.

Work continued on the big barn ceiling insulation project and one corner was finished.

.

.

And as I knew would happen, the covered pool table became a repository for stuff.

(Not to be confused with a suppository for stuff, because no one wants the husband’s stuff there.)

.

.

On this day I was given the task of hauling more  useless crap  treasure upstairs.

.

.

In case you were wondering…. the answer to the question how much stuff is too much stuff?  has yet to be determined.

Christ, there’s even stuff hanging from the rafters.

.

.

Antique collectibles…. or torture chamber implements?

Tough call.

But downstairs, stuffing progress was made.

.

.

And yes, there’s a bathroom sink on the love seat.

.

.

I think it looks quite comfortable, don’t you.

Was it our sink? No.

Did we need an ugly ass shell shaped sink from the 1970’s? No.

But we have it all the same, because….

Say it with me now:

It was free!

.

.

One side of the ceiling was fully stuffed when the husband realized he had a problem.

I would tell you his problem was not listening to me 5 years ago when he insisted on putting these ugly, bright as the surface of the sun, fluorescent lights in…

.

.

And running them on one electrical line with no junction boxes, but I doubt he would admit it…. because, you know. Men.

But now that he’s outfitting his man cave with a heat pump, insulation and a ceiling …. he’s changed his mind about those ugly ass lights and wants to put up these more attractive, appropriately rustic fixtures instead.

.

.

Which is great, except there are no junction boxes and they’re all on the same line.

.

.

Not being an electrician, he’s been pondering this predicament for a while…. and was forced to set up temporary lighting. (Which throws an equivalent BTU level as the bonfire at Burning Man. I swear our electric meter was spinning so fast there was smoke…. and the stock holders of Central Maine Power were chortling with glee.)

If he figures this all out without electrocuting himself and/ or burning down the barn, I’ll be sure to let you know.