know what is in the bin but the medication ensures I don’t really care. Excellent.
And Major Dragon? You won’t believe it but while Nic ran amok, she decided to show me up by doing some clearing. And she found some bags marked to go to the charity shop. Now the CoH readers know the drill. Open the bags, check for valuables, opt to keep most of said “valuables”, sorting them into a fresh stack of boxes and bags, well, halfway before getting tired and/or bored, and leave them scattered in the nearest goat path so you feel like a Olympic hurdler when trying to get to the bathroom. And then they look on in blank bafflement at their offspring while they hammer their heads off the nearest wall again because stuff just won’t leave. I was gritting my teeth preparing for the inevitable head/surface contact as MD told me cheerily about her discovery…

“Sorry, you did what?”

“I said, I did like the books tell you to and left the bags sealed to take to the charity shop since they were marked with the yellow stickers” 

*blink blink* 

She really did that. Not even Nic Cage was ready for that one. 

Okay, they haven’t gone to the charity shop yet, but she still hasn’t touched them. Not one quick “just in case” double check so far. I can’t quite believe it. 
I am not sure what demented movie actor has got a hold of the steering wheel in Major Dragon’s head but long may they keep driving.

(PS. Hopefully that is the formatting of the post fixed.  It went a bit Nic Cage too I think. Tell me if it is still all weird and gappy and justified)