Tired. And Painty.

Well, this move is sucking the very life out of me. The most positive thought that I could muster up in the past five days was this morning around 1:00 a.m. - I said to myself, "Well, hopefully at this time next week I'll be in bed."

We are in the process of painting the entire house. The ceilings were scraped by professionals and they look wonderful. The paint? Eh - it varies from room to room. The two rooms that were done by professionals look wonderful. The other rooms that are being painted by a combination of my mother-in-law, husband and myself? Not horrible - but let's just say that the colors we chose are highlighting all of the not-seen-before flaws in the thirty-five year old walls. I mean, really - if you were thirty-five years old would you want someone smearing Sherwin Williams' Herbal Wash on your ass and thighs thus drawing a map to your divots and pits? I think not.

We move tomorrow and not a single box is packed.

But I'm not panicking, because we've brought a few loads of random crap over to the house already. For example, the master closet should be completely empty and that's a lot of stuff. Also, we live in a 950 sq. foot apartment so there's not a lot to pack. Most of our belongings will be moved down from a POD in the Dallas-area when one of the participants in this marriage remembers to make that phone call. (If I were you, I wouldn't bet on me). Which, upon arrival, I will proceed to throw most of it in the garbage since we've lived without it for a year already. Who needs that shit?

Oh - and to top it all off, Riley, the sole survivor of the dog-related family members is freaking out. She has succeeded in locking herself in various rooms of our apartment during our long paint-induced absences. and in the past three days has likely negated all of the money we put down as a pet deposit. Up until this point the apartment was relatively scar-free. But really, we didn't want that $700 anyway.

We've had a lot of bumps and bruises - such as ordering an amazing refrigerator that does everything short of waxing your bikini line, only to find upon delivery that it DOESN'T FIT. And so we ended up with the unemployed-alcoholic-cousin version of the aforementioned model. In other words, it will likely do nothing except sit on our couch watching The Food Network while sponging off electricity and snacking from its own interior.

I can't wait until this is over and life returns to a semi-state of normal. I need some alone time right about now, and unfortunately, that doesn't seem to be in my future.

So I'm holding out until next Sunday.