moving again....

I've done this too much. I started to get kinda furklempt about moving again, I mean it really does lick to have to tackle the seemingly insurmountable task of it all. But it's occurred to me now that I've started that I shouldn't be bitching at all. I'll grant that the packing, sorting, cleaning, and worrying if my fucked up scam artists of property managers will screw me on the deposit is lame. It really is. But what about the rest of it? I have an absolutely wonderful house I'm moving into, everything I've wanted for all this time. I'm going to have Winston with me. I'm actually going to own most of this fabulous furniture that I've been borrowing. I have a whole month to deal with the packing b.s. And I'm okay now. Last time I had to pack up a house things were different. It was a chilly Thanksgiving, I was sick with a cold, and I was all alone. Anyone who loved me was hours away and I had essentially no way of getting to them. The person I planned to spend the rest of my life with was in a psych hospital being visited by her girlfriend. I was surrounded by my pets that I loved so much, but I knew that in a few days I was going to have to give them all up. I had only a few days to pack our stuff, and I had nowhere to go when it was packed. I didn't know how I was going to get through the next five minutes let alone the next month. Yikes.