So I just threw out five bags of shoes …

I’ve moved at least a dozen times in my life. At least.

I can’t remember how I used to stay up all night packing, go to work, come home and pack, and somehow have my shit together by the almighty deadline.

I never took off any days. And half my crap was unboxed when the movers got there. But somehow I taped up the last box before they started the drive to our new destination.

Now I have about four times as much shit, between mom’s and mine. And lord knows I throw away a quarter lifetime’s worth of crap with each move.

I need my sleep. And I’m old and things hurt a lot sooner. And back then I couldn’t financially afford to take a day off. Now I can’t afford to take a day off because things will be published in pseudo-Swahili without the Rosetta Stone job I try to do on incoming copy.

I’m very nervous because not only did the construction workers double-bolt my doors shut today, but they started lugging plywood onto the balcony. I asked Evil Landlady 6 if they are going to start boarding us up a week early. She said I will get a memo when it is time for me to know.

That is something I won’t miss. A snotty memo on a Friday night — shoved in your door probably long after you’ve left for a long weekend — to tell you shit is gonna happen bright and early Monday.

In fact, I still have furniture on the balcony that I didn’t get a chance to remove. Oh well. Doors are bolted. They can drop it into the Intracoastal or shove it wherever it pleases them.

Pray for me, if you’re so inclined, that if it comes down to losing my view for these final days or else losing my mind, that the view stays intact longer …

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