a bone to the dog is not charity

    The daily meltdown... A couple of hours ago, I was pacing the living room (of the rat hole, as it shall henceforth be known), brain racing, heart pounding, hands and knees shaking, and, most notably, sobbing almost uncontrollably. Yeah, that was fun. For about 10 minutes, I completely lost it. The same as usual—money, time, organization, fear, drama, stress, blah blah blah—had me totally overwhelmed. The good news is that once I'd gone utterly mental for a bit (and talked [and blubbered] to Fluffy for a half hour) I sucked it back up and got my shit back together. Sensibly filled the 5+ boxes that were sitting around half-packed for the past couple of days, plus probably 5 more. Sorted half a box of paperwork to recycle. Took a LOT of deep breaths.

    OK. I can do this.

    Still, if anyone is available on Sunday to shove some furniture into a truck and take it out again an hour later, I would love you forever (even more than I already do, considering that I've brought you here).

    The good news: I got verification from my coworker/employee who shall be known as The Decorator and her husband The Handyman that the new-new place is as awesome as I thought it was. Which is a relief, eh?

    I cannot wait until I can write, think, and care about something other than this. It won't be long, surely - right?

[title quotation by Jack London - and the second part is this: "--charity is the bone shared with the dog, when you are just as hungry as the dog."]