No, I don't mean Christmas. I feel surprisingly organised for that (a miracle in and of itself).
It's time for packing.
All the books, contained in labelled boxes. Gargh.
Also, this year it was a lot easier to get a hold of boxes.
SCENE: My workplace.
ME: Mandy, do you mind if I take these boxes home? Mum wants me to start packing.
MANDY: [practically weeping in gratitude] YES. Take them with you. Take them all! Please. Just get rid of them. I don't want them.
The advantage of my workplace is that we also sell DVDs. This year, I have three Roadshow boxes with my DVDs perfectly snug inside. This may not seem like much, but I had to run and show Mum when I started packing. "Look, Mum! They fit perfectly!"
"How do you not care about this?!"
So on Saturday - or Sunday, depends on what the parentals feel like doing - my books and DVDs will be making the 2hr journey to my new home. I actually haven't seen my new home, except for in pictures. I have the smallest, security-screened windowed, room. NO MURDERERS WILL BE GETTING ME. My parents are buying me a TV (I asked if I could swap this for a corset, seeing as I have a perfectly functional TV, but they said no), and while I'm down here, I'm also not paying rent. Due to some other shenanigans, Nick is habitating my room until I'm up there. And he's paying my rent instead.
Quietly, I was freaking out over that. I didn't want to be spending $270 a week. God is pretty amazing, in how He works stuff out.
And now I'm getting distracted.
Post end, I think. Au revoir, little biscuits!