Note: I wrote this last Wednesday
2005-09-26, 11:35 a.m.

(Note: I wrote this last Wednesday, and never got around to placing it on this here internet. I�ll follow up with a riveting story on what really happened on our move tomorrow. For now, let�s go back in ti-yime to last week, when I was an innocent, na�ve, fresh young lass.)

Nobody has thanked me for their immersion class in the culture of small-town gossip. I can�t believe that our swirling fog of stinky scuttlebutt hasn�t riveted you all as it has me. I guess you kind of have to know the people�and see the action, up close and personal-like.

So now for something completely different, here�s the Flava-Flavia inspirational quote for November, which really isn�t that far away, you know:

AS WE GATHER
OUR memories AND
Cherish THE CLOSENESS
OF THE PEOPLE WE love,
OUR HEARTS GIVE thanks
AND praise.

Does that make anybody else�s teeth hurt, or is it just me? The random ALL-CAPS? And that �gather our memories� part? Ugh. I am definitely not a sweet, syrupy sentamentalian.

So, we went from Hurricane Ophelia to Rita. And what, might we ask, happened to P and Q? Well, I looked it up. Phillippe or somesuch is languishing out in the Atlantic somewhere, never to be seen on dry land. And they don�t do Qs! DW and I lay abed last night, wondering about all the names that begin with Q.

There�s Quinn. And Quincy. And Quigley, and Quimby.

There really are not enough names that begin with Q. I think somebody ought to do something about that.

I�m so dull, I�m nodding off here. So let�s HIT IT.

I am a ball of stress. So much to do, so very limited time. We�re moving into the house this weekend. After two years of building a house with DW�s own two hands, and my assisting by carping and moaning all the way, we�re going to sleep there starting Saturday night. What do I have left to do in order to affect this proposed move? Well, if I were a good Flybaby, I�d be all packed up, with color-coded labels on the boxes, and I�d be wearing an apron with pockets full of tape, markers, ribbons, and hell, I dunno, Valium.

But I am not a good Flybaby. I failed Fly 101.

So here�s my to-do list:

Finish packing the kitchen
Finish packing the dining room
Finish packing the living room
Finish packing Lil Guy�s room
START packing our room
START packing up both bathrooms
Clear out and START packing the white-trash storage shed in the backyard
Start packing up the 4 closets

Then�

Finish cleaning the floors at the new house
Install closet shelves in all the new closets

Then�

Color my hair
Drink some wine

Then�

Move all our shit into the new house.

Do you see how it starts with a rather detailed, almost organized list, and then devolves into something involving wine and the word �shit�? That�s how the process is sure to go.