Have I mentioned I’m never moving again? I mean honestly, it’s horrible. It’s horrible anyway, but I’ve never before moved while being responsible the health, well-being and happiness for two small individuals aside from myself. And at Christmastime, the horror. Although the tree is up and mostly trimmed and the stockings are hung yada yada. By the chimney! With care! I do like the fireplace.
So yeah. Moving Day itself was possibly one of the worst moves of my life. Not because we didn’t have help, because we did (bless them all, these friends). And not because it was raining all. day. long. Although that was a nuisance. The worst part was likely the Stomach Bug of Death I acquired the evening before, which had me puking from 6PM until 3AM. And completely, thoroughly, utterly exhausted throughout the next day. That was the part that really sucked. Aside from not fitting everything in the truck, leaving behind a filthy, as-yet-to-be-cleaned house, saying goodbye to friends and a home and a town that I loved. Those things weren’t fun either.
I feel very whiny. But instead of stopping, I might as well go full-throttle. Why not. For your amusement. It’s effing cold here, which by the way, is completely overrated. Especially when you’re plunged into it suddenly with your life already in disarray, rather than eased in softly with the comforts of your full wardrobe at your disposal. So there was no way I could avoid going to the grocery store today – and by the way, as cute as this town is, the grocery options are just grim – and between the freezing cold, the fact that I didn’t want to go out in the first place, our waning funds and ornery children who also must be suited up with 50 layers of fluffy clothing, I was ready by the end to a) never shop at that grocery store again and b) schedule J.Lo for a vasectomy. I mean, seriously.
Although at least they sold chicken feet there, which was good for a laugh. Except, they sold chicken feet.
Still having certain uncomfortable issues with my job that I can’t currently process or speak of at the moment and am (concurrent with moving) taking a brief semi-hiatus until 2011.
I can’t even speak about Christmas shopping.
And I feel bad that my children’s rooms are holy messes, playing second fiddle to both the Christmas tree and the kitchen, which I insist on sorting out before everything else, particularly when I am being hounded for two straight hours to find the can opener for the bloody can of black olives. Which by the way, I never did find.
Um, what else. Since we’re on a tear. (This is fun, I’m kind of enjoying myself – are you?) The fish lived. I can’t complain about that. But I keep thinking about standing at the tank on Saturday, struggling to scoop water from a Solo cup into a bucket and catch elusive fish with a stainless-steel pasta colander, and wondering how the eff, why the eff, were we taking the fish. I mean it was purely me, I admit. I couldn’t willingly kill them and it was too late to sell or give away the tank. And what would the children say. Think of the children. So I had to clear out the disgusting rocks and sludge and try to ignore the hard-water buildup all over the trim and filter and heater lest I heave the whole thing in the trash. And the fish went in the bucket with a trash bag over the top and a battery operated air stone, which required 2 batteries, but only worked with 1. No kidding. And once we got here, I was imagining in my airy-fairy fantasy world that I’d scour and set up the tank right away, but in reality it was at least 48 hours later and I had to force myself. But there they are. Swimming. In a clean and sludge-free tank. Christmas miracles.
I could go on. I will go on. But maybe tomorrow. For now I have to go scrounge up a snack for Unlimited Snacks Week or somesuch, because you know the wifely duties don’t stop even when you’ve moved. Just saying.
Oh wait, one more thing – I totally flipped some jerkwad the bird today on the highway. One of those asshats who are directly behind you, see your left-blinker and are all, noi’mgonnagofirstweee, and you’re all, eff. you. because I have to make a left turn in like TWENTY FEET. Off a 60mph road. Bird. And some choice cursing. Which I thoroughly enjoyed.
sweet smiles and hugs from your dear penelope