This is the one without a title

As I write this, the window behind me is being all snarky and mean. It's saying "look! Look at me! I show you a sunny day, blue skies, warm temperatures, and puffy white clouds! I show you something that was made for play, and yet you, you drone, you worker bee, sit on your expando-butt and crank out whatever it is that you crank out, while somewhere your inner child screams for relief from the monotony and just wants to go out and PLAY, but ha-ha on you because guess what, you can't. You drone. You tiny cog, you speck of a placeholder in the maelstrom of real life."

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My window takes epithet lessons from Shakespeare, so it seems.

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Sometimes, I hate the window, and punish it by closing the blinds so that its mocking sneers and gibes will be rebuffed by the slats of the gray metal blinds that cover it. But still, I can hear its small voice, rendered tinny by the aluminum filter, sing out "neener, neener, neener! It's still NIIIIICE out here!" and I have to escape to the break room for something made of sugar and chocolate, because then I will feel better about life.

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It's too bad there's not a bourbon dispenser in the break room, because I'd totally be all over it.

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So, anyhow, I know you want to hear about my new house, and how far along we are in the preparations to move, because you are interested like that and I am one to accommodate the polite inquiries of the internet, even if nobody asks right out loud because sometimes y'all are too shy for your own good:

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It's fine.

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Everything is fine.

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We will get through the packing and the moving and the turning off of utilities and the turning on of utilities and the shuffling of schools and the nagging of county officials and the sifting through stuff we own to decide to dump or keep and the painting of rooms and the placing of furniture and the buying of rugs and the maintaining of the sanity.

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We will, I say to you, because yesterday I bought myself some super-dee-duper vitamins and fish oil stuff at the GNC that are purported to be just the thing for a "fluffy" woman in her 40's who may or may not be treating herself just exactly right, and by the time the real moving starts in a week I'm going to be so hopped up on natural phyto-whatevers that I'll probably go all green when I get angry or maybe shoot lasers out my eyeballs or steam out my ears. I'll be strong as an ox and as graceful as a dancer while lugging boxes and closet stuff and boxes and kitchen stuff and boxes and boxes and boxes. I'll be patient as a lamb and as righteous as Solomon as the movers ask where does this go and as my children fight over whose toys go in what room and as my husband wonders where all the stuff is going to go because the garage seems to be all full up and the truck ain't empty yet.

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I can see it all in the gleaming mirror of positivity that is my optimistic mind, and have great hopes that all this will come to pass due to the wonders of vitaminology and it's effects on my physiology.

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Updates as events warrant, you can be sure.