Well, That's Ironic

THREE of you actually emailed me to make sure I was okay and well, hadn't dropped off into the deep end. Thank you for your concern. That concern means the world to me. In all honesty, things aren't going all too well in SB as we prepare to leave the house. My family seems irked that we're leaving SB and have withdrawn their fiduciary responsibility to assist progressive generations advance toward excellence.

That means they're not helping us pack.

It's been *TIRING* and we spend all weekend rushing around, boxing things for St. Vincent de Paul, boxing things for Chicago, boxing things for storage, boxing things for the garage sale, boxing things for SkyBlue, etc. I need an air traffic controller over there.

Sigh. Just keep breathing. Last Monday and Tuesday, I was so sore from having packed a whole bunch and hoped to not repeat that same mistake this weekend. Needless to say, I'm already sore, so I surpassed that point already. I might as well go on an Advil drip!

It's been tough. On one hand, all of this, ahem, solo packing is making it much easier to leave SB. There's no fanfare, no celebratory cook-out's, nothing like that. No one stopping by with sub sandwiches or leftover chicken. We're flying under the radar.

I guess I'm okay with that. It just gets lonely.

Only six more days until we're no longer SB residents. Not that I'm counting!