In which logic doesn’t matter.

Fact:  I have not slept in the same bed for a full week-straight in the past three years.

Don’t you even dare try doing that math in your head.

At this point, I figure it’s no small wonder that I’m anxious about moving.  I want to have all of my things appear at Marcus’, be able to organize them, and be done with the whole ordeal.  At which point, I will take up hobbies with the amount of extra time I’ll have with all of the not-packing and not-driving from place-to-place.


For the past week or so, every time I go to Marcus’, I’ve been trying to bring a bag of somethings over.  The first round was books and magazines, the second was all of my sweatshirts.

Today?  The only thing I had on my mind was the chocolate chip ice cream and the bag of chicken breasts in my freezer.

I tried to rationalize not-moving them to his place tonight.

The Logical Reasons for Not Moving Them: You know, because of the fact that I had no intention of eating either in the immediate future.  Or because it would be easier to move the contents of my fridge and pantry all at once.  And, because I still have the entirety of my wardrobe and bathroom to move as well.

But I just.couldn’t.leave.them.

I would have been beside myself with worry.

Because I NEEDED them.

So I caved and brought them along.

I know, I know.  You’re all astonished by my natural talents for homemaking.

I call it progress.


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