I don’t know how I’m even sleeping

As I lie in bed, procrastinating getting up and out, I think about all the packing I have to do.  All the things I have that I have to get from A (my current apartment) to B (my friends’ house that I’m moving to) by the weekend.  Have I mentioned that moving house is my least favourite thing, even when it’s something I really really want?  I imagine all of the things and wonder about how I’m going to manage to put everything into something and then transport it across the city.  The level of dread makes it seem as if I’m going to have to personally, and by hand, carry everything all those kilometres by myself in a very short space of time.  Then I think about how I have to work every day, and I just want to go back to sleep, please, for 10 more minutes.  Just 10 more minutes?  Or until next week when it’s all over?  Instead, I pick up my phone and start going through my emails, deleting messages that are no longer relevant, going back and back and back through 9 months worth of virtual clutter.  It feels good to have a clean out.


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