and in my spare time, i foil would-be shoplifters at the 7-11

There was a point several weeks ago when I thought that taking my time to move out of my old apartment and into my new house was a good idea. Needless to say, I have changed my mind. It was a beautiful theory that now haunts me as I dwell among the boxes that I swear are multiplying on their own, and in rabbit-like quantities. My days at work are consumed with thoughts about the work waiting for me at home, and I spend my lunch breaks creating detailed "to do" lists that even as I'm writing them I know won't ever be completed. It's the pinnacle of my moving insanity -- the only thing I seem to be accomplishing is a bunch of lists of things I need to accomplish. No matter how many details I try to set down on such a list, something always comes up that I didn't think of and I get sidetracked from what I intended to do: old friends move away, new friends start to call, girl friends need to talk, boy friends need to cry... and before I know it, packing or unpacking more boxes is the last thing I have time to do.

So I caved in to my moving delirium this week and hired the services of "Two Men and a Truck" to move the heavy large objects from my apartment. As advertised, two men drove up to my apartment with a big truck yesterday morning; a portly black man named Cliff and a very thin and wiry Hispanic man named Luis (for a visual aid, think Abbott & Costello). They were very friendly and got to work right away, shrink wrapping my couch and orange armchair (they left the white chair uncovered, though... odd...), my corner china-cabinet, my Total Gym... everything. And then they saw the bedroom furniture -- and there were audible gasps. I had to take a few minutes to reassure them that the bed and dresser could be fully dismantled and weren't nearly as heavy as they looked, but even then their eyes were wide and their heads ever-so-slightly shaking back and forth in disbelief.

Three hours later, the piles of furniture and boxes in my new house were so out of control that I had to move boxes of Louis L'Amour books out of my kitchen to get to the box of pots and pans so that I could cook dinner. Even then, the only empty place in the entire house to sit and eat was the stairwell!

And if this weren't enough, I have suddenly found myself moonlighting as "Super Amy, Guardian and High Protector of David's Sunflower Seeds at the 7-11." Yes, yes, it's true -- I caught a shoplifter redhanded at the 7-11 the other night. (Sigh.) See what I mean? Something always comes up to keep me away from those to-do lists... and it's exhausting!

Still, the end is definitely in sight -- it's kind of like being trapped in a caved-in mine, and then someone finally drills through the rubble to provide me with oxygen, Gatorade and a Martha Stewart Living magazine. There is still drilling and digging to be done, but I can finally see my way out. After all, I did manage to assemble my large and very comfy bed last night, so no more sleeping on an air mattress! And as my head sunk into the feather pillow, and I breathed deeply, relishing the cool 65 degrees of my new air-conditioned bedroom, I thought to myself, "It will all be over s..." ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz