I have decided that packing is overrated. Much to my sister's dismay, I just don't see what the fuss is all about. I guess once you've moved halfway across the country on 10 days' notice, packing to move across town just seems like overkill. We have a few things packed (Jules made me do it) and beyond that we figure we'll throw some things in the car, drive over and take it out. The big stuff will all get moved by some very helpful people in a week or so. Beyond that, it just doesn't seem to concern me.
Which is good, because my closing has been postphoned. We hope it's just being pushed from tomorrow to Friday, but working with the government, I won't hold my breath on that. While I was thrilled to work summer school and bring in some money over those months, FHA seems to have some questions about my position, my salary and my contract. Oiy. We hope we've given them the necessary documentation, but if I've learned anything, assuming anything is well, a bad idea.
Along with having no closing date, I have no voice. My annual favorite-season allergies have kicked in and while I tried to combat them with a duet of o-t-c solutions, I am still left with more snot than any one person should contain and no voice. A balance of less of one and more of the other would be welcome.
So while my sister hopes that I put more things into cardboard cubes, and the government partners with God in trying to teach me patience, and my son sulks because I won't allow him to use his computer unless he sacrifices his ipod (a trade made necessary by routine abuses of my generous computer allowances for homework purposes - but a trade he deems entirely unfair and unwarranted) I think I shall take my sorry, tired, snot-infested, mean-mother self to bed.
And hope it's one of the last times I do so in this particular location.