Oh, did I forget to mention that here? Because it would pretty much be the only place I forgot to mention it. In every other aspect of my life. In every other corner of my world. With every other breathe I took it’s been all about the move.
Pack, panic, babble. Tape, panic, babble. Sort, panicm babble. Stuff, panic, babble. Drink tea, panic, babble. Lift, panic, babble. Load, panic, babble. Move, panic, babble. Unload, panic, babble. Margarita, panic, babble. Unpack, panic, babble. Work, panic, babble. Sleep… or attempt to, panic, babble.
You can go ahead and repeat the above paragraph a few times for emphasis, and because it’s taking a few trips.
And for some reason all that keeps bringing to mind the olden days of the interwebs. Back when everything was always under construction. Do you recall that? All the annoying little images of yellow tape and dump tracks? The big bold letters shouting that you should come back soon? Proclamations that something new and better is on its way?
I feel like the boxes that litter each room of my new place are a giant flashing sign shouting at me to check back in a week to see how we’re coming along. All the while I’m unpacking this, putting away that, figuring out the nuances of a new place, and trying not to pull out my hair.
Where are my favorite undies? What happened to my overnight bag? When was the last time I wore lipstick? Have any of you seen my hairbrush?
I have no idea, we’re under construction…