Jan. 5th, 2011

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I can finish this stream of consciousness in 15 minutes! ...aw, screw it, I really can't. But I'll make a start at least.

Today, we are discussing moving. As in the relocation of person or persons from one dwelling to another. We are choosing this as a discussion point because my fiancé and I are moving out of our current apartment at the end of January. Not only are we moving out at the end of January, but we aren't even moving into a new apartment until at least April.

Call me crazy, but it stresses me out just *minutely* to be packing up everything I own to... put it in storage for two months. Now I have to think about what clothes I'm going to wear over the next two months, what I want to bring to Europe with me (even though I don't leave until February 17th), and what I could possibly need while I'm without a permanent home.

It's not exactly like we don't have a place to live: we're simply relying on the kindness of our parents to let us each move back home for 6 weeks or so. Yes. Our parents. Our *separate* sets of parents. Ruy and I are getting married next year, so of course it makes sense to spend 2 months living apart. Did I mention we've lived together almost literally since the beginning of our relationship? Yeah. Four years living together, and now we're going to go off and live separately for 2 months. That's... that's going to take a little getting used to.

The sad thing is, it is literally *entirely* up to me to get this apartment packed and ready to go. Ruy works during the week and is exhausted when he comes home in the evenings. I'm currently unemployed, so the packing falls to me. Except, wait a minute, didn't all the packing fall to me in our last move? While Ruy was working from home? Huh. Something's not quite right about that.

Right, so today was Day 1 of the packing. Just *guess* how well it went, metaphorical reader, just *guess*. If you were guessing it did not go very well, give yourself a pat on the back! First of all, I was still at my parents' house this morning, from my dentist appointment yesterday, so I had to get up at ass o'clock to get back downtown. Second, waking up at ass o'clock made me so tired that I had to have several spontaneous naps. Third, I managed to get one box packed and taped shut, before I had to open it back up and unpack it because I thought I had dropped my engagement ring in there. By the end of the day, I had two boxes packed, half a dresser cleaned off, and a third of my shirts culled to go to thrift. That's *almost* an accomplishment, except for the fact that we were supposed to be showing our apartment tonight, and I was supposed to have tidied up somewhat as well.

Which is why it is now midnight on the 6th of January and I'm sitting in the office, pondering how I'm going to pack all of my crafting supplies. Also the cats are scratching at the door, because I am *totally* having more fun in here than they could possibly be having out there, so they would like to come in. Except I would like to spend time in here getting something other than corralling cats off my keyboard done.

I could leave packing until tomorrow, but it's a surety that I will suddenly fall ill/need to sleep all day/edit something, somewhere, for someone. So, here I am, packing. Well, no, here I am, typing this stream of whatever up, so that I don't have to write double tomorrow.

Speaking of which, save for the days when I write on the cusp of the next day (like right now, for instance), I have actually managed a decent word count every day this year. It can't last, and it won't last, but I'm a little bit proud of my ability to stick to this goal for, you know, nearly a week. I'm pretty sure that's a record.

Back to moving. I have resigned myself to the fact that we are moving out of this wonderful apartment, because we can no longer afford it. I have resigned myself to the fact that I will be living in a suburb (I'm a lot more okay with this than Ruy, obviously). I have also resigned myself to the fact that we will be putting all of our stuff into storage. What I can't quite come to terms with is that we don't have a place to live yet, and won't know where we're living until March, at least.

I understand that we will be saving money by not paying February or March's rent, and that February is something of a moot point anyway, since half of it, we're spending in Europe. I just don't understand the concept of not looking for a place at the beginning of February and moving when we get back in March. You know, like normal people, like my parents and I, would assume. No, instead, we go back to living separately, and somehow looking for a place together, and move in April. It just makes it feel *so* much like I'm spending a third of my year moving!

Okay, little miss cat scratchy, I'll let you in the room, but you have to promise that you're not going to walk on the keyboard. Or *try* not to walk on the keyboard. Actually, just doing something that doesn't equate to scratching your claws down the door would be splendid.

A whole new box has been packed, full of craft supplies. If only there wasn't quite so much stuff still left in that closet to pack. It always seems like a good idea to cram all that stuff in there to store it. Why do I never think about months down the road, when I'm going to have to uncram it all and compress it?

Word Count: 1022
Word Count to Date: 5040

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