I hate packing. Packing and I are at odds with each other, because it seems no matter how much packing I do more needs to be done. Packing is like a small child screaming for attention in a supermarket, and I’m getting weary of its cries. I didn’t know I owned so much stuff; I didn’t think the Tsar of Russia could own the amount of stuff I do.
Where do we as human beings accumulate all our stuff? And then we buy buildings in which to place all our stuff to keep all our stuff dry, and then when we have too much stuff, we move to a bigger storage facility to house it all.
My carefully constructed series of pathways have dissolved under the burden of all the boxes, so I’m having to get around by hopping over them instead. For safety purposes all my meals are being taken cold.
No SuWriMos update today. A shame upon my head …
Falling behind under piles of stuff.