Tuesday night, my dad’s going to bed and says to me: “See you in the morning -- probably” (implying that i might not get up before noon).
“Well i have to be at work at 10.”
“Oh yeah, you’re working 10-6 for Michele because she has to get drunk or something.”
I got an e-mail from Diane (proprietor of the used bookstore i used to work at) Tuesday evening, which was lovely. I’d been meaning to e-mail her for much of the summer.
"Come by the shop sometime. I still have your 'zines as well as a card left for you by Richard, who misses his 'little flower.' "
Oh, Richard. The man who has forever ruined Joni Mitchell’s “The Last Time I Saw Richard” for me. That summer was really wonderful in a lot of ways, but that was definitely not one of them.
Little flower? Makes me want to chop my hair, dye it black, spike it, and clomp around in combat boots and army fatigues. I feel like Buffy cutting her hair in “Gone” (6.11).
OMG, packing. I have so much crap. Crap i don’t want to part with. I will need new boxes when i go to grad school because i think i’m bringing mine to the end of their useful lifespan.
The reality of how much i had to do in so little time began dawning last night.
Today i finally went through the stuff i have had sitting in the basement for years. Only took a couple hours, actually. 13 copy paper boxes and a few other boxes turned into a small stack (less than a foot high) of stuff i actually wanted to keep, 3 bags of paper recycling and a large trash bag of trash, 8 copy paper boxes and one larger boxes of books and toys and stuff to be given away.
Then i ran some errands and finalized track lists for the mix CDs i need to make before i return to Smith. (Doing them here seems so much easier than figuring out the WAG.)
More errands and packing tomorrow.