Things are getting kinda messy around my house, owing to blurred borders between the ongoing Purge Fest and simultaneous Deadline Scramble, not to mention fallout from the now-completed municipal garbage strike, with which I won't bore you.
It all comes down to a four-letter word you never, ever want to hear at the start of a weekend:
I've already been through the house a zillion times hunting for possible bookshelf space, but I'm one of those hopeful people who thinks that eventually the creativity fairy will come and zap a light onto the perfect overlooked spot.
And when I say perfect, I mean not the spaces over the doors, which I keep licking my chops over and then coming to my senses about. Never mind the fact that I'd need a step stool to get up to them; I can guarantee the hardware would fail just as somebody is walking underneath. And that would be really messy.