My hands smell like packing tape.

It looks like our issues with the move have been ironed out, at least to the point where we know we can move to the house. Hopefully we can still have the closing by the end of next week-- considering we move on the 30th. I just want to get in and get rid of the cowboy print border on my bedroom wall.

I have a week to pack all this up. How the fuck did I ever get to own so much stuff? Why exactly did we need 7 different versions of Trivial Pursuit? All I want to do is watch a baseball game or a movie and relax, but I suppose I'll just do that after the move. I packed 11 boxes today and I have at least that many to do tomorrow. I'm just feeling like a housewife, which, rated on my list of life's dreams ranks somewhere around being a garbage collector. I'm just not cut out for the June Cleaver life.

On a different note, I tried on the shirt I bought on impulse from Wal-Mart yesterday. Nice print, cute cut, way too small in the bust. Shit. Of course, if I were going for the pancake look, I'd have hit the jackpot-- except for the fact that I could get the same look by duct taping my breasts down unevenly. Oh well, 8 dollars gone and a shirt for the goodwill, worse things have happened.