![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD-zlBw_ufx4giE_RYjs2xbn2BlNY_p0e9QBT_k7_ol3WpjN9Uq1Ll52z1rkb09rWSaQlmZU3bDA2jmgmOiY8sVDLgrXIqiIlFbXCNWuVD9G3zYnjssrz9hDIlLkc7ADreLp3uOngyDDcv/s200/beachball.png)
Full, like the boys' toy box. When they want something, they have to dig and throw half a dozen things out just to find it.
Full, like a washer so jam-packed with clothes that it barely swishes around.
Cluttered and overwhelmed to a point of non-funtion.
There is no major crisis or a huge project on the go and yet I anxietied myself into anaphylaxis last week. (Yeah, "anxietied" is a word. I think I just made it up... do you like it? It is available with or without quotes and in a limited, sarcastic edition.)
Bah, humbug. In the morning why don't I pop something into the crock pot, take the kids and just wander off for a while without doing dishes or laundry? A good laugh would do us all some good.
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