So right now I'm supposed to be stuffing myself with sweets, except I got a jump start on that yesterday with tapioca pudding which just happened to be on sale at C-Town for $1.99 for six. This morning I'm more concerned with my sudden resemblance to Rick Perry, as I've been able to come up with three positives about giving up this apartment and can only remember two of them.
One - and I can get quite giddy with excitement about this - would be having only one bank account and checkbook, and the other is not having to clean the place before I leave; whatever number three was was as good as those two, I thought at the time, but it's as gone from my head as the third government agency Perry was going to abolish, so I hereby step down from my fight for the Republican nomination for president.
In the meantime, I have to rouse myself enough to do a bit of packing, except that now I don't know what I'm packing for. I'd thought this would be the last weekend I'd be here for perhaps two years, hysterical laughter, and now I'll be back down in four days time, as even if sub-tenant does move in, he won't do it till next weekend and that will give me a day to mail all the books I haven't packed yet because of being thrown for a loop by the landlord's attorney's letter.
With Saturn stationing almost exactly opposed to Venus, whatever bug has taken up residence in my blood stream settling in for an extended stay and the prospect of moving out of this apartment after 38 years, I don't seem to have very much energy for anything, let alone packing. The only really constructive thing I can think of doing is hoofing it down to C-Town before they run out of tapioca pudding, and making sure I have a spoon in my computer bag for the bus tonight.
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