Fragile

Right, so. A certain emotional equilibrium seems to have been achieved. I weathered the migraine, took it easy for one day so as not to bring on another one, and then, this morning I woke up with That Thing in my chest, that wheezy, scratchy lump of glugh that has been the inerrant harbinger of a cold ever since I had that brief affair with pneumonia in 2006. So I’ve been groggy all day:

Me: breathe, damn you.
My lungs: no. donwanna.
Me: I got things to do! Stairs to climb!
My lungs: wheeeeeze…

I did pack one box today! Yay me, right? I’ve been reading FlyLady’s moving tips, taking notes and all, I’ve got a fistful of different-colored Sharpies so I can label the boxes according to what room the movers should put them in, which is tricky since we have no idea what we’ll be moving into. City? Suburb? Willage? House? Apartment? (There’s a castle in Heidelberg, but they haven’t fixed the damage done by Napoleon’s cannons, so it’s probably pretty drafty.) How many rooms we’ll need will depend on how many kids we’ll have six months from now – most people have that sort of information right to hand, but not us, oh, no.

Besides, DrBob may convince the University to pay for the move so I don’t even have to pack at all! So I should wait and see, but unemployment is making me insane, so I must pack all the things! But, one box at a time, because I keep getting sick, arg.

Song du jour of the day: Fragile, by Sting and Stevie Wonder

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