Moving Woes

Fifty bucks for a couple of boxes? Are you serious, U-Haul? How about I give you my right kidney as collateral so that I can get a mattress bag, too? What's that you say? That roll of moving tape will require my first born as a deposit? Thank God selling my eggs is still an option. [insert derisive snort here]

I'm experiencing a very serious time crunch. Moving day (this Friday) is looming on the horizon, and I still have so much left to do. My belongings lie in piles on my floor, waiting to be packed away in one of the aforementioned, horrendously expensive boxes. I'm completely incapable of deciding myself which boxes will go to storage here in T-town and which will be shipped back home with my father Friday afternoon. It's almost as though I don't want to decide. While I was ready to label apathy the culprit, I soon realized that nostalgia is the reason behind my dragging heels. This is my first apartment, my first place...and I'm leaving. Surely for something better, but this little shoe-box apartment has so many memories tied to it. Memories of impromptu dinner parties, movie nights, and sororal sleepovers during the summers.

Sadly, I won't even have time to mourn my first residential loss, as this Sunday I'll be shipping out to Québec for a mycology conference. [A note to my readers (all four of you): blogging will be thin over the next week or so, but I leave you with promises of a Québecois photoessay.] In addition to packing, I'm also compiling and analyzing data for my presentation, which needs to be completed by Wednesday at the latest. Anyone in the audience care to help me with my statistics? Yeah, didn't think so.

For all my complaining, I do have a few good weeks ahead of me. Dinner and final drinks with friends, some last-chance appointments with favorite professors, canoeing down the Bogue Chitto with my sister and some high-school friends. Oh yes, August will be a glorious month. Just gotta slog through the rest of July.