Three Cheers for Poor Planning

Today we finish moving upstairs. It feels preposterous to say that, because this does not look like the apartment of people who will be living somewhere else in 24 hours. But the next four days are spoken for, so this is our only chance. Yesterday while Eric was at work (thanks to my friends Natasha and Gina, who carried the heavy stuff), I managed to move and put in their places 80% of the books and most of Eric's rocks our knick-knacks, plus the electronics (minus computer) and hundreds of movies and CDs--which are all up there, in the media cabinet, alphabetized. I also cleaned the living room, hall, and bedroom, so the windowsills are no longer black, the mats of cat hair on the blades of the ceiling fan and in between the radiator coils are gone, as are the several things on the walls that may or may not have been boogers.

But--and here's the ridiculous part--that leaves cleaning the (filthy, by my admittedly neurotic standards) bathroom and kitchen, plus moving about half the living room furniture and the entire contents of our bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom. And nothing is actually packed. On the bright side, I discovered yesterday that it's surprisingly quick and easy to toss stuff in a box, carry it upstairs, and empty the contents of the box into their proper place. Plus, today I have helpers: Eric is off work, and our friend Jonathan will be our bitch for the day. I think he works for beer.

Still, I'm feeling overwhelmed, like I've been given an hour to eat an entire cow. With a plastic spork and no knife. And since my morning cup of tea is empty now, I think it's time to start digging away at it. Wish me luck and sanity.