Nothing.

.
.
Since Friday.

Until today.  I meant to do a single session.  I ended up doing three.  I wanted to stop.  My body was screaming to stop.  I was overheating badly.  But no.  It... was pride.  I kept looking for a spot to stop that looked better than when I started.  I finally came to the conclusion that, because of the floor plan, and how finished toss and keep (for now) stacks of boxes were being arranged, that won't be possible until I begin evicting the toss boxes.

With three sessions in, I really got through a lot.  All the partial boxes from my last session, a half a dozen more fresh, at least.  More like ten to twelve, if the extras were already mostly empty or mainly trash.  As well, I was able to break down a score of boxes, including huge ones, for my tv and lawn chairs.  I even have them arranged for fast removal.  Plus keepers and tosser boxes are not only individually neat, they are clearly and collectively neat and stored.

I did that before going downstairs, mostly.  Or absolutely?  I... can't exactly remember.  Though I think I will side with an absolute, as I had to pee like a racehorse later, when I did go down.  That is the only reason I would have gone downstairs beforehand.  Though extended work can act as a diuretic.  At least for me, after I have been down for days.

The rest of the day?  If I can, more storage trips, the ducks, folding laundry... or crashing.  It's 66° F, and I am sweating like a waterfall half an hour later.  I became desperate to find a clean endpoint the last two hours, so kicked it up in panic... until control was lost and I had to just vacate the scene.  Setting it up as well as possible before plopping into my chair.  Still, there is hope.  A shower, to be sure though.  And quackles.  Later.