You Haul

Fuck packing. For real. When I get Oprah rich, I will just buy all new stuff if I ever have to move. I don't even care if I have a staff of people to pack it all for me, I want nothing to do with it ever again.

I don't even feel sorry for homeless people any more. One shopping cart full of stuff and no neighbors sounds pretty awesome right now. No telephone? No random piles of detritus to be sorted? Sign. Me. Up. If I don't end up Oprah rich (unthinkable), then moving is going to involve me shoving my sleeping bag and backpack into a stolen Target cart and rolling on down the road.

It sounds heavenly, a close second to just getting all new stuff.

Between wandering from room to room staring at things today, I finally got to the point where I was just tossing glass things into boxes, figuring they'll make it if it's meant to be.

So, we may not have any dishware by the time we get to the new house.

And I don't care. As long as we get there.