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I Hate Moving

YUP

If my blog post this week comes across as terse and annoyed, glance up at the title, ponder to yourself for a few seconds before having that glorious "a-ha" of realization and you will understand.

 DO YOU GET IT YET?

DO YOU GET IT YET?

The one good thing about moving is that I get organized. Beyond that, fuck this fuck this fuck this fuck it with a hammer up the bum just fuck it.

OH WOE

 FUCK THIS

FUCK THIS

There's the countdown that immediately puts pressure on me and stresses me out - there's always a date I need to be out by and the closer that day comes and I haven't found a place yet, the more anxious and berserk I become.

Naturally, I won't even start looking for a place until it's getting close to crunch time because I'd rather not think about it. Which just adds to the worry worry worry.

This time around was especially tricky because all of my current roommates are scattered in various places; I love them dearly, but coordinating our efforts has not been an easy task. It wasn't too bad when we were trying to find a place, but once we found one OH GOD PAPERWORK NIGHTMARE.

Paperwork. No one likes it. But you gotta do it. And if it means the difference between having a place to live and perhaps living out of your car, you're really going to have to do it.

LA WHY

LADWP can go and fuck itself. I haven't even made a payment yet for utilities and already I'm longing for the days of using SCE. SCE. There is nothing enjoyable about dealing with the fustercluck that is trying to get utilities switched over. Nope nope nope nada nada nada.

 FUCK THAT

FUCK THAT

That's the thing that really stresses me out about moving - once I think I've got my head around everything that needs to be done, signed, canceled, transferred, whatever, another thing pops up that I need to deal with - nay, it is imperative I deal with it - or else I'll be out a lot of cash or the government is going to come after me with their goons wielding baseball bats or something else unpleasant.

I've learned that I am an easy-going person and a control-freak living in the same body. This does not work well together. Moving just makes all my circuits go haywire.

PACKING IS A JOY

As I said above, the one good thing about this moving crapola is going through my mountains of shit and organizing it into nice little shit piles, even getting rid of some of the shit piles.

   FUCK ALLA THIS

FUCK ALLA THIS

And this move has taught me that I have way too much shit. And almost none of it is being gotten rid of.

Boxes on boxes it is then. Guess who's been doing nothing but boxing and sorting and making preparations for several days on end?

SPOILERS: IT'S ME

a;ldhf;akid hf;la jf;oau eriopu n3rp98yn3p98rt yhaw'ioyhgioa;d yhf;alidfgj ';asik

I'm done. That's it. It's all too annoying. It's all too much. I'm burning all the boxes and going to live off the grid, getting ahead of the game for the inevitable Trumpocalypse.

I'M DONE

I NEED A SPA DAY

.

.

.

... if you are reading this the day I posted it, you should know that as we speak I am probably in the middle of doing the big move, leaving my old place for good and shoving it all in the new one.

I'm fine.

Everything's fine.

Don't worry guys.

Don't.

Worry.

So Like, I Met a Wizard

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