It made me feel really melancholy, really uncertain. All of a sudden I was like "wait! I'm scared!" and then "or is it just that I hate packing so much?"
I'm really glad I have a lot of books most of the time. When I go to move, they can bite me.
Oooh, my Chicago weather widget shows lightening right now. Here in Providence it's clear and humid.
Anyway, the point is that packing is bringing up lots of strange feelings, and I am only halfway successfully drowning them out with This American Life. Me packing boxes involves a lot of pausing to thoughtfully stare into space. I pack a box, I stop, I look around at my stuff with my hands on my hips. I think. I tape it up. Repeat.
There's a lot to orchestrate. We're having a yard sale on June 23rd (coincidently the Shnick's 25th birthday.)