My Saturday morning routine involves a pot of coffee, lots of Internetery, and waiting for Graham to wake up so I can start moving around the house and making noise. I’m currently waiting, which is difficult because all I want to do is pack up this house. Our move date is now less than one week away – 6 days and 21.30 hours! – and considering the exhaustingly frustrating struggles we’re having with the property manager (expect an upcoming post about how shitty MRN Properties is when I actually have the strength to detail the way they steal money from and lie to tenants), the movers cannot show up quickly enough. We need to be done with this place, and it needs to be now.
I’ve been so wrapped up in packing and getting ready to move that I didn’t realize I hadn’t written anything in a week. I barely remembered that I had a blog. All of my regular routines like reading, cooking, and TV watching that normally drive me to write about stuff have gone out the window in favor of wrapping wineglasses in packing paper and old clothes. I’d like to sit down with a book or binge watch season 3 of Sherlock (YASSSSSS!), but my mind drifts away to how much stuff I have yet to put in boxes, which leads me to consider just how much stuff I can live without for a week, and before you know it, I’m budgeting for 6 days’ worth of takeout because I do not want to look at our things on my kitchen counters anymore. Also Twitter. I’ve been doing a lot of Twitter.
The thing with the property manager doesn’t help, but if anything, it does make me extremely grateful for our new landlord, who is so opposite of these thieving bastards that I’m strongly considering buying her flowers after we move in. As a sort of “hey, thanks for not being a total piece of shit, it’s a really nice change of pace.”
The only other thing I’m doing with my life now is focusing on losing weight, which is possibly the only thing more boring than moving. So, uh, you’re welcome? I don’t have the time to go for long walks or short runs, but packing does burn up a fair amount of calories, and when I met Isabel for drinks last night, her first words to me were “Are your collarbones sticking out more than usual?”
She’s naturally charming as hell, but I choose to believe that the question was genuine because the answer was “YES THEY ARE AND SO IS EVERYTHING ELSE, TOO.” And because someone else noticed (because someone who doesn’t see me every week noticed, I should say, because the people who see you every day or even once a week are naturally slower to notice gradual change in your fatassery), I got that kick in the pants I needed to continue doing this thing, even though I won’t be able to control what I eat this week as much as usual, and also I spent all of yesterday at work looking at a table full of donuts and hated myself for not taking one.
It’s worth it, a little bit, at least enough to get me through the summer and into fall. I don’t have a real end date in sight, but it would be nice to continue losing a pound or more per week up until I go back to St. Louis in October. Because friends and family and cheap beers on cool patios are nice, but let’s face it – St. Louis means food, and there’s no way I’m tracking anything while I’m there.