I’m not posting. I’m only kind of posting because I want to rip all of the hair out of my head and make someone eat it. Anyone. Why? I don’t know.
My house is a freaking disaster.
I want anyone who has ever had to make a move with my The Boyfriend to pat yourself on the back because if you survived it without shooting him you’re clearly a good person.Â A patient person. Maybe a saint.Â This is my 3rd move with him. This is my 15th move. Yes. I move a lot. I’m a nomad. Every single move I made pre Boyfriend was very little stress. All the boxes were packed in order of least necessity and were neatly stacked in the corner of some apartment ready to go for moving day. Everything neatly labeled and even marked for weight so anyone who helped me move would know before bending over to pick something up that it was going to kill their back or be something they could carry 4 of.Â I am a good mover.Â I’m skilled, well practiced. I also don’t hold on to random crap. I purge. I love getting rid of boatloads of stuff. Goodwill loves me. (or hates me).
Everything I just said is the exact opposite of The Boyfriend and the exact opposite of every move we have made as a couple.Â Currently our living room is a giant stack of crap with no end.Â I can’t cook or do dishes because every surface in the kitchen is taken up with MORE CRAP.
The best part is my d-bag of a landlord is going to end up charging us for the last 4 months of our lease no matter what so we get to rent two places during this whole mess too!
YAY! GOOD PLANNING! I’M NOT STRESSED AT ALL.