How can I be tired after spending all day sitting in my yard and making money off of stuff I don’t want anymore?

It went in stages.  The joy of a cup of coffee and a blackberry-topped cheese danish.  The boredom.  The beauty of cash being handed over for things I’d forgotten I owned.  The chatting with neighbors.  The constant taking off and putting on of my sweater as the sun played hide and seek.  The finishing of The Book Thief.  The rearranging of stuff.  The questioning of people’s taste (“why did that guy buy the ugliest knick-knack and leave behind this relatively nice one?”)  The loud fake conversations about how great this stuff is and what a bargain!  The reminiscing about times we wore certain outfits that are now for sale (“that was when he wrote the ‘sorry I’m a gerk’ note”).  The counting of money.  The boredom.  You get the picture.

Now my room is pleasantly emptied (although it still manages to be cluttered) and I’m thinking an eggshell blue on the walls, rearranged furniture, and a rotation of art.  I live for this stuff.

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