The Joy of Moving

I preface this by admitting that the ADD genes didn't miss a generation here. On either side. So imagine two ADD adults trying to get a house ready for a move. Even worse, one of said adults is a packrat. And we're going to have a garage sale, too. I have never had a garage sale (though one was had on my behalf for my Russia Trip -- in that sale, the sister bought many of my best CDs (yes, I sold all of my CDs for $ for my Russia trip -- what does that say about the importance of said trip?) including a great one of the Chipmunks with (then) current country music stars (even including Billy Ray Cyrus), Dread Zeppelin's horrible second CD, and a truly good Blues Traveler output (which was the first CD I ever owned, and it was sent to me by the telephone company when I was a college freshman).

Oh, yeah. I was talking about moving. So anyway, I'm sitting here updating the blog about moving (and going on various tangents), and Tara is copying names and addresses from the church directory into our address book (so we don't have to keep that directory with the horrible picture of us where we look pale and sickly). That's been the way we've done it.

Did I mention that we're having a garage sale? That can be a good or a bad thing. One thing it has made me realize is that I've held onto things far too long for them to have any value, even to me. Who would really want LPs of Phil Collins, Sheena Easton, and Expose? OK, so I didn't actually buy them; they were the spoils from being entrusted with the task of cleaning out the fraternity attic: anything worth taking (or not worth it, in most cases) was fair game. That's how Garrick got the skis upon which he jumped a mogul backwards (that's kind of like jumping the shark, in case you wondered).

Anyway, I should finish this up so I can do something productive.