Wishy Washy

Just as I feared, after packing almost a dozen boxes of books and the like yesterday, I arrived to work this morning to find The Writer in a complete state of panic.

The move was off.

At this point, I struggled to keep from throwing myself out the second story window, right after torching the stacks of boxes I'd packed yesterday

KIDDING!

but I was royally pissed.

Then, after a MASSIVE emotional breakdown which involved crying, shaking, panic attack, and nearly 2 hours of running every possible option by me for the 100th time--

The move was back on.
Mind you. I said about 3 words during this entire time. I didn't actually suggest, affirm, or disagree with anything The Writer had to say for fear of making the situation worse.

I suggested that we halt packing for the day since I really didn't want to pack everything up just to unpack it all once The Writer's mind changed again. The Writer agreed. 10 minutes later we were back to packing.

(I use the term "We" loosely here, as The Writer has yet to actually do ANY of the packing. Partner and I have done it all, so far. Nonetheless, The Writer often uses this term when discussing things that I *ahem* WE do.)

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There are only 8 episodes of LOST left. Every Tuesday I become a little more depressed, and a little more confused.

I expect tonight to be no exception, and I can't wait!