Well, here I am, less than 48 hours from the movers arriving to pick up our stuff for Houston. I'm trying hard to not freak out. Note the word, "trying."Honestly, I'm doing pretty well, I think. Brian did look at me an hour or so ago and remark that I looked like I was having a nervous breakdown. I think that's a bit of an exaggeration.
Still, I look around and I see "a box here and a box there" that needs to be packed. I was on fire today with the boxing, and I intend to power through a lot of it tomorrow. My goal is to have everything that needs to be in the cars ready to go in the cars by the time we see Katy tomorrow night. That way, selfishly, I'll have another set of hands to help carry everything downstairs.
Also, I am irritated with a capitol "IRR" about David Arquette being expelled from the ballroom tonight on Dancing with the Stars. He was having so much fun. He was doing better at his dancing. He was frickin' entertaining. His ex-wife and daughter were fantastic in the audience. And in looking at other stars, it's inconceivable to me that Arquette is the one sent packing. In fact, I'm so over Maks, his ego, and his behavior, that I had really hoped that he and Hope Solo would have been sent home tonight.
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