Moving sucks. It makes you feel itchy on every level. Even physically. D woke up this morning, and we shared the same complaint with each other: we had slept poorly because we were itchy. We had had long-overdue haircuts, but this doesn't explain the total experience. We itched. All night long. And woke far more times than normal.... and normal with an infant, two adults, and two snoring cats in a queen bed, is an interesting stretch of that word. "Normal".
Our whole life is now in boxes. We both had a few days off from school, and, as a result, what we had chipped away at over the last month, box, after shredder load, after box, has become a full plastic- plates- only, every- corner-, cupboard- and drawer- in- a- box-, tote-, bag-, or crate-, experience. It's a hot mess, to use the overused. We own a lot. None of it--or at least, most of it; we deleted what we could already, and are still choking--ought to be disposed of. These are how many things a citizen of the Western world" needs." How do nomads, bedouins, and gypsys do it? How do they, turtle-style, carry all posessions at all times? Everything itches. I'm going mad. Clean cup--move down! And I'm about to add a whole work week of two- hour- a- day driving in the mix before I can even begin to unpack all these carefully labelled, artful arranged, delicately handled many packages. And, my period is due. Goddess help any bastard who gets in my way....
At least I got to see my kid's first, very few steps this long weekend. Goddess pities this poor bastard.
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