I hate packing. And moving.
Tomorrow and the next day I get to spend my two days off doing both of those things. This is honestly one of the very few times I wish I had a boyfriend. When I moved out before, I even had the boyfriend's FRIEND moving (said boyfriend not actually helping), and then moving back in involved the boyfriend since I guilted him the entire time I lived in the apartment that he didn't help at all with the moving in portion. I also had a (future) brother in law helping.
Who do I have now? Part of me is like "oh, I'm independent, I can do it by myself. What. What. You don't know me" but then I remember I have to move things like full tables which aren't taken apart, and realize that no matter how much I love being single and not having anyone to answer to, I don't have four foot long arms.
When we moved in to the last apartment, I actually did quite a bit of moving by myself, but it was mostly box type stuff, not so much full on tables and queen sized mattress and box spring. My pops lovingly volunteered, which I very much appreciate, but only after trying to convince me to call Devin and Nathan, to which I responded "that's not really something I'd ask him to do" and "yeah right fat chance of him helping" to those options, respectively.
So blech to the idea of packing and moving. All day. Twice. This sucks. BUT, Friday night, we will celebrate, in a big way. With a cocktail or two. And going out. To Cowboys perhaps, to celebrate the first night of Stampede. (Cowboys is on the table only because I get in for free, just to defend myself a little bit here. And it's better at stampede, with the big tent thingy and all.)
Anyone wanna help move?
Oh, and for anyone who cares, I did ALL announcements on my flights today sans cue cards. Saweeeeeet!