Rampage

I have been on a rampage the last two days. I am not certain if I am manic depressive (oh boy howdy is there some evidence to support that theory) or if I really just need to be active and engaged to be happy. Yesterday I demolished a closet (images to follow), fought for my rights (I almost spelled that "writes", ironically) regarding an article that I wrote and the subject edited, repaired the drywall where I had made new dents during the demo (which was hilarious fun, I should have taken more pictures to show the bizarre, in-between stage where the shelf was stuck in place but there were no more nails holding it to the wall...kind of a puzzler), pruned my whole garden, assembled two metal shelving units, reorganized the garage, went shopping for ladybugs (to eat the aphids that are in turn eating my roses), dinner, and cat litter, changed the cat litter, folded the previously washed laundry, cleaned the kitchen, and cooked half of dinner. It was a thoroughly bizarre amount of work considering that I am usually sitting at this very computer on Facebook or checking email or doing anything that is not manual labor that will make our lives better. Making our lives better makes me happier.

So, today I have primed and painted the previously demoed and repaired closet, painted the third bathroom, started to do the laundry from this last week, wrote a page and a half of questions for a new article, made myself lunch, and am about to start the second coat of paint for the closet and bathroom. The only reason that I am blogging is because I can't apply the second coat for another thirty minutes. Stupid dry times.

Why the sudden rampage of activity? My sister and brother in law are coming down this weekend and I want the house to be nice for them. Nice meaning I want them to have a bathroom of their own, a dining room table to eat at (which is as of this moment still the over filled "craft" table), a clean house (haven't started that process yet), and a gourmet menu of tantilizing treats. The latter would be because my b-i-l is a super magnificent chef and I don't want to throw some frozen dinners or pot pies into the oven when he stops by. At the moment, he knows that I can cook desert and is fairly certain that I will be making cakes and pies for every meal. Until he voiced this concern, that is exactly what was going to happen. Now I feel as though I need to learn how to cook real food. We usually grill real food, but my sister doesn't eat beef, so I need to come up with something other than filets on the barbie. How does a barbeque chicken cheese cake sound?