I think I accidentally already packed this post's title. Oops.

I am deliriously drooling over calmly assessing the mountain of packed and sealed boxes in my living room after cleaning out the fridge. Staring down my seventh move in two and a half years because, whythaheck not? Let's just punch myself in the boob while I'm at it, because both endeavors seem equally as annoying and painful and so, might as well!

We're just moving apartments, not even towns, and so our new place is not even a 15 minute drive away. But stiiiiiiill. >whine< I hate moving.

It honestly wouldn't be so bad if I had, oh I dunno, kept stuff a little cleaner in our current place this past year. I swear there were moments that I actually picked up a mop and used it occasionally, other than pretending it was a mic while I badly did my own version of 90s karaoke in my underwear. (wow, boobs and underwear all in the same post! And I'm not even drinking! Yet!)

But you really couldn't tell that anyone so much as dusted when you start moving around my furniture. My dust bunnies have their OWN dust bunnies. It's gross.

We're doing the best we can, though. Magic Eraser has become my new best friend, and I'm considering taking Mr. Clean out for dinner when this is all said and done. I mean, it's the least I can do after what HE'S seen lately.

We move our furniture next week and then the seventh circle of hell unpacking commences. Pray for me. Hard.