>Wow. What a weekend. The only time I left my house was to go to Kroger. Other than that, the only time I was around other people was when I had to get my brother to stop by to help me to un-wedge the sofa I got stuck standing up in the hallway. I successfully maneuvered the iron bed from my guest room into my computer room, but in order to do that, first I had to remove the sofa from the computer room. No problem. The problem occurred, however, when I tried to move the sofa into the guest room (aka Launch Pad for packing, sorting, purging and packing again). So there it was, standing up diagonally in my hallway, propped up by its enormity, in between the two door facings.

I sent Jason a text message asking if he could help me, and his immediate response was, “Sure.” No less than two minutes later, he, Jodi, and Jeorgia were here, dressed in their Sunday best. Huh? They had been at church nearby and just swung onto my street on their way home.

So, he assesses the situation, tells me it’s not going into that room. When I tell him I took from the room at the END of the hall, he began to reconsider. Then he said, “Um, it would help if you removed the legs first.” Oh. Yep, that would help. They are at least five inches tall, adding that much width to the sofa. I looked at Jodi and said, “Sometimes, being book smart isn’t all that helpful in situations like this.” Not to say that I am not both street-smart AND a person of sufficient common sense. It’s just that when you are faced with a ginormous sofa crushing you to your death ten weeks before you are finally going to get married, common sense sort of takes the day off. Back to When Harry Met Sally. ” . . . or maybe you’re trapped under something heavy.”

Chris was working on a video for Winston, literally all weekend, and we did not get to see each other at all. In fact, we only talked briefly Sunday afternoon, long enough for him to say that he thought he might be getting sick and that he was going to go to bed early because he felt really exhausted from having spent so much time editing and composing and all that this weekend. I wish everyone knew how much time and energy he dedicates to those projects. They are literally all-consuming. The final product is always, always top-notch and quite professional, so of course that makes everyone think it must be something he can do with the touch of a button. But in the world of templates and all things automated, he insists on doing the work as if it were a major production. Because that’s how he rolls. Like a pro. That’s one of the reasons I love him.

Grad school night classes start on Tuesday night, and I am not sure if that will be a blessing or a curse. I have to say that I rather enjoyed my 17-hour days this weekend. Both days, I was awake by 5:30 am (not on purpose. That’s how I roll!), and I really did get quite a lot done. There are five big bags by the curb, I sent a box of fun kid stuff home with Jeorgia yesterday, and I have made a little better sense of what is left in that one room. It is not complete, but now, at least, I have a comfy sofa in there to sit on while I sort through what is left.

Oh! Yesterday, in the quest, I came across a file full of old emails I had printed out when switching computers about 8-9 years ago. I found some funny stuff. Primarily attributable to Scott Morris and Cyndi Forman (or exchanges among the three of us) — gosh, we had a blast! Back in the day. I also found deal memos from NBC detailing some of my first song placements on the TV show Providence. What a fun deal that was — especially when they began to use one of the songs on all their season finale promo spots. Very emotional! (That song, by the way, is one of the best of all time called “Let The Sun Fall Down” by Kim Richey).

Okay, back to funny emails. I found this one between me and a girl who worked at Mercury Records:

Me: “Hey, there, Georgie girl. Are we will still gonna get lunch today? How pathetic is it that the cereal bowl just left my lips, and I’m craving lunch already? Pretty pathetic, let me tell you. Where do you want to go and at what time? I will pretty much eat anything, especially today, since I am at the height of PMS (more than you wanted or needed to know, I’m sure). Let me re-cap the weekend for you:

Friday night: do nothing. Go for margaritas with friends. Order steak. With trimmings. Consume rapidly.

Saturday: Have protein shake for breakfast (steak in a glass). Lay on bed majority of day, talking on phone and watching “Real World” re-runs (more addictive than crack cocaine). Go to grocery store. Buy chicken, beef ribs, and other unidentifiable meat product. Get excited about eating. Stop at grocery store pay phone to call friends to invite over for binge-fest. Get invited to their house instead. Pay. Decide to satisfy craving for grape slush and corn dog (with mustard) at Sonic Drive-In (not on my way home). Go to friend’s house. More margaritas, but not too many. Eat pork chops (equivalent to body weight) and baked potatoes and chips of all varieties. Fall asleep. Then go home.

Sunday: Wake up late. Go to church with friend. Stop for bagel and cream cheese (lite or regular? ‘regular please’) and a double iced mocha (also somewhat like crack cocaine). Come home. Make tacos for 12. Eat 6. Lay around. Fall asleep. Contemplate going to movies. Go to Phonoluxe instead. Spend .35 cents more than if had gone to movies. Come home. Invite friend over to watch Varsity Blues on pay-per-view. Crave pancakes (or waffles). Go to store. Buy Hungry Jack pancake/waffle mix. Friend arrives with bacon. Cook all in package and make 4 pancakes each. Drench in butter and syrup. Disgust self. (More than movie disgusts self). Eat only 1/3 of pancake supper but all of bacon. Since it had touched the warm syrup and had become delicacy item in process. Talk on phone. Lay on bed. Go to sleep.

Monday: Raisin bran with 1% milk in hopes of undoing damage of weekend. Remember having lunch plans. Begin thinking about food all over again.

So, where do you want to go? I’m starving!?!?!!” END OF EMAIL (1999)

Maybe that is why I weighed 200 pounds when I left Nashville. Ya think?