You understand, those in my profession have a neutral attitude towards excrement. Shit is, end story. Nonetheless, there are things I'd rather be doing on my weekends than moving kitchen furniture and cleaning the mouse poo behind them. (Sighs.) Two bookshelves and a fridge down, one bookshelf and the cupboards to go. Maybe I should get a cat.
OTOH as long as I'm cleaning mouse poo I needn't assemble my Ikea bookshelves. Don't know when or why Ikea assemblage became as high-anxiety an activity as doing taxes, but it is. I want someone to hold my hand and feed me gin and tonics for both, and there's no one to do that. Maybe I should get married.
And I want *clear* *sharp* pictures of my dragon king writing his report, like Gawain, 'an hour before my death and so subscribed with a portion of my heart's blood.' I do not have them and will not have them until various Kinokuniyas lift, as the Japanese phrase has it, their heavy buttocks. Maybe I should move back to Japan.
(And where's my copy of the Once and Future King when I want it, huh? This is why I can never throw books away, only play musical bookshelves amid the crescendoing anxiety of Too Many Books, Too Little Time, and Too Many Books Still Left To Read Even If I Never Buy Another One.)