So, I'm preparing for The Big Move, which entails Putting These Things Into This Box, and Those Things Into Another Box (uh oh. I feel a Latin Pedantry Moment: The Demonstrative Pronoun In All Its Shining Glory, coming on strong).
It also entails Stealth Mingling of my 100,000 paper towel rolls, instant oatmeal packages, and various half-used cleaning products amongst my parents' cupboards. This is called "downsizing."
I am also trying not to look at my AAA TripTik, which is probably a good many pages more than I care to study, for fear of chickening out, getting to Missouri, and begging my recruiter to find another contract for me in Missouri, because there is no way in hell I can drive any more.
In other news, the dog got sick two days before I left Central Florida Nightmare Of Doom assignment, requiring a midnight $200 emergency vet trip for what essentially turned out to be A Very Bad Tummy Ache. He's better now, even though I have officially burned a hole through my already singed-looked pocket.
Nothing more to report here, except I am still feeling exhausted and the most philosophical construct I can come up with at present is, "Does my charity knitting project exist in some kind of time-warp, wherein it is possible to knit on the damn thing for five months and still not come up with a finished blanket despite hundreds of hours committed to the stupid f-ing thing?"
The answer my friends, is blowing in the wind.
And that answer is: yes.
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