I'm in escrow. Because my life was not chaotic enough, I decided to go house shopping. I found a suitable place for a suitable price, the seller accepted my offer, everything seemed normal and good to go.
I won't bore you with the details. From what I've heard and read, the madness is to be expected. Real Estate agents should give discount coupons for Xanex to prospective home buyers.
I'm pretty well packed, since I expected to move in about ten days. But now, I hear, that is not going to happen. Everybody chuckling and nodding and smiling and telling me this is what happens. Hehehe. I'm not laughing. I'm drinking.
The boxes I've packed in are reused delivery boxes from a doggy boutique, so they smell like dogs and dog food. Which means my apartment and my belongings also smell like dogs and doggy chow. I've got a weeks worth of clothing in the closet and a weeks worth of linens not yet packed. When I do laundry I sit in my robe waiting for it to finish.
The china is packed and I'm eating off of paper plates.
I can't find any of my socks. Anywhere. I think I used them to pack the china.
My dog who worries about everything simply can't handle the stress of his world in boxes. He has thrown up on the carpet several times now, follows me everywhere, is always underfoot, and sleeps wedged under my bed at night. He cries in his sleep.
I think I cry in my sleep, too.