das Haus verlassen, #6

I have paint everywhere.  I mean everywhere.  In places that one shouldn't have paint I have paint.

I'm not sure what's the higher number:  my blood pressure or the concentration level of acid in my stomach.

I am often times exhausted but yet I have trouble falling asleep.

Focus?  I normally have the attention span of a retarded gnat.  Lately it's been worse.

I am living in a mostly vacant home and my belongings mostly fit in a 5'x10' storage unit.  And I think I kind of like it.

I watch about an hour of television per week.  Now that Falling Skies is over, it may be down to zero.

I have gotten so good with caulk that I can now sculpt with it.

Sleep?  Maybe 5 or so a night.

I can't look at a carpet without seeing stains.

I have to remind myself that I normally don't have a short fuse.

Can I get a quantity discount when buying Febreze?

I now officially feel guilty about leaving work before 6pm.

I've given up on weighing myself.

Vegetables?  What are they?  You mean the green things you eat?

My cat will sometimes sit on my lap, I swear, just to calm me down.  And for the record my cat, like most cats, really doesn't give a rat's behind about any creature other than himself.

I have four different kinds of paint cans in my closet.

I've officially gone into home-repair overload.

Yes, I am selling my house.