Pooped

I am pooped. tired. ragged. exhausted. wrung out. pooped.

I am having one of those weeks where the weight of the world feels like it is on my shoulders.

The consignment sale is looming nearer and nearer and fliers need to be printed, sent to the mailing list company and be put in the mail ASAP. Ebay stuff is backing up on me. The house is a WRECK. I just got in a huge store (I buy out children's boutiques that go out of business) and the inventory is taking over my house. I have boxes that need to be inventoried, boxes that need to be priced, empty boxes that need to be burned or destroyed, and trash bags of shoes in my kitchen (don't ask). I have a mound of paperwork on my dining room table and my buffet. There are stacks of Gymboree clothing in my bedroom floor that are rapidly closing in on my king size bed. They need to be put into sets and priced (and probably rehung). Downstairs, oh, downstairs. Well, let's just say, downstairs the kids toy room is getting ready to be turned into a processing room for the boxes of clothes on the second floor. The media room has enough toys that the kids cleaned out of their toy room for the consignment sale to cover a dead body. Not to mention that in the midst of all this, there are even more clothes.

Did I mention that I am tired?

Yes, I know I brought it on myself, but I'm just being REAL and putting it out there. If you get a chance to pray for me, just shoot up a prayer for clarity and decluttering my life. I don't like being pooped.