"My daughter hates me because I'm making her move again."

Jul 30, 2005 15:38

Ten boxes later, packed and moved to the basement, my arms are raw and my legs are shaking. I have ice packs velcro'd to my arms. The boxes kept cutting into them. Danielle figures one more box would have slashed my skin. Great. I had to go down and up two flights of stairs with each friggin box, then three extra times to get the cats since the realtor is afraid of them.

My room isn't my room anymore. The bookcases are completely empty, dust only remaining on them. My picture frames are packed into a box. My minature Venice is packed away. Once we move the bookcases tomorrow and my bed is moved to the other wall, I won't be able to sleep. I usually fall asleep with my eyes on my bookcases or on my ceiling, staring at the balloon. I won't be seeing those anymore. Not for another three months.

People are going to start seeing the house on Monday. I have to keep my room immaculate, as well as the rest of the house. When they come, I have to leave. I either have to go out on the back porch or next door. What if I'm in the process of making myself lunch? Can I stay and eat? No, I have to wait and go to the backyard.

Demon in my View is packed up. Enchanted Forest is packed up. Right about this time I break down and cry.
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