The Corporate Shill’s son and the Redheaded Kid have the same name, so my dad calls and I’m all “Zach’s coloring and watching SpongeBob” and my dad’s all “Why are you talking about him like he’s an idiot?” “Because he’s two!”
I clearly need to hire the Shill as my personal motivator. She’s all “pack this. Pack that. Pack some more stuff. Here’s our plan for tomorrow, which will involve more packing.” I’m all “Noooooo.” and she’s all “You can whine and cry and pack at the same time, B.”
Even though someone stuck tape to her belly, Mrs. Wigglebottom was surprisingly good… Um, I mean, completely expectedly good, just like I’ve spent hours a day training her to be… with the kid. She had to show him her bone and then act a little distressed by the tape on her belly and after that, she pretty much just slept by the door in that manner dogs have where they seem to keep one eye open while they snore.
I think our goal for tomorrow is to conquer the altar and the books in my room.
Monday, the cable is gone, so I’ll have nothing to do in the evenings after work but pack. I have to back myself into corners about packing like that or it would never get done. My dad said we could just leave it for Saturday, but that seems unfair.
I went shopping today for a bookcase, too. That was an adventure in stupidity. I want something nice for the den because I made a promise to myself that there would be no particle board shelves in my actual house. I basically want a large box with an open side, with five or six shelves. I want to pay, I don’t know, around $600 for it, I think.
I went to that furniture place on Whitebridge Road and, first, to find a bookcase that didn’t have fancy lights or glass shelves that also lit up was nearly impossible and then, when she did find me something I liked, it was $1,600. I mean, it was good looking, but it’s not like it fucked you until you couldn’t stand and then sang you to sleep and then left you a poem about how much it longs to be with you because you are the most magnificent girl in the world and if only it had met you under other circumstances it could happily spend its whole life losing itself in your eyes but alas, it must return to the village of its people and continue to fight for their freedom. I don’t require that poem to actually be true, mind you, but I expect a lie I can cry wistfully over later for $1,600.
I also feel like I should have picked up a bunch of small plastic trays at Target, but I did not and so I’m sitting here wistfully over that.
The Shill and I also had a good head-shaking laugh at the giant line of people trying to get gas at the KwikMart on West End. People, if you would stop buying gas like nincompoops, we would have gas. There is no real shortage yet, just a bunch of panicking assholes.