3.5 weeks...

My apartment is a vortex of lone socks, magazines and boxes - the only untouched sections are my computer desk and my TV and DVD collection. They give me a digital sanctuary to return to when I look around at the moving chaos. I can normally find anything I'm looking for at any given time, and so the process of moving completely disrupts my chi. (Geek note 'chi', and its alternate spelling 'qi' are now useful Scrabble words. No need to thank me now - there will come a day when you remember this and you can pay homage at that time). Luckily, I have come up with a brilliant cross-referencing box list so that I can find everything upon my triumphant return with my Master's. Each box has been numbered on all sides and a master list is being done at the same time - Box 10, for example, contains linens and duvet covers. This is a strong contrast to Box 24, which reads "random bedroom stuff". Yes, you all snigger...but when I muse, "Hmmm, I wonder where my random bedroom stuff went", I'll know! The sleds don't get labelled, but only because there isn't a box that they'll fit in.

Things are trundling along nicely. My yee-haw hoedown going-away party is a go, my work replacement begins tomorrow, and I have exactly the same number of tea bags as there are days left in my apartment. It's all a beautiful circle. (yawn) And to celebrate that, it's off to bed for me!

5.5 weeks and counting!

This was actually from two weeks ago, but it wandered off into cyber-eternity and was just found:
It's 11:30pm on a Friday night, and despite having a myriad of "moving to Liverpool" things to check off on my everpresent Things to Do list, I went for dinner and then disco bowling. Yes, disco and bowling...in the same sentence. Don't tell. My primary objection to bowling began when I realized that I was wearing sandals. Given that this isn't Woodstock, you can infer from this that I didn't have any socks on.I enjoy the actual act of going bowling - it's the concept of wearing shoes that hordes of others have worn before me that weirds me out a bit. And without socks - WELL! That wasn't even an option. And so began what was to be, in my mind, an epic quest to find socks in New Westminster on a Friday night. I'd built it up to be this holy grail in my mind, so imagine how anti-climactic it was to discover that the bowling alley sold them in a vending machine for $3 a pair!They went beautifully with my sandals after all - those Woodstock folks sure do know their fashion!