i'm tired. there's something about picking up everything you own and putting it somewhere else that wears thee out. we moved the big ticket items yesterday. couch, bed, tv (which is a heavy bastard if you haven't tried to dance with yours lately) and now i'm in a coma. the kind of coma where you can summon the energy to type and that's pretty much the extent. the worst part is that we're not done yet. it was one of those days where you wanted to keep pushing just so you'd have an end to look forward to. but no. almost. there's that pesky hour drive both ways that hampers the speed of the operation.
i'm sort of relieved to be at work because everything hurts. including my feelings because i had a few days of 170 and now i'm back to 172. which has to be a product of the lifting and pouting i just don't know how exactly. at work i don't have to do anything but smile and count bits of paper. and i can sit. i'm not even writing lists because i gave myself a big giant cardboard cut right where you would use your list making pencil. rest without relaxation.
am i whining too much? it's just that i hate this a lot. i'm trying to think of ways i'll never have to move this crap again. and i've come up with a plan. if the situation ever arises that i would need to move, i'm joining a commune. the first busload of hippies i come accross is my new family.
peace out unless i think of something less desperate to post.