The Way Things Are



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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, naïve, 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.

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