Again we are living amidst boxes. Yes, I'm happy to be finally getting out of the cracker box, away from strange apartment neighbors who divulge too much, away from paper-thin walls and 934 square feet of living space. Away from landscapers whose gas-powered leaf blowers start each Wednesday at 6 am, too forward neighbor kids who knock on unknown doors asking if there's anyone inside who would like to play, and individuals parking in my covered parking space.
But I have to keep reminding myself that I'm happy. Especially at times like last night when my head's about to explode from the frustration of being the only person packing a family of four and the girls are driving me crazy so I force them to bed at 7:17 even though dinner was a peanut butter sandwhich and a cup of apple juice and they're crying because they're still hungry and then Mitchell calls to let me know he's going to be out late because he's going to have a beer with John and is that okay? And I'm totally pissed but I say, "Yeah. That's fine" anyway and hang up and curse him for the next 40 minutes for being completely clueless.
2 comments:
I do not envy you. AT. ALL.
The boxes will get packed.
They will get moved.
They will get unpacked.
Life will go on.
Your husband will still be clueless.
Sorry 'bout that last one.
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