The Snowball Effect

I always say I have more ideas than sense. And then I move on to mention that my theatre degree taught me that any decorating project can be accomplished with a Sharpie Marker and Duct Tape. The first is gospel. The second is hyperbole. What I really need is a time machine–a device that transports me into the future, to a time when the wreckage in my garage has transmogrified into elegant accessories for my humble abode.

Purple prose.

The big picture isn’t so Byzantine. Observe the current state of my garage:

garageclutter

H. G. Wells isn’t going to save me. I don’t have a magic bubble–à la Stephen King–to slide past the project phase. I’m more like the librarian in Audrey Niffenegger’s  Time Traveler’s Wife, naked in the woods without a clue.

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