Why Don't I Listen to My Husband?

I should listen to my husband. The hero knows me better than I know myself. Really he does. This is why he is the hero. In the space of a few weeks, (what day is this?) I believe I have managed to exhaust myself by my manic quest to unpack nearly every freaking box and organize every single item. This week, I've been meaning to put it all together... the fun part. Hang the pictures, place the knick knacks just so...

I've done a bit of that, yes. Yesterday I hung a small gallery of anscestors in black and white in the living room. Today I installed an under cabinet CD/Radio combo thingy in the kitchen. Oh, and had Jane the Ignorant Slut (the GPS) escort me to the neighbor town to do some shopping for essentials. Back and two loads of laundry later, and I'm hanging my head, not out of shame, just because the muscles won't hold it up any longer.

Back to what I was saying about the Hero. He predicted this would happen to me. He is brilliant that way. I am going to try to rest a bit over the weekend and renew my spirit.

Aren't these photos fun? I found a link for Zoe Jaremus, the photographer, over at Beachbungalow 8.

Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm crawling back into my happy place to rest and maybe do a bit of worrying about a boy I know and love. Will see you Monday.

P.S. Best Wishes and Good Luck or Break a Leg whichever is the proper thing to say to a certain someone I know taking her PH.D exam today.