If You See a Chicken With Its Head Cut Off–It’s ME

And if you see my brain, (it’s gray and fluffy and smacks little kisses if you wink at it), please pick it up and put it in a bucket of Coke Zero until I can pick it up.

I have dreamed of this move for at least two years now, and it’s coming down to crunch time. And I’m going out of my freakin’ little bean-counter. I mean seriously. I can barely remember my name.

Knock on wood, and twirl three times in place, click your heels, and shout Johnny Depp, they are coming to haul boxes and pack up most of the POD tomorrow. I got a knot in my tummy the size of the Grandest Canyon and the Mohave, Sahara and Gobi thrown in for interest.

The standard answer to the question “when are ya moving?” was “three weeks to a month” (since February at least). It is now, “umm a week and a half to two weeks?” I am gettin’ crazy.

So, let me be the first, middle and last to apologize for not being a good blogging friend. I shall no doubt either not comment, or babble nonsense if I do, and that sporadically. I can barely think of a topic to write about, as you can obviously tell. I’m busy with  trying to sort through houses on a ReMax site when half of the pics time-out on me due to the slow upload. But at least that will improve as we get on the road.

I’ll forget 3 million things and remember another half million on the way there. I’ll curse and invent words of invective to suggest that I or the Contrarian has developed early onset Alzheimer’s and we will probably end up on Sri Lanka instead of New Mexico.

I’m getting hopefully the last pile of boxes at the local grocery on Monday. That is to finish off the kitchen (I have already packed things I am looking to use now) and we are sending the kitchen chairs into the POD tomorrow and eating off tray tables in the kitchen from now on.

It sounds much like we are moving!!!!!!!

Off to the bank next week to talk about money transfers and direct deposit stuff, and a drop by the local Post office, where everyone knows your name, and tell them to get ready to hold all our mail until we get a post office box. And then calling lights and so on and so forth.

Aren’t you glad you’re not me?

The Contrarian sits back and thinks this is all gonna be a cake walk. Men do that. Did I tell you about my uncle who came home one afternoon and told his wife he had sold the house? Now they were planning on doing that and moving up north, which they did (this was in Michigan). So that was fine. She asked when they needed to be out by, and he said, “5 pm tomorrow.” Now that woman should have been ripe for a sanitarium doncha think? And guess what? They were out by 5 pm the next day. Nothing stopped my Uncle Harry from doing what he wanted.

So again, my apologies for all the nonsense going on here. I know this is boring, but I find it therapeutic to type, and I’m typing almost at light-speed which tells you just how frenetic I have become.

So.

I’ll keep blogging as long as I can, about what I can. Is there an election coming up? Or was there an election? Who won? Are we a communist country? Do I need a passport? Should I take oranges? I have no dairy creamer in those little packets. My snow boots are packed in an ice chest. My chest is packed in a pair of wine glasses. I’m nuts.

But so are you. No? You are reading this no?

I rest my case.