Moving Agita
I can hear Jeepers in the other room. Meep… where is my shelf with the carpeting? Meep… why have you moved the kitchen table? Meep… what’s all this stuff in the middle of the floor? Meep… why did you move the TV over? Meep… what are you doing to my home?
And Maggie… I think she almost had a heart attack when I moved the refrigerator over to clean behind it, pushed it back, and there were about 10 foil ball. FOIL BALLS! OHBOYOHBOYOHBOY!! Chirp, chirp, chirp. Time for my soccer practice. That was fun for a while until she started sniffing around the left side of the fridge, causing both a mop AND a broom to… TIMBER… hurtle towards her. She scampered out and is now sacked out in the study over in this corner, a corner that hasn’t been changed much. Jeep has been spending most of her time in the bedroom. It’s another place in the house that still looks “normal.â€
I wish I could talk to them and tell that what is happening. They seem so nervous and on edge. Am I projecting? I don’t think so, but I certainly get a little antsy about it all. Mostly I just want to be there, and I want to be moved in. I’m sick of boxes and tape and cleaning supplies and big black markers and writing FRAGILE and wondering if my U-Haul will be the right size. I want to be in my new place with everything from here sorted further and put away. I want all the stuff coming from Atlanta to be there and sorted and put away. I want to lie down on the sofa after having eaten a meal I cooked in my new kitchen… my new kitchen with a GAS STOVETOP (w00t!)… and I just want to chill. No packing, no unpacking, no arranging, no dissertation, just me and the girls, comfy in our new digs.
