I hope nobody wanted to do anything tonight because I am busy. I got the call from my new landlord (stress shits averted, dopamine flooding my brain!), set up some utilities, and am picking up the keys tomorrow. This means that I once again have a week to pack up the rest of my life and get the hell out of here. There’s not a ton left to pack, but I think I can manage two large boxes of kitchen and hall closet stuff tonight, plus I’ll run a load of dishes and do the remainder of the laundry. Also I plan on drinking a bottle of wine. By myself. You know how I do.

Next to divorce and death, moving is supposed to be one of the most stressful experiences you can have. Well. Lots of people I know are dead and I’ve been divorced, so clearly I’ve got it all covered. Even though I’ve moved across the country a total of four times (and moved in general a total of six), this is most stressful moving experience I’ve had so far. This is also the only place I’ve moved into that I’ve really loved, though, which is saying something because I tend to get attached to objects of relative permanence like houses, cars, and large furniture. I’ve had my heart broken by more missed opportunities than by people. I’m not sure how creepy this is, but if anything, maybe it means that I consider my world a little less disposable than do lots of other people.

The movers have rescheduled me for an 8am pickup, which I prefer to the previous “anytime between noon and three” because if I’m going to do this, I want to do it NOW. It works out better for my current landlords, too, as they’re coming into town to remodel the kitchen and need to stay in this apartment that night. This means I won’t be returning the next day to deep clean, but this is probably for the best because it means that I can pick up the pizzas for Graham’s friends on Sunday and do nothing but sleep and unpack on Monday (I took vacation).

Aaaaaand I want to address something that apparently everyone but me noticed…

Dudes, I’m really not freaked out by moving in with Graham. I swear. I appreciate your concern (I really, truly do appreciate it because you guys don’t even know me in person and I care that you care in spite of that) and I suppose I can sort of see what you’re seeing when I re-read my last post, but I assure you, I’m fine. You know how I like lists, right?

– When I got freaked out over seeing Graham in the bathroom at 3am, it was due to sleep confusion, my tendency to think way too much about zombies for an adult female, and the six beers I’d consumed earlier that no doubt had dulled my short term memory before I fell asleep.

– As one commenter noted, this is not my first time at the rodeo. I was married once, which is a tax bracket status that basically requires living together. I’ve also been in a few other relationships that could have become more serious had I chosen that path, but I wasn’t ready for that then so I didn’t choose that way. I don’t make my decisions based on it “being time,” or due to any pressure from anyone to take the next step. I do shit because I want to do shit. I am a grownup. That’s the point.

– Of course I enjoy living alone. I’ve never made that a secret. One of the benefits of being alone for so long is getting to know yourself pretty well, and I know my limits. I know when I want companionship and when I want to be left alone. He’s the same way. That’s why we chose a place with two bedrooms, a livable basement, and a yard with a privacy fence so no one can see us seethe when we’re mad at one another.

– I’ve already talked about being drunk, getting my period, throwing up, and taking a dump on this blog. Clearly I don’t have too many boundaries, and I don’t lie to you people. If I had cold feet, I’d say it, if only to get it out into the open.

– I really was super stressed over the thought of not getting this house. It is that perfect. I love it that much.

Oh jesus, it’s already six o’clock. Iron Chef America is over (you fools, like Morimoto wouldn’t win Battle Lobster), The Simpsons is about to come on, and as soon as I eat this baked potato, I am cracking open that bottle of wine and getting cracking (heh) on this moving business.