Packing Sucks

For some strange reason, I used to very much enjoy packing. I was terrible at it, mind you, fretting about things getting wrinkled or broken or somehow shifting unappealing during travel (why, you ask? because I'm insane) but I liked it - it signaled change and adventure and excitement. So I assumed that when I started packing for my move back east, it'd be yet another OCD-riddled excursion in fleeting glee.

I was wrong. 

I've been shuffling around the apartment, irritably folding clothes, shoving DVDs into boxes, and putting every home accessory I have on my kitchen counters, so I can see what crap of mine my friends might want for their own apartments. And it's exhausting. Granted, I'm still in Crippled Mode, so it makes packing somewhat more difficult, but I'm far more mobile than I usually am after an explosion - this time, I just don't want to pack. I want to pull a Barbara Eden, cross my arms and nod my head, and instantly have all of my belongings arrive in Boston. I don't mind if they're strewn about in messy heaps, as long as they get there without me having to put any effort into packing and shipping them. Is it really too much to ask? 

So we'll see. I'm taking a break, but I know I need to actually get my shit together and get the majority of my apartment packed up today. If all goes according to plan, I'm moving out Thursday night, so I need the apartment empty and ready to go, and I need all my shit either already shipped out via UPS, or neatly packed and waiting to go on the plane. And seeing as we're going out for a going away dinner tonight, and I think I'm going to attempt working tomorrow night, I'm a little short on time. So I'll get to it soon. Very soon. Just after this stand up special on Comedy Central is over.