Let this be a record.

I command all you who read this to remind me next time I decide to move house of this one simple fact: Moving is Hell.

Every time I go into a move I feel happy and joyful, as if moving all my wordly possessions (or in this case, all my parents worldly possessions) will be some sort of romp in the park, possibly involving puppies. But it is not. It is tiring, stressful, frustrating, and generally No Fun.

case in point: my parents hired movers who should have arrived at our house at 8am. Their truck broke down on the highway, so they called at 7:45 to say they wouldn't be there until 11. They didn't arrive until 2.

Also, since my parents are moving house with very little of my possessions, I can't unpack anything because my parents should decide where things go. And since the movers are doing all the hauling, I have nothing to do except sit and fret and pace. I HATE having nothing to do. I like being useful, and in this move (right now, at least) I am totally useless. I fled to Joel's house, but the irony is that I can't even relax here. I'll need to go back home soon, on the off chance that someone needs me. Normally during moves I destress by lifting heavy things, but today all I did was clean a fridge, two bathrooms, and rip poor innocent plants out of my back garden.

hear ye, hear ye! Moving = bad.