At one point in the gathering, I went down to the basement to get something from the backup fridge we kept there. One of the men, curious, followed me down. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, and saw the pile of semi-organized tools, boxes and car parts my then-husband had filled the basement with, he went rigid. "Junk, junk, mess, mess, mess!" He turned, and stiffly walked up the stairs, hands fluttering in distress. "Junk, junk, mess, mess, mess!"
I feel much the same way this week.
There are boxes everywhere, with paths through the rooms. Last week, I pushed everything to one side of the rooms, and gave half the walls their final coat of paint. Saturday, I pushed it all the other direction, and painted the other half of the walls. (with some welcome help from a friend...) Now, I finally have the furniture in place - and I've run out of energy to empty the rest of the boxes.
I look at the mess and am overwhelmed by the size of the task. I tell myself NOW is not the time to get discouraged; the remainder of the boxes should empty quickly now that the various cabinets are ready to be filled with their loads. Yet, I look at the pile, and all I can think is "junk, junk, mess, mess, mess!"
It's time to go back to the basics and break the task down into bite-sized pieces. Each evening, empty just three boxes. I can empty three boxes. Even when I'm tired, I can do that much; that little. If I stick with it, I'll have some order in the place by the end of the weekend.
Which will be good. I'm slightly better at concealing my distress at the continued disorder than my long-ago guest was, but then I do have the advantage of superior social skills. supposedly.