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As part of my attempt to get back to feeling like a person again, I decided today that I wanted to re-organise the kitchen.  Or, at least, re-organise it as well as one can, when it’s like a 4×4′ box.

  
It’s so tiny, and the cupboards are useless.  Nothing actually fits.  My cereal and pasta has been down in the corner cupboards, on those spinner things they put in there for some reason.  But every time you try to spin it, something falls off and gets stuck, and then you have to get down on your hands and knees to pull it out.  And when all I want is a fucking bowl of Rice Crispies, that’s way too much effort.  So I brought it all out onto the counters, just so it will always be there when I want it.  Also, so I don’t forget that I’ve also got Fruity Pebbles that have been there since January.  I’m such an out of sight, out of mind person, it’s horrible.

A similar decision I made was to keep out any of the cookware that gets used a lot.  Because again, it was all down in the other corner cupboard, and kept getting trapped and stuck, and getting down on my hands and knees really hurts.  So, fuck it.  It’s all going to sit on that side of the counter, which was aleady occupied by the griddle that – guess what – doesn’t fit anywhere.  And the knives moved to a really stupid place, but that’s the only place where there isn’t cupboard right above the counter.  The cupboards would be far more functional if they were aboout six inches higher, and only had two shelves instead of three.  But as low as they are, you can’t get the knives out of the block if you put the block somewhere sensible, like by the stove.

This kitchen really wasn’t designed for people who like to cook.  Or really, like to eat, or have stuff.  We actually wound up converting the dining room into counter space earlier this month, with the addition of a dining table we never intend to eat at.  It’s entire purpose in life is literally to just hold the plants, and give me a space to roll out pizza dough.

While I was doing all that, I realised that what was really bugging me most about the kitchen was that big, empty blank spot right above the sink.  It really needed something bright and lively to to with my neon kitchen knives and Crayola cookware.  And then I remembered that I had the perfect thing, sitting amongst a stack of crap in my bedroom.  I ordered the Swedish Meal Time advent calendar a few years ago, when they did that, and it took so long to get to me, that I’d forgotten I ever ordered it.  It also arrived torn (I later learned why, and hold no ill-will toward the Swedish Meal Time guys.  That was just a massive clusterfuck for everyone).  I don’t usually like to tack up my  posters, but since it’s already torn and creased anyway, I decided to stick it up and expect to just throw it out eventually.  Which is a shame, because it’s lovely, and whoever drew it put quite a lot of effort into it.  

Also, while I was doing all this, I had Robin Hood call my grandparents to see if my uncle was still up this way, because we’ve still got a sofa bed at their place, and need help getting it here.  My grandpa wants to help, but I flat out told him no.  He’s old, and there are a bunch of stairs, and just no.  But my uncle is back down in Vancouver, helping get Barry into hospice.  So.  There’s that.  But Grandma suggested trying to get hold of one of my brothers.  One’s got a baby and works nights, one is single and has normal work hours, but is chronically lazy when he’s not working, I actually don’t have my older brother’s number, so that left Luke.  Who is the WORST person to get in contact with.  I called him.  He didn’t answer.  I called our dad.  HE didn’t answer.  I called Luke’s girlfriend.  Her phone’s shut off.  I texted Luke.  He didn’t answer.  I called again, and did what I knew I should have done the first time: left an angry, belligerent voice mail, calling him all sorts of names and demanding he call me back. (I later shared this information with my grandmother, should she ever need to get hold of him.  Call him an asshole and tell him to answer his phone.  She’ll do it, too.)

He called me back like, almost immediately.  That is the only way anyone can ever get him to call back.  It’s so irritating.  And then I pretty much had to bribe him with food, and then remind/guilt him that the cousin that lived up this way got kicked out and had to move to Eugene, our uncle’s in Vancouver doing hospice stuff, and grandpa is old, so please come help us move this sofa bed please.  He’s coming up tomorrow with his friend.  I’ll probably make them pizza or something.

This means that I also have to sort out the front room, which is still sort of a massive pile of boxes, all right where I want the sofa.  There’s a cupboard that’s going to be for storage anyway, so I’ll probably have Robin Hood help me stuff everything in there.  But getting the sofa up here will also give me a new project.  It’s hideous, and the cushions are all crap, so making a slipcover for it, and sourcing new foam to make it not awful will give me something to do for a few days.  And by slipcover, I totally mean finding some outrageous fabric, and some really heavy safety pins.  My skills don’t go much farther than that, and even though I do know someone with the ability to do it well, I’ve never seen them actually complete a project in a reasonable amount of time, and it’s not really worth waiting four months.

Crossposted from WordPress. http://ift.tt/1Rl5Bbs

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