First I Was Afraid

Each time I start writing today, I get stumped. I keep thinking that I want to write something light and funny. Do I write about the customer from Friday night who asked me point blank about my blowjob techniques? Do I write about the hustler that hit on my friend and I on Saturday? How about writing about...

The problem is that I'm not feeling light and funny right now. I'm at that point in the pre-move where I'm reaching critical mass. If you ever moved, you know it. That point, where you are starting to say "Fuck it all. Throw it all in the trash! I quit!". I know it's going to get better, and things will be ok, but I'm getting rid of most of my possessions. This in itself is hard, but that most things will probably be thrown away is such a killer.

I keep repeating "I refuse to get stressed". It's not working.

To be able to keep a few more belongings, I'm renting a Minivan for the 10 1/2 hour trip out to the Cape. My problem is, I have no clue how much I can fit in a minivan, so I really don't have any clue how much I will be able to take with me.

So I needed an expert. Who's a better expert at minivans than a suburban mom? So Tuna Girl is coming out on her birthday and we are going to pack the van together. I get to see a military mom in full gear as she helps move me across the east coast. That means it's time to get a few more disposable cameras to take blackmail photos of her.

I can't wait.