tcsa

Note: Cowboy Boots Can Hold An Entire Set Of Silverware

I am calmly and carefully packing up my things in preparation for the movers to come in next week and cart it all over the river and through the desert to Casa De Virgin we go....
Sorry.
Not a lot of sleep lately.
Firstly, every single time the GM1 and I have moved, I have Gone Mad. It's my own doing, my own induced madness. I get so wound up and consumed with the task at hand that I don't eat, sleep, or see anything but boxes, scores and scores of boxes, crying out to be filled with all my carefully categorized bits and tinkets and painstakingly labeled with the contents. What can I do to appease them but obey?
This takes care of the first hour.
By now I'm shoving three spatulas and a box of crayons into a lemonade pitcher, throwing that in a carton with several mismatched shoes and an ice tray and calling it good. I have slept four hours in the past 48. I am vibrating on coffee, Sudafed, and sheer terror that I'm Falling Behind.
And believe me, it's all in my head (keeping those two brain cells I have left company, no doubt.) No one is winding my clock. No one is chomping at my bit. No one is choking my chicken.
I know. I just like the sound of it.
Some friends have been kind enough to point out that by using a commercial mover instead of doing it myself that I am likely to get screwed in the wallet most good and proper. Some other friends have also indicated that the rental truck agencies are a huge scam and I am sure to be buggered righteously by them if I do it myself. And select friends have pointed out that moving hands are the devil's workshop and that not only will I be conned and stolen from, I will contribute to the decline of modern civilization by having belongings over one boxful and not living in a tent on a Indian burial ground eating speared gophers as god intended.
Hi, Peg, how's that Thorazine thing treating you today?
So yeah, I'm a little mentally overwrought and physically degraded. And that's on my good days.
But I have to say, I'm a packing dynamo. I've got most of my loose items, books, and knickknacks all packaged up. I've got my "not getting packed" stuff sequestered in one tiny closet. I've researched my moving company to death and it seems okay (the BBB approves of it and there are no forums in existance to rage about how it sucks... I knew the internet was good for something.) I have arranged to have a source for coffee when the coffee maker is all packed up.
And the loveliest fruit of my loins...er, labors....is this: The GM1, who is absent for this masochism due to finishing out his current job, has said that if I don't kill myself with this move and don't drag him screaming into the pits of hell with me that we will begin a Special Savings Account, labeled "Cheesemistress's Blogmeet Fund" so that possibly next time, or the time thereafter, I can go scare the bejeebers out of meet some of you.
I been out-carroted, I do believe.
The point of this rambling post is not to get in some sit-time between box-afflictions. The point isn't even to babble on and on about my upcoming stay in the Quiet Room** at the local bin. The point is... uh, wait, got it here somewhere.....
.
.
.
shit
.
.
.
.
uh
.
.
.
.
OH yeah!
The point IS that after this post most likely Le Machine De Fromage will be disconnected from its umbilical and carted off to new territories to await new umbilicalage. So no more posts or updates until then, and I thank you all for the good wishes, good worries, and good thoughts.
I'm off to pack the wizard.
I don't know what that means either, but I like the sound of it too.
** A special challenge here to Snoozebutton Jim... name me the movie this phrase is from, ace. I know you're currently on hiatus but I can wait. I gots faith in you. The rest of you can play too, if you wanna. 'Cos that's just the fast and loose kind girl I am.