…setting prices for the items I have for sale. The zines and most of the other books are easy to price, the junk journals not so much. Each one is differently sized. They have differing numbers of signatures. Some have cloth covered boards; some have paper covered boards. I’ll figure it out. I have some idea for general pricing.

I’ll do the prep for set-up on Monday. I’ll set the displays just as I want them the days of the sale and take pictures. That way, things will be optimized for my customers. I just hope that the organizer will actually follow the floor plan I drew up for the space. I do have experience setting up vending space inside a room. I don’t have high expectation though. The last I heard there were 21 people signed up for a space that can only hold 14 tables with enough space for potential buyers to move through easily.

In other news, I just found out that the road trip I’m supposed to go on with two of my sisters is supposed to last 6 weeks. No way. I can’t sit in a car for days. I’m prone to blood clots in my legs. They already look like a road map of hell. I can’t imagine them after 6 weeks of car rides. I don’t want to go with my sisters anyway.

Even though they’re younger, they feel free to comment on my life, my eating habits, my (as far as they know) lack of a love life, and my weight. I tried to get out of the trip by using my sick cat, but she died. I’m trying to use the fact that I would have to board the cat I now have. She was temporarily re-homed because she kept attacking the sick one. My friend will keep her while I’m gone. Since I’m providing food, the litter box, toys, and bedding, she says I don’t have to pay her, but I feel I need to give something. She pays me market rates to watch her dog twice a week.

I’m sure my sisters will have opinions on everything else. They learned it from my mother who was oh so nice to me growing up. I’m the oldest, but unwanted. Or at least that’s how I felt my entire childhood. Especially after all the times I was reminded that I wasn’t supposed to have lived past two. After I moved away for college, my bedroom was given away, my stuff was tossed, and yet I was always asked when I was coming back home. I did once when I was getting divorced. It was the worst 11 months of my life.

All seven of my siblings are really close. So close in fact, that they have a group chat that I’m not part of. I know this because occasionally, I’ll get included in a reply to a message I never received. I don’t comment. Don’t care enough, but it does hurt a bit sometimes. I realized a long time ago that I’m responsible for my own success and not to wait for anyone in the family to say “good job.” I never know how to react to that anyway.

Now that you’re all depressed for me, here’s a picture of my cat.

She used to be a feral cat and was adopted by my son. He left her with me when he moved into a no-pets apartment. I’ve told him he can’t have her back even though he can now have a pet.

Y’all have a good day, now.