Oh, my christ, my back hurts and I am old.
Tomorrow is moving day and the movers are coming at the ungodly freaking hour of 9 a.m. That means I’m almost halfway done packing right now, at 9 p.m. I haven’t moved in two and a half years, but I’m remembering the rhythm of packing. This is how it goes: First, you fill up some boxes and write stuff like, “Left bedroom, large dresser, fourth drawer” on them, then carefully tape them closed. Then, five hours after that, you fill up some boxes and write “KITCHEN STUFF” and “toys, coat hangers” on them, and close them by interlocking the box flaps. Then, two hours before the movers come, you run around the apartment and throw everything left into laundry baskets and garbage bags. And you say, “I’ll come back later and clean everything.” And then you don’t, and you never come back, and the landlords keep your deposit. Congratulations on your move!
Happy thanksgiving, too. Yesterday I managed to celebrate the pilgrims’ survival by eating 57 kinds of Asian food, plus turkey and pecan pie, at three different gatherings. Today, between bouts of packing, I ate leftover Chinese noodles for breakfast, leftover Thai noodles for lunch, and Cuban food for dinner.
I didn’t go Black Friday shopping at all, unless you count stopping at two different Walgreenses to pick up 99 cent lipglosses (regularly $6.99).
Even though the new place we’re moving to is cheaper and slightly less fancy, I have a good vibe about it. That vibe was reinforced the other day when I went to sign my lease and found that the apartment staff had rescued two fish that got left in the kitchen sink of someone who moved away. Only good people bother to rescue half-dead fish, as we all know. Only bad people raise your rent without repairing your apartment’s broken patio chairs or treadmill. Seriously – what would Dumbledore and Voldemort do? Think about it. I’m moving to Dumbledore’s apartment complex. Here’s hoping it doesn’t have toxic mold…
My boyfriend is a night owl and I am an early bird. We know this and accept it. Therefore, we’ve already agreed that, when he gets off work in an hour, he’ll come over and pack some while I read MAD magazine in bed until I fall into fitful, worry-laced sleep. In the morning, I’ll wake up very early and wrap Tad’s ears and eyes with gauze so as not to wake him with my packing and singing to the mice and blue birds who will undoubtedly show up to help me finish.
Can you tell I’m tired? I write crazy shit when I’m tired or trying to stave off panicky fantasies of future failure.
Did I tell y’all that I missed my kids? No, I wrote that in my real paper journal the other night. My kids have been gone all week, and I miss them being around. Not just so they can help me pack (or at least argue with each other while packing and sneak to their room to watch Cartoon Network while I pack), either. I miss talking to them and seeing their faces. They’re getting older so very quickly. My oldest is taller than me now. It’s insane. I’m five nine (okay, really I’m only five eight and a half. Happy?) and he’s five nine now, and he’s only thirteen years old. He’s a teenager now, and that’s made the younger two rush into pre-puberty all the faster. The oldest told me that the youngest (eight) sniffs his armpits every day, hoping they’ll hurry up and stink. Isn’t that the cutest. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them because they barely fit in the car now. I wanted to be environmentally responsible and drive a sedan forever, but now I have to think about trading our Altima in because it simply doesn’t hold enough oxygen for the four of us anymore.
I already drank two coffees today. If I drink another, my heart will explode. I should stop goofing off now, but dude, I’m not sure I can pack anymore.
Worst part of packing: Making little piles of stuff that belongs to other people and pretending you’re going to return their stuff to them before the movers come. Psych! Why do you lie to yourself? Just put that stuff in a trash bag!
Newly discovered second-worst part of packing: All the broken computers. What the hell am I supposed to do with those? Tad and I tell each other lies about how we’re going to reformat and buy new motherboards and etc. But we’re not going to do a DAMNED thing except pack up those broken computers and haul them to the new apartment, where they’ll sit in a corner until I move again. *Sigh.*
Okay, that’s all. Back to work. Love y’all. Hope you got good things on sale today, and ate good leftovers without guilt.
