Moving...

...is totally the worst.

There is no reason any stable, well-meaning individual should be forced to take into stock every single thing she owns, organize it all, pack it into cardboard categories, and physically carry it somewhere. This week I have suffered--sometimes successfully, sometimes maniacally--the minutia of moving. Where do I put safety pins? How many pairs of underwear do I need? Why do I have two sets of salad tongs, both missing the fork half? Will anyone take two oversized, mismatched spoons?

Look at my kitchen. Do you like my clever packing system? K stands for kitchen. Good, we're up to speed.

Look at my refrigerator. Wha-- why yes! I cleaned it myself, thank you. Then it became the refrigerator of a bachelor: Coors Light and mustard. Who lives here?

Point is, no cooking for a while. This is what we're currently eating. Hershey's Special Dark and some dates I found in the back of my cabinets. Sad. Oh, and some Halloween napkins that I think were actually supposed to be tissues. Whatever. It wipes my face.

Well, at any rate, goodbye, Cambridge. You've been good to me. I'll miss you dearly.

Hello, Virginia.