Especially Bad

Yesterday was fucking awful. The weekends have been especially bad lately. Normally, I look forward to the weekend, because I’m not at work. These days, all the things I didn’t do during the week are glaringly obvious. After work, the only thing I want to do is sit on the couch and chat with Shawshank. If it’s nice enough, I might spin poi outside for an hour. Come Saturday, everything I neglected during the week is staring me in the face. Additionally, now I’ve got extra shit to deal with. I have the fruits of my procrastination plus the regular shit to handle.

Yesterday was simply one of those days where everything came crashing down around me. I spent the morning shopping, which I usually don’t mind but it was Walmart and it was everything that Walmart is. I had to scrub cat shit off the kitchen floor for the third time this week, and vomit off another spot. The stress of everything had me crying for most of the day.

I hate moving.

Even under normal, ideal circumstances, I hate it. I hate the packing and the sorting and carrying everything outside and playing Tetris while packing as much as possible into a too-small vehicle. Nothing gives me more pleasure than seeing the last box come into the house because I know the worst is over and the best part is about to start.

These are not normal, ideal circumstances.

Most of the bigger things from The Great Sort have been handled. Unfortunately, there’s a lot of little things that remain. And it’s those little things that are the worst part. There’s just so much stuff. The things I will keep are already set in stone. It’s the other stuff that creates the problem.

Sometimes it’s obvious that things should be thrown out without a second glance. The boxes of half-burnt candles in the basement is easy enough. Some of the cookware and pans were tossed out last week. I need to pack up some of the regular bowls, plates, and glasses this week. The clothes I’ll take have already been determined. I’ll sort through the makeup again this week, then sell the tool chest that doubles as my “vanity”.

Shawshank‘s tuxedo is slightly trickier. When would we have a reason to use it in TinyTown? Never. Sell it? Toss it? Whatever. Either way, I go through its pockets. As it happens every time I go through pockets, I hold back for a split second. Every pocket, wallet, or cache brings with it a feeling of trepidation as I wonder what I might pull out, what sort of evidence of sketchiness I may find. I take out the things that were in the pocket after his last night at the Lodge and put them aside. While I may be slightly resentful about the Lodge and some of the things he said regarding it in the past, it’s his past and if he wants to keep it, he can.

I did the laundry and the dishes yesterday. I cleaned out an upstairs closet and tossed out most of its contents. Some time this week I’ll have to pack up the antique books and my great-grandmother’s paintings. Tuesday is payday and I can work out how much time I have left.

I don’t think there’s much.

I hate moving.