May. 4th, 2009

unamaga: (swimmers need protection)
Dear Livejournal,

Last night I slept on the floor; it was like summer camp, except colder and more painful. I may only be in my twenties, but wood floors are good for no one's joints, let me tell you.

As you can probably guess, I've been packing. Which incidentally is very close spelling-wise to the word "panicking".


About a week ago, I discovered that my dial really did have an 11 on it when my sister found a studio apartment and my mother revealed she was looking to move to an apartment in New Jersey where she would have very little storage - all of which basically means that I either have to take things with me or throw them out all together. D: Anyone want to give some books a good home? I have about three boxes of British Lit textbooks and fiction and random library sale finds, not to mention bizarre old medical and history texts that are in no way relevant but still funny to look at. If anyone's interested, email me your address and I'll send out a book bouquet before I leave! Pleaaase!

Other concerns include:

1) Whether or not the bed will stay on the car roof oh shit
2) Do I have enough music that my father will not throw out the window to last the seven hour drive
3) We will stop for Denny's on the way down and the car with all of my worldly possessions in it will be stolen jfoaijkgmaf
5) [personal profile] ladycat will spontaneously decide she hates me, although spontaneously may not be the right word because I've warned her that I really do suck BUT WHAT IF

In general, the panic has set in. My hair is standing up straight in sections, my eyes are crazy like Michele Bachmann's, and I can't feel my toe because I just stubbed it on the coffee table. AHHHHHHHHHHH.

Frantically yours,

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