Boxing Day

Okay, it's not really Boxing Day. It is Boxing Month.

I am surrounded by boxes at home. It's like a cardboard jungle. Except with less mosquitoes and malaria. It's kind of stressing me out. I have to walk through a maze of boxes to get anywhere in the house.

On the plus, I'm currently munching on some almonds I found cleaning out the cupboards. The spoils of victory. Spoils literally, their sell-by date was 11 months ago. Still. Treasure.

The truck comes today. Since Topher's new employer is thankfully paying a nice chunk of moving expenses, we are going all out. We rented a large trailer to be driven across the country by someone else, movers to put all of our junk in it, movers on the other side to unload all of our junk, and a truck to haul my car cross country so we will only have to drive one. Phew. The movers are coming on the 23rd, so the trailer will be darkening our driveway--er, street--for several days and hopefully not PO the nice neighbors. The movers come to our new apartment to unload the 2nd of July.

In case you weren't counting, that's ten days without most of our stuff, four of which will be on the road, and ten days without a means to do laundry. Assuming I'll get right on the laundry the moment the truck is unloaded (spoiler alert: I won't). That's a long time to pack for considering how precious trunk space is. "What about the back seat?" you say. That space will be occupado by the ferrets' two-story cage, which barely fits, and a jade plant that belonged to my beloved, recently-departed maternal grandmother. That's pretty much the backseat. Period. We also need an air mattress, pillows, suitcase/s, my violin, a vacuum (yes, I Need it), and a plastic tote containing cleaning supplies, TP, hand soap, and the like that we're not going to want to run to the store to get immediately upon arrival. Fortunately, Topher's car is ginormous and could hold like, five bodies in the trunk AT LEAST. Um, just a guesstimate.

(That's a joke, in case anyone really thinks I might be an ax murderer. Not to be confused with an Axe murderer, who just smells really good.)

All of our clothes except my dress clothes for work this week, two pairs of jeans, and six shirts apiece are packed. We're gonna be dirty birds and rewear stuff because whatever, we're just sitting in the car for four days. EXCEPT underoos. Momma always taught me to pack extras. It's good life advice.

All of this makes me think of my old roommie and dear friend Chels and her fiance, who are biking across the country with only as much stuff as they can carry with them through mountains and rain and junk. Infinite love and respect, sistafriend.

The rest of Monday will be spent cleaning the house. If you've ever moved I don't have to tell you about gunk and dust that manifests under furniture and major appliances. And if you haven't moved before... well I won't spoil it for you. Then our landlord will swing by on Tuesday and hopefully hand us a fat check which once was our security deposit which we will magically transform into gas.

There are a lot of moving parts in this equation. Hopefully this all goes off like Michael Jackson choreography, as opposed to Baby's first recital where everyone is spinning in a different direction. Or, like my first ballet recital, where, so I've heard, everyone spun in the same direction except me. At least I was confident. I'm feeling less confident about this move, but optimistic, if that makes any sense.

Here's Dude immersed in a large roll of bubble wrap. He's "helping."

Rarrr,

Jax