Move. Moving. Moved. Living. Organizing.

We're in. Well not all the way. But for the most part, we're at our new place. Most boxes unpacked, no internet quite yet, which sucks, but we have electric for food and tv for getting phat. It's snowing outside our big windows. I've had two days off for getting aquainted with the place. Moving can throw you into a coma frenzy. Does that make sense? Like you become immersed in all your shit again. Shit that you never looked at for like 3 years that you have to look at again because you keep it because you feel like it would be wrong to throw it out. For example, I have 2 HUGE bins of high school notes, pictures, albums, things collected, prom garters, class rings, old cards, EVERYTHING imaginable that I NEVER look at except for perhaps when we a) move or b) get married, which only happened once for each of us. Now add all the shit that we've accumulated together-photos, bills, cards, magnets, papers, scripts, film tapes, CD's. GOD SO MUCH SHIT! I mean, it's not shit. But man, I gotta find a way to organize this shit.Some of it's in a box, some of it's in my jewlery case, and some of it lingers between pages in books or amidst wires and trinkets. And by the end of the two day hiatus from the outside world I look up from the box I'm going through, in my closet amongst my cat, and my smelly armpits because I haven't showered in two days and I realize that I've been on a vacation to 1992 for about 48 hours and I want out. I want out now. So I took a shower, put on some different clothes, hopped on a bus and train and took my ass to the Container Store. Oh, man, that felt cleansing and expensive. 24.99 for a mothereffing box? Are you kidding me? Maybe not, maybe its worth it. If I can store all my memories in something safe, then praise Jesus.