Boxes. Dozens of them. Some full, some sealed, some still flattened… I am surrounded. Again.
Even if the house we’re moving to this weekend turns out to be haunted I swear I will not move again for at least 5 years. It feels like just yesterday I unpacked all our stuff and now I have to put it all back in boxes again. In fact it was a year ago, give or take a couple of weeks.
Next time we move will be to a place of our own (this one is rented) and my novel will be making me millions so I can employ other people to do all the grunt work of moving. I’ll have a secretary – or is Personal Assistant the correct term now? She (or he? Hmm… actually perhaps a hunky little He would be a good idea mwahahahaha) can organize the phone, internet, power and satellite TV connections and hire people to come in and pack everything for us, move it and clean up after we leave.
Yes, that sounds like a better plan. Oh crap, look at the time. These boxes ain’t gonna pack themselves…