What you have described is much better than an ice pick in the forehead, jonathan. You are still alive! Breathe in that delicious air, have as much as you like, it's free!

aw, sorry jonathanstrange! Moving is always difficult and nerve-wracking, without the additional complications and emotional issues involved in this one. When I die and become beatified (we can swing this, we basically just have to get mudpuppie elected as Pope), I'm going to be the patron saint of Moving House. You have my sympathy, and wishes that things will started getting much, much better... right... NOW.

I'm weeping because I'm hot and sweaty, and the house needs cleaning, and I can't face doing it in the heat. And I have to go out and buy things.

I'm feeling much better, now I'm lying in bed, a box of chocolates and a big glass of grapefruit vodka on hand, and watching clips of anne of green gables on Youtube. Am about to put Jeeves and Wooster on, because nothing will cheer me up like that.

js, I can relate. I lost my childhood home last winter after my mom's twin sisters (one of my "moms") died of cancer, and my birth-mom couldn't afford to keep it. Paired with the decimation of my (theoretically long-term) relationship, I've been in a sort of perma-mourning mode for the last six months. I think one reaches a sort of "loss saturation point" where you just kinda shut down.

Although chocolates and grapefruit vodka sound like a fine temporary solution.

Me, I've got the Cocteau Twins on Party Shuffle, a head full of vodka shots, and a box of Life cereal - of all things - which I am enthusiastically shoveling into my maw after 45 miles of biking and three hours of clubbing.

*ravenous and lonely*

(And, goodness, I don't know how her sister magically multiplied. Must be the vodka. Rest assured, Mom only lost one twin sister.)

I am weeping because I am sleep deprived and concerned, and fear I will remain that way for a long time. Damn children.

Funny, I'm driving back to my home town today to rent a truck and get the last furniture that I want out of my mom's house before we sell it. It's a little weird but it's still just a house, someone will buy it and have their life in it. The house is 120 years old and it will almost certainly outlive me. Live moves on, there's no much you can do about it.

jonathanstrange, I hope you're feeling better today. What an ordeal. Leaving my childhood homes have always been bittersweet. I always looked forward to the new chapter.

I am weeping because I screwed up my neck going down a violent scary waterslide at a place called Daytona Lagoon on Tuesday. It's going to be OK, but I swear I feel like I have whiplash. I wasn't in any pain that day but the next day I woke up in agony. I can barely move my head. I'm just glad the rest of my family's necks are OK. We went down together and thought it was "awesome!" Maybe there is a way to brace yourself and I failed to do that.

I scorched my eggs. I left some eggs boiling in a small pot on the stove and completely forgot about them. I remembered when I was in the bathroom and heard one explode. I have yolk on my ceiling.

You know, just yesterday I was wondering if it was possible to over-boil an egg. Now I know.

*note to self: don't over-boil eggs without a ladder and squeegee*

I never wanted a fast-forward button, but I'd sure like a clone I could send out to do all my unpleasant stuff while I curl up in bed with a rum-laced coffee and a tawdry thriller.

I'm in the process of clearing out a house full of good and bad memories, too. I find it helps to think of those things as weight, as burdens, as detritus slowing my progress. As those things fall away, I become lighter and lighter and less encumbered.

Less weepy, more creepy!

You know, just yesterday I was wondering if it was possible to over-boil an egg. Now I know.

I think so long as there's water in the pot you're okay, BOP. The yolks will just turn that nice swamp green. Alas, all my water had boiled out. And I wanted to make potato/egg salad.

I may have to throw the pot out, too. The bottom's black on the inside. It was one of a few stainless steel pots and pans that belonged to my parents. The frying pan my dad made great homefries in, another smaller frying pan, and this small sauce pan. My mom was gonna throw them out, so I took them.

Funny thing is, this happened to my father years and years ago, the scorched eggs thing, before he died. In his retirement, much to my mom's dismay, he'd gotten into cooking (cooking, mind you, not cleaning). I remember my mom's annoyed phone call and fears of him burning the house down. Who made the best split pea soup was a bone of major contention between them. (She did, but dad made a mean pecha -- seasoned calves feet and veggies boiled and strained to make a clear gelatin with slices of hard boiled eggs in it, which I regret turning my nose up at and never trying.)

I may have to go out and buy more eggs. I generally only make egg salad when the eggs are about to expire.

I read somewhere that soaking in baking soda will remove the burned gunk.

Cool... I'll give it a try.

*fishes pot out of trash*

Soak in baking soda, dry, then scour with kosher salt to remove baked-on carbon. White vinegar also removes burn marks. Stainless steel is eternal and cannot be killed.

I was weeping because our vacation ended and we had to come back to reality. Literally, on our last night, I was crying silent tears. I missed our boys, but it was so nice having someone else cook and clean for you, no work/home issues, relaxing all day. Barely one day back, and I'm clinging to how it was down there. Sigh. Vacations are never long enough.

Weeping because I don't like what I am observing or being told.....and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change it.

I want what my gut remembers: peace........and I don't know if I will be ever to have it.

When I die and become beatified (we can swing this, we basically just have to get mudpuppie elected as Pope)

While I'm all for the canonization of St. Taz, it has, unfortunately, been too clearly demonstrated that I have a low tolerance for funny looking hats. Thus I don't believe that the white smoke will ever puff for me.

But anyway. I'm weepy because I got up at an ungodly hour this morning to take a class, so now I'm extraordinarily groggy and grumpy.

[Update] I went to turn my computer on last night, and it had broken. I haven't backed it up for awhile, it was always on my "will get around to it" list of things to do.

I spoke to my friend who owns the car, need to get it moved somewhere closer to her that isn't paid parking. No idea how.

Cos, you know, moving isn't already stressful enough.

i finally have a hard drive and i am backing up everything. This is gonna end in tears one way or another. Either it will work and suddenly life is easier and moves forward, or kablooey.
i'm having potential kablooey anxiety. i should almost be use to it, except you never get use to the big bang boom of it all, your little universe of stuff imploding on itself--
Cleaning up can be traumatizing.

I have just a few hours left tonight and tomorrow to get the room in my new place tidy enough for me to start moving all my media into new bookcases/media storage units, and in order to do that, I had to get rid of the dresser I've hauled along with me to six different apartments in five years that was the second to the last piece of furniture I own that came from my parents' house. Except for one night stand, I have nothing but "new" furniture now. Somehow, this makes me very sad.

I'm not weeping, though I'm feeling empathy with those of you who are. I do, however, want to mention how much I love hearing the word "removalists", which isn't used around here.