Heading into the final day, in this eighth circle of Hell that I've called home for the past four years. I should not be sitting here. I should not be typing. I should be scrubbing or packing or wrapping or budgeting.
Because...
our yard sale flopped. We made a whopping twenty seven dollars and fifty cents.
And made a whole lotta people mad. They pulled up, looked at my stacks and stacks of children's clothes, toys, games, and books, and said, "Is this it?"
Then they tried to make us give them stuff. It was just... dumb, for lack of a better word.
I'm not giving up, though. I'm going to take my crap to the new location, and try all over. This actually works really well, because we can easily see what will fit and what won't, and just attempt to sell everything else.
On the plus side, we did get to say goodbye to most of the neighbors, and the new place netted us a lot more dough on our last yard sale, so maybe it's got some good mojo.
Ok, I've gotta pack.
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