So at some point, all those nicely planned (note the word planned, not executed) boxes you organised on the other side of the pond, are returned to you.

Oh what a day that is.

The unloading of our home was monumental: Three men crew (too few), three floors up (three too many it seems), and one hundred and eighty “boxes” later (don’t ask) I am stood in the middle of our new apartment, on one leg, holding one box cutter, wondering if slitting my wrists or unpacking is going to be the most sane thing to do.

Added bonus: Having to unpack as many boxes as possible for the refuse pick up the movers do so as to have them come by only once.

Try doing that in a small apartment.

I did.

Today after the debris pick up I finally regained the dining area of our kitchen.. And the corridor.. and part of the bedroom.

I felt like the Alien re-birthing from the belly of that crew member that died first and no one remembers hence forward due to the coming crazy events.

For this move we have also decided (I say we because it was indeed a joint decision between The Husband and I) to Purge. Which is a good thing. To a point.

Now along with all the stuff that need to find a place for, I have also to find a way to get four IKEA blue bags worth of clothes, three pieces of furniture, one box of kitchenware and a suitcase (not final as the purge is ongoing and will extend to books and linens) to charities around San Francisco without a car.

And while I tiptoe through piles of clothes, cables, Oliver, crap, chairs, mattresses, guitars and electronics I can’t pick myself up to do what is Important.

Here I am, having a friend fly over from Vancouver (HOLLAAAR!) on Boxing Day and instead of making sense of it all I am doing everything else:

Ordering New Cooky tags for Oliver from Fetching Tags and spending time browsing the dog gallery… Trying to put up hooks on a wall that just isn’t built to hold anything (old Marina houses in San Fran are not built for fancy things like hooks!).. Watching Lipstick Jungle and wondering why the hell did Nico choose a baby over that hot stud-muffin she bagged (some women NEED to get their priorities straight the kid will just crap everywhere and yell at you what a horrible parent you are.. stud-muffin on other hand will not).. and in general, just doing some good ol’ procrastinating.

I promise myself that tomorrow I will DO SHIT and GET MOVING and then I feel good about it and go grab some coffee flavoured frozen yogurt and watch some more crap TV.

Song of the hour:

Row, Row, Row your Boat… Gently Down The Stream..