the art of cramming A LOT into a weekend.

Whew.






I feel battered.


Remember how I was all amped up and ready to fall out of my desk chair on Thursday because I was going camping with my friends for Memorial Day and we were going to braid each other's hair and tell spooky ghost stories around the campfire and rage on the river like total banshees?


That happened, and it was worth the stress breakouts, and we'll get to it later or tomorrow or something.




What I failed  to mention was the fact that when I got back from said camping trip with a car of damp everything, hair reeking of some inexplicable river-campfire smoke combo, and a collective good times-hangover, I had to move.




As in change address, completely pack up my possessions in their entirety and peace out.




And THAT is how I spent my free Monday off of work.


You'd think that the extensive practice I've had lugging my crap from one corner of the country to another would improve my skill and ability to move successfully, but that would be false. Alas, I am virtually inept at such things.


The truth of the matter is that I make it not a very big deal in my head so that I don't FREAK OUT and then when I'm faced with the monstrosity of the task, completely unprepared mind you, I go into warrior mode and start throwing shit into boxes, unceremoniously throwing things away, lifting and lugging things much too heavy for me, and banging my body into things in the process.


I"m strained, bruised, and so, SO sore.




Don't get me wrong, this weekend was the best kind of wonderful. I got to spend time with the ladies living off the land and preparing food over open flames. We blared music and had cocktails and all slept in the same tent. I fucking love sleepovers. I caught some sun on my shoulders and my cheeks have finally reunited with that rosy glow that only true summer sun can bring out. I got to be pampered by my ever-impressive Manfriend with a culinary masterpiece topped off with homemade dessert and a thoughtfully DVRed few episodes of Mob Wives. He even bought my favorite champagne. And willingly gave me a back rub. WITH OIL. I couldn't make this stuff up, I swear. Either that or it was an awesome and incredibly vivid sun-induced fantasy.


But, I also may or may not have forgotten which bra I was wearing when we set up camp on Friday afternoon and collapsed into my cubicle this morning only to realize I was rampant with the odor of sweat and campfire.
SICK.

Um, I moved yesterday? I have NO idea where anything is because once again I've failed to commit to living in one place and thus all my stuff is pretty much scattered anywhere I could see myself spending an odd night or two? I don't know what the word HOME even means?!!


Thankfully I was able to jet over to Meijer and purchase myself a fresh brassiere during lunch. I changed into it in the store restroom and I can safely say that I've never felt a sense of urgency to willingly place myself into a public restroom environment so strongly.

I feel better and have an entirely different outlook on life now that I don't smell like I cooked in sweat juices over a camp fire all weekend. Although, I'm now questioning the likelihood of me ever becoming an adult. You know, since I show up to work in dirty clothes now and all.

I've got one more carload to go on the moving front and I honestly will not rest until it is finished now, 95 degree record highs BE DAMNED. I'm not letting this take up any more time than is humanly possible.


I think a nice, loooooong, swim will be in order this eve. Yahtzeeeeeee.

Xo Sara










**Side note, I've recently launched a new blog. Buttttttttt, I'll probably still be writing mostly on this one. Blah blah blah- privacy and stuff. Email if you're interested and we'll get you hooked up with some underbelly that leaves my identity feeling a little more safely anonymous.