Downsizing or Dumbing Down?

Why am I up at 4 am?  Because I woke up... couldn't go back to sleep (3 out of 4 joints were screaming in pain)... and decided to wash and polish two old wooden chairs... then sort more books... move four incredibly heavy trunks into a less noticeable corner, slide a file cabinet into a better location, and, finally, check my e-mail.  

I'm not sure why I woke up so early and so antsy. Maybe it was because I spent half the day yesterday putting together the new "kitty bathroom"-- which is supposed to disguise the litter box into some semblance of a piece of furniture (if you're not looking too closely).  Putting the thing together took hours-- much of which was spent figuring out the diagrams for assembly (for which I am convinced I have earned at least 3 Engineering -01 credits) and searching for a workable Phillips screwdriver. Having a husband with more than a dozen different boxes, cases, and trunks full of tools should guarantee all kinds of screwdrivers; but, no. Many, many strange-looking metal things with handles, blades and electric cords. Lots of screws, nails, hinges, plastic containers of powdered stuff and/or goopy stuff, rope, and paint rollers.  No screwdriver.  I finally located my old (laughable, according to my better half) four-inch changeable (from regular to Phillips) screwdriver in the make-up pocket of an old handbag. At last I could accomplish the task. 

Turning that damned little tool for the next hour or so was like having my hands squeezed in a vice over and over, but I managed to get the 10 different kinds of screws securely into their correct holes, and moved the completed fake furniture box into the location of the old, nasty plastic litter-filled tray.  So what if I had two bags of little metal and wooden thingies left... with no apparent use for either. These are the obligatory bags o' thingies designed to be left over... to confuse the consumer and make sure he/she is kept awake at night wondering where he/she went wrong. Now, some would despair and start all over again from scratch. Not me. I figure as long as the "bathroom" doesn't collapse on top of the cat inside, everything is A-ok.

Downsizing is rewarding.  Rather like purging (but without having to use either end of the alimentary canal in the process).  But I find myself waking up, sorting out various plans of furniture and picture arrangements.  Mentally trying out a configuration, rejecting it, trying another, then deciding to get up and actually try it out.

Now I'm ravenously hungry and may have to break my rule and cook something.  The old bowl off cereal just won't do it.  

Wonder how long I'll last at the office today before my head crashes into the mouse pad?