ramblings before we ramble
wait, i have gotten ahead of myself: i seriously thought it was quite possible that i would find myself sans computer prior to this moment, but honest-to-christ, no bullshit, my puter will be packed tomorrow morning, most likely prior to my body's absorbtion of it's daily recommended allowance of caffiene, and i will no longer be able to post. so while i said my "till-next-times" already, the truth is, here i still am, and with shit to post, no less. so from now on, you will leave comments to which i will not reply. umm, so more or less as it was before i made a vow to reply to all comments, except that you, the beloved non-existant readers, will actually know that it is because i simply can't reply that i don't reply. square? cool.
i am posting this while i eat some leftover pizza because, god's honest truth, i should be organizing our shit into the cars right now, but i really must, and i mean must, clear the debris from my cerebrum before i attempt to tackle this job.
ok, yeah, so.
i am not the brains of this operation.
my wife and i are a well-oiled team. we more or less have been since day one. this is why it felt like part of me was missing when she was overseas: we compliment each other so well. now, now, quit with the "aaaaws," that kinda stuff makes me go alternately silly and grumpy. we are sickenly sweet, yes, i know. i think everyone could find the person with whom they, too might be sickenly sweet. but that's just me. anyhow, back at it.
my wife is the organizational genius, as well as being a workhorse, and i, well, i am simply a workhorse. tell me to put this heavy box there, done. tell me to put this massive bin on my back, climb this ladder, and toss it in a car-topper, done. tell me to make twenty trips back and forth with items that are both fragile and unweildy at the same time without hurting them or me, mission accomplished. i am not saying i am stupid (though i do, quite often), but i realize that when it comes to organizing and planning shit, i am adrift. i have the organizational skills of a drunk blind man with palsy in an ice-storm with half a game of checker and half a game of chess. (no, i have no fucking clue where that came from, or even why i created that particular analogy, or metaphor, or whatever. i am not even sure if it is good. just bear with me, yeah?)
my wife got sick, ragingly, feverishly sick, two days before the movers come.
yeah. that's right. i knew i was fucked, but had to hitch my britches and tuck in anyhow, or the whole thing would fall apart.
she felt like she was freezing, whilst actually burning up, and would cuddle up to me at the wee hours to get warm. but this is like if part of the sun wanted to snuggle you at three am. needless to say, i was kinda sleep-deprived. if i have no managerial skills when well-rested, imagine what a bollocks-up i am when tired.
but i have no choice.
then the movers want to come a day early cause they think it is gonna take them two days to pack (it ended up not even taking a full day, motherfuckers), and so i was still scrambling to seperate the things we needed for our trip from the things they were going to pack (cause those bastards are like robots, they will pack up your cat if it sits still in front of them for too long).
comme ce, comme ca, o my beloved droogs and only friends, my patient and loyal non-existant readers, i got the important shit seperated. but both the kids' school backpacks got packed. with no. 1's homework inside. the calendar where we mark appointments and no. 2's daily shot schedule, packed. all our stuff in our medicine cabinet and under the bathroom sink, still there.
so all in all, the whole fucking rig has been off-kilter from the get-go. and thus far, the move, while going swimmingly well, is still not going as smooth as any of the others that my wife and i (read well-oiled team) have orchestrated in the past. and at this juncture, i just wanna get on the fucking road.
as i can land myself in front of a computer with any kind of energy and time, i will reply to comments, post thoughts, surf por--wait, what?