Upheavals. A Way of Life. (:-( )

I’m in a mishmash mood.

Be Wrong. And Get Paid!

High noon. 61 degrees. (16 C.) Thunderstorms.

Further evidence that weathermen can’t be trusted. The 10+ drop in degrees in a day wasn’t forecast. Thunderstorms, can’t confirm one way or the other.

How nice to have a job where you can be wrong 95% of the time and STILL keep your job and STILL get paid — well!

Actually, such a job would be no boon to me! Would offend my impeccable work ethics and integrity and high standards at workplaces. But plenty of people would LOVE a job like that. Weather forecasting as a career. Look into it if being accurate and/or good at your job means diddly to you!

Wait! What’s that Sound?!

Quite a shock greeted me when I arose this morning. The sound of silence.

The swamp cooler next door was actually off! O-F-F! Quite the anomaly, that, and worthy of a blog mention.

As I’ve written, it’s been running 24/7 or pretty damn close for 3 months regardless of temperatures or weather conditions because the neighbor is forgetful, negligent, careless, unneighborly. Wouldn’t surprise if it takes a blizzard to jolt him into finally switching that fucking noisy monstrosity off!

It’s 61 degrees. Just because there’s ZERO need for the cooler to be on doesn’t mean it’d be off. If anyone’s gonna have it on in, it’s this neighbor. That he has it off is headline news! Well, subhead news more accurately.

Tick Tick Tick

Counting down to the move. Must vacate exactly a week from tomorrow. But due to my schedule , most of the move is 48 hours away. U-Haul truck rental, furniture, guys with muscles this Thursday.

I’ve sought to arrange according to the weather forecasts — specifically the monsoons. Moving in a downpour … not so fun and potentially dangerous if the ramp becomes a slip-n-slide.

What a fruitless endeavor that’s been! Damn forecasts keep changing — seemingly on an hourly basis — and then they prove to be wrong anyhow! Why even bother with weather.com?!? haha

Chaos. But Controlled.

Anywho. My home’s a picture of Controlled Chaos. I’ve moved so often — this is like Move #55 — I could practically do it in my sleep. Actually I couldn’t and wouldn’t. Point is, I’m that skilled, practiced, experienced. I’m more than the Moving Queen. I’m the Moving Master.

This move’s a bit different and thus challenging compared to others. Because not everything’s getting moved in one day. Some 99% of what I have is going into storage. The remainder’s going into my room (a roommate situation). Maybe. Won’t know until I see what fits and doesn’t fit in the room. So there’s this up-in-the-air quality in this particular move.

Further complicating is that I’ll remain in my old place  — including sleeping here — for another 6 days after the bulk of my stuff goes into storage.

In short, it’s move with 4 prongs. Which is harder than a full-sweep move. I should know. I’ve done this endlessly! Well, for 59 years (save 10 years of childhood in one house).

I could SO write a book on The Art of Moving. Packing. Donating. My anti-clutter nazi is alive and kicking. I could make a fortune on How to Live Like a Nomad. Subtitled: A Fucked-Up Nomad. (haha) A Nomad Nonetheless.

I don’t see it becoming a movie.

Roots

What are those? Wish I had me some. These constant upheavals are really taxing to this gal approaching 60. What would I give to have a home? A foundation? Stability? Security? A Sense of Place.

What would I give for all that goodness? What would I give UP for all that goodness? The stuff of contemplation.

Stuff to do. Toodles for now.

 

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