Progress, of a sort

30 boxes, and I'm still not done.

I'm remembering why the last move wasn't so bad: Dad packed all of my books for me, and I didn't stand there and sort them into categories as I packed them. The fiction was quick and easy - they were already alphabetized, but now I'm in the non-fiction. Lord.

So I went for a walk this afternoon. Up the Burke-Gilman, right in the height of blackberry season, to Gasworks, and then up the street to the new house. Literally, up the street. It's a moderate hill, and ten blocks up to the new house. Then another four to the grocery store, where I got my taco fixings and then hopped on the bus.

It's a bit further of a hike than I'd initially expected, but the bus is just as easy, and a lot more frequent than the ones that go past us now. I sense no real impending change in my commuting habits.

Now I've got my vanilla coke (with a tetch of vodka), and I'm alternately reading Anna's Buffy Season and packing books.

Oh - Lori's home. I'll warn her about dinner.

Drunk packing

You know, this shit goes a hell of a lot faster once I'm tipsy and no longer care that Plato is sharing box space with Clancy.

I'm being good, really - some of the liquor just needed drinking. There's a tetch of vodka left, to go with the coke I bought, and there's some margarita mix that should be finished off, and just handily enough, we have tequila and fresh limes.

Mmm... limes. Hee. The look on Lori's face as I ate half of one, slice by slice.

(no subject)

The margarita's too sweet, but a lime to suck on fixes that right quick. Needs ice, too, and we'll get new tube-y little things in the new house - new fridge for only three people instead of five.

The upstairs books are packed, and Ali did the cookbooks, so I've got the graphic novels in the living room and then everything else I own. But hey, the books are packed. Go me!

Oops. Must remember to close the door when I'm nekkid and about to crawl into bed.