Well, tomorrow I’ve got the movers coming to do a “pre-move assessment” which basically means they’ll look at all my stuff, guess how many crates they need (they always under-estimate this number– I’m betting on 7 crates), and then tell me I need to take everything off the walls and out of storage closets because they “aren’t contracted” to do those things.

Then next week I get to decide what I’m not letting them back and I have to hide it somewhere (probably in the car) and then on Thursday-ish they come and start boxing up everything I own.

And y’know what? It still creeps me out to have people in my house, packing my stuff. I know it’s a lot less hassle, but it just bothers me. I’d much rather be responsible for my own packing, as old as it gets.

Then again, packing is long and monotonous.

Isn’t there some kind of happy medium, where I can feel like I’m doing it myself and yet still have help? Probably not.

I apologize that this is neither funny nor insightful. I felt mildly guilty about not writing anything, and figured I’d at least explain why. I’m sure there will be much more entertaining fodder later this week when I start to go through the closet with all of my Christmas decor, which has also become the “Quick-we’ve-got-company-coming-over Closet” of late. Heh. Who knows what’s in there? I guess we’ll find out soon!