Moving

Moving stinks.

I should be packing, but instead I am staying up late and getting drunk. I love to drink. It makes me feel warm and bubbly and good, whereas moving makes me feel sucky.

You see, we move basically every year. Our lease comes up and we decide, "Eh, we'll tr a new place for a while". For us, a new year has become synonymous with finding a cheaper/bigger/better place to live. So, that's nice. But the moving..now that's terrible.

You see, to begin with, we have to pack. Which generally means cleaning. I don't know if you know me...but...homegirl doesn't really clean. I straighten, I do dishes, and I often end up just making piles of things rather than actually putting them away. But when you pack, you can't do that. The piles need to be organized into boxes, and then the space they occupied has to be dusted, swept, mopped, vaccummed, bleached, or otherwise cleaned.

And then you have to put the boxes into a trailer. And because I can't drive, that means paying my dad to come to wherever I am to pull a trailer full of my junk. And convincing my brothers to help load/unload stuff. Which is always a joy.

Sometimes I wonder why we keep moving. Is it really because we want a better place to live? Or just because we're bored where we currently are? Generally it's about money, but sometimes it's about change. I wonder if we'll ever own a place. Maybe just an RV.



...There you go folks. Drunk blogging. :) I should get packing.