Tomorrow is my last day at this job. Thank God. I keep waiting for this week to be over. And yet it draaaaaaaags on.
It wouldn't drag on if I'd pack my shit already. I hate moving. I hate that I can't afford to just hire a bunch of movers to come sweep my life into a bag and dump it at the next place. I've never had to move in the winter and I'm not really looking forward to it. Because our walk is really slippery right now. And it's -35 degrees and that's without the windchill. And I hate to move in general.
It usually means a big fight with my dad. Over something SO inconsequential that you won't even believe me. Like, he'll say "Shut the door." And I'll shut it and he'll say "Don't slam it!" And I'll say "I didn't slam it." And he'll say "I saw you slam it, I heard you slam it, you slammed it." And I'll retort "No, I shut the door. And what difference does it make anyway? It's my door. It's the middle of the day. It's not going to hurt anybody." And he'll say, and then I'll say and then...ten minutes later, I'll either be crying or swearing that I'm never moving again or digging frantically in a box full of video cassettes and spices looking for the tylenol because I've screwed up all my intense, white-hot "shut-the-hell-up-I'm-a-grown-woman-after-all" anger into a little ball that is now weighing heavily right between my eyes.
Last night, I bought a big box of garbage bags. They're perfect for moving. I throw all my clothes, all my bedding, all the little pieces of crap laying around my house, into them and just haul them to the next abode. I like this method because it means I don't have to clean out my junk drawer.
I have literally had the same drawer of junk for the last four years. It's shifted several times, and been added to, but I have the same big orange screw driver, the same five dead batteries, the same assortment of broken golf tees (I don't golf) and chewed-on pencils and bread bag ties and nails and screws and pieces of string and Subway sandwich coupons and pumpkin carving tools and bottle caps and broken nail clippers and scratched Madonna CD and assorted buttons. Every time I move I pull the drawer all the way out and dump it into a bag. When I get to my new place, I find the deepest, longest drawer in the kitchen and empty the bag into it. It's a brilliant strategy, I think.
Or maybe I'm just a slob.
I am watching: Season 2 of Scrubs on DVD. So funny! Brilliantly, hysterically so.
I am dreading: That move.
I am loving: That I only have one more day in this stifling city.
