can’t stop, won’t stop

So what. I love my new $10 shoes. Giving 'em one week to fall apart.

Gee, what is this? Another photo of my walking foot. I seem to really like taking those.

This is what I’ve been doing: walking, packing, driving, packing, busing, packing, working, packing, eating, packing, sleeping, donating, packing, cleaning, and packing. And socializing. I can’t deprive my friends of myself now can I?

I’m really, sincerely and in all honesty, kind of enjoying this process, this business, this insanity. Undoing three years of life in one place isn’t a huge deal but damn if it isn’t time consuming. Add to it the fact that I’m really trying to make this move in a way that will facilitate some new steps and changes in my life, and, well, it becomes a little mind consuming as well.

I remember the last time I felt crazed in this way: a little over four years ago in the month before my wedding. I was working six days a week back then– as a regular schedule, not just because the restaurant I ran was in a busy stretch, but because that is what my weekly schedule was for the entire two years we spent in California– and I had four Sundays a month to dedicate to the big day. I planned and planned my little heart out and it all got shot to shit because of a little hurricane named Dean but I loved the process. The feeling of accomplishment that seeing that laborious task completed brought forth is what I keep coming back to. The goal, the deadline, the d-day. I seem to really need them to get anything of note done and I always feel so GOOD once I get there. So why don’t I set deadlines for myself more often?

The deadline for the move is Saturday. Last night before bed The Mister and I were lying side by side looking for something murderous on ID Discovery to lull us to sleep and he remarked that on this night next week we would be cuddled in the same bed in a new apartment, the packing and moving behind us. I shivered a little and bit my lip, mentally tallying all that had to be done before then. Then I shrugged to my mental tally, kind of gave it the middle finger in my head, and promised myself that I’d get it all done with a smile on my face.

Onward. These boxes won’t tape themselves closed no matter how much I wish it.


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