So I’m moving tomorrow.
Ready? Nah. Will be, though.
Have to keep telling myself that. I will be ready I will be ready I will be ready.
All the books are packed. The clothes. (When the hell did I get so many clothes? I don’t like shopping for clothes! And yet, there they are.)
Most of my kitchen stuff is still packed from the last move, so not much to do there. Ditto with rugs and towels and all that miscellaneous crap that I forget about until I have to pack or unpack it.
Have to pack the printer. Various bedroom stuff. Various office stuff. Pull the rubbermaid bins out of the creepy basement, the bike from the back yard, oh, the other bike from the creepy basement.
Easy. Really. Plants—got that.
No problem.
Of course, my sternum has been steadily contracting for a week, so that it is now bunched tight in the middle of my chest. And the movers—yeah, yeah, confirmed the movers, they’ll be here, really they will. Syllabi? I can do that Sunday. Filled out the address change at the Post Office, but my New Yorker, the bank, credit card, other jobs, whatelsewhatelsewhatelse.What if someone breaks into the old apartment and hauls all my stuff away? What if there’s a fire before I get home from work tonight? What if there’s a fire at the new place? Storage unit, don’t forget the storage unit. Credit card—do I have it? What about the cash for the movers’ tips? Do I have a number for a car to take me and the critters to my new place? What about the charger for my cell god knows that battery is shit. Where the hell’s my black agenda? JesusMaryandJoseph I had it Monday it was in the green bag didn’t I transfer it to the blue bag did I pack it where the hell is it it has all my access codes I don’t know my passwords to all my accounts what about the yellow index cards with the access codes where the hell is it did someone steal it did I throw it away ohmygodohmygodohmygod.
Yeah. I’m fine.
AbsurdBeats 