Six More Days

I'm moving Monday.

Seven days from now, I will be leaving work and heading home to an apartment with a trillion boxes, furniture in places it shouldn't be, two bewildered kitters, and...

...absolutely nothing else.

The court date went fine; they granted us an extension til November 5th, which was just fine with me. Frankly, even if Tim and Squeaky don't get their apartment, I'm not going to worry about it. I've had it; my "nice" button is now broken from overuse.

I am really, really very excited about this move. (Welll...Okay, I'm not excited about the move itself. I loathe and despise moving. But eventually it's over, and when that moment comes THIS time, it's going to come with SO many perks. I fully intend to spend my first night at my new place with a delivery pizza, my cats, and whatever crap is on television. I won't even care what it is, because for the first time in forever, I'll be able to watch it without Squeaky coming out of the other room to ask me "a favor", or Tim talking through whatever I was watching, or anything but the sound of Bad and Snick charging through the boxes.)

I know I'm not doing a very good job of being patient--I'm sure I'm just as annoying to them, in my own ways, as they are to me. The difference is: I'm being annoyed WHILE I'm supporting them; they're being annoyed while being supported. That shouldn't matter, but it does; I can't wait to see how my financial status changes, as well, when I'm not stopping at the store every day for their little whims (and occasionally for a couple of mine, as well).

It's just time, is all, for this whole scenario to come to an end.