Here I sit.. surrounded by boxes and listening to questionable Russian Pop musak...preparing to move, yet again.
I know this will come as a suprise to no-one, but I effing HATE moving... I have moved 13 times in the last 11 years... it's not because I can't hold down a home, the last place I lived in for nearly four years, when I first moved to this city I moved four times in the first year of Uni cycling through generous relatives until I could find a University rental cheap enough, and then there are the emergency moves, like in cases where dodgy rentals burn down... luckily in that specific instance I had very little to move with me.
So I have a day left to pack before the big move... and my husband has just re-packed and alphabetised his comics, which I think means he believes he has done his share...yeah, he's in for a shock!
Anyway, this is where I am.. but I won't be here for long.