Phew! So I'm a little more rested, a little less certifiably insane. I must be numb to everything, because I'm sitting here at the computer calmly typing, amidst ginormous piles of half-full boxes and nary an ounce of order. Perhaps I am exhausted. Something has to account for it, because in any other situation I'd be curled in the corner or in a frenzied dash to put everything in it's rightful place (there is a slight possibility that the whole curling in the corner bit happened just this very morning...). The family room is the most organized, with our couches facing our non-working tv. How we are going to last until Tuesday is beyond me. We might actually have to get something DONE.
Would you like to know just how insanely tired I was that first night? Because I have proof people, and something must be said in defence of my non-blogging on Wednesday. Something other than the babbling that occured last night in a hurried attempt to post something after my inability to do so. While we were unloading the U-Haul my job was to basically sit there and make sure that our stuff wasn't robbed of us by the scary Californian robbers. Which are much different than Utah robbers, or Oregon robbers. For real. I unloaded what I could so that the boys could easily get it and transport it to our increasingly jam-packed apartment. I unloaded one box and quickly discovered that my precious balsamic vinaigrette was leaking. Had been for oh, probably, about half the trip down. One of the corners was soaked in the black gold. After a copious amount of instructions off it went on the dolly. About a minute after they'd taken away their load, I noticed a black drip drip drip where Brian had taken the box. For some reason I decided that I needed to make sure that it was the vinaigrette, instead of some alien saliva or something. I bent down, inspected, and dipped a finger in it to smell. Yup, sure enough, my nostrils burned with the acidity. And the next thing I did? Stuck that finger that I'd just dipped in the vinaigrette that was on the concrete, concrete that has no doubt seen many a dog's poop-encrusted-paw, into my poor unsuspecting mouth. IN MY MOUTH people. In my defense, as soon as I had done this atrocity, I flipped. I don't even use the 10 second rule in my own kitchen. Couple this with the realization that Motorolla's Q and....whatever new fancy phone Brian has, didn't allow me to post something, and the fact that I'd been driving for 11 hours, and was utterly famished, and you had one crazed female.
Today? What have I done today you ask? I had an "interview" with a temp agency in the area this morning. I HATE this part of temp agencies. I was in their office from 10:45 (15 minutes late because I managed to make every wrong turn possible on the 9 minute drive) until 1:30 doing tests and filling out paper work. It might not have been so bad, except that I hadn't had anything to eat, and their office was so insanely cold they could have doubled as a sperm and egg freezing clinic. After arriving back home (only getting lost ONCE people. Progress!) I made myself a sandwich (the only food we have all the ingredients for) and have pretty much sat on my tired butt ever since. Caleb and Brian are viewing their new franchise area, and probably won't be back for a while considering all the traffic around these parts. I'm currently trying to convince myself that taking a nap on my lovely new bed isn't the best use of my time. I should be organizing my bedroom. Or the kitchen. Or the bathroom. Or the living room. Or the storage room on the deck. Or the fridge. Or looking up job opportunities. Or finding a grocery store and stocking up on FOOD. Remember food Kim? The stuff that used to fill your tiny cabinet in Oregon? Yeah, you might need some of that. Denny's for breakfast every day isn't a great health or financial choice. Just a thought.
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