Another week started. I squint at the page-a-day calendar on my desk as if its a clock, with hands I can will to move faster. Had a minor meltdown at lunchtime as I realized my dispatcher hasn't actually 'assigned' my move to a driver yet, when I asked him about it he said, 'Oh, I never schedule local stuff this far in advance. Don't worry about it'.
I fought a very irrational but very strong desire to dump him out of his chair and start kicking him. Its NINE DAYS OFF, Al. NINE DAYS. In NINE DAYS I'd better have a truck in this driveway and a crew loading all this crap in it or I will go completely, completely insane.
Thursday is the PA Real Estate boards and I am probably going to employ my 'jam and skate' method, which worked so well in college-- jam the material, skate through the test. I need to get the hell out of here. My apartment echoes, its a tower of boxes, and I'm losing my mind. The same people ask me every other day, "So, when's the big day?" Not soon enough, believe me. Now I know why my customers are so schizo when they call me. When you begin to dismantle what was home, but you are not yet in what is home, you are nowhere. Every minute of the work day irritates me right now.
So I had better go and do something productive right now; pack a few more boxes and clean out the refrigerator and try hard not to be pissed off at nothing and everything.