I Think I'm Gonna Need a Bigger Box

For those of you who had tonight in the "Amy's moving stress breaks her down and she openly weeps" pool, I am sad to say you've lost. I am unhappy, sneezy from inhaling all the dust in my room, and kind of hungry since my leftovers from Sol Azteca were not that good warmed up, but not so stressed that tears have started flowing. How did I accumulate this much shit in three years? Last time I moved, it was two station wagon trips and two trips in a minivan. Now I've got my room and half of another room full of shit. I've stolen boxes from Deb all night, and STILL have shit all over my room. And why is it all so fucking heavy? What kind of sadist buys dumbells, anyway? Why didn't I realize I'd have to move them at some point? Just an extra ten pounds of shit to move. I'm an asshole. Rollerblades? Why am I moving these things? Mine are from the early nineties. They can't be safe. But they're in a box with the Doc Martens I very rarely wear anymore, but can't bring myself to toss since I bought them on my first trip abroad and wore them to my prom. (No lie.)

Thank the Good Lord and Baby Jesus for the fact work is kind of slow this week so I was able to take tomorrow off and not be completely wacky right now on coffee and just staring at my endless piles of shit, paralyzed with fear. I also have to call the realtor and also get a money order or bank check to pay the movers, so it's good that I'll have some time for all that before the roommates and I clean the place tomorrow. I'll also have time to drive my ass to Target and buy yet another plastic bin so I don't ruin my cute summer frock and "fancy dress." (Heh. Those of you who are either Reba or American Idol fans will find the reference funny. I have amazed even myself with my dorkitude.)

I have said the only way I will move is if giant rodents infest my apartment or it's another noisy neighbor situation. After packing all this shit, I don't think a cow taking up residence in my living room/dining room/study would convince me to move again. I wish I couldn't smell the Chinese food place down the street from my living room window. Assholes.

Expect more random posting as I stall on actually packing and instead regale you with the horrible stories of my elementary school gym teacher and complain about the Red Sox. Or something.