Our trail of tears begins

We’re off to parts western in connection with the Missus’ job (she’s starting a tenure track position this fall). 

Had been worried we wouldn’t find a subletter for the summer. The good news is that one has popped up. The bad is that because of my uni’s early summer school schedule, we have a week to vacate the premises so that the next crop can settle in. A freakin’ week. We were expecting June.

Speaking of Passover, in hastiness this almost rises to the level the Israelite exodus (and, in messiness,  the Aegean Stables). Hyberbole? Only slightly. If you knew how many books there are to be packed, mounds of papers to be sorted and filed, errands to be run, misc loose ends to be tied, and layers of (increasingly self-aware) grime and sludge to be blasted off surfaces around the house (especially my bathroom, which has the affect of R’Iyeh on errant visitors who make the tragic one-time mistake of intruding into my forbidden lair), you’d agree. 

The worst thing is that this is coming just as the weather’s become gorgeous. This is the best time to be in the South, and we were hoping to be doing long overdue sightseeing now as opposed to frantic packing.

Then there’s the agony of prematurely returning all these scrumptious books that I should’ve read a decade ago  to the library barely opened.  The unkindest cut of all!

A whole lot of packing and scraping to do.  This looks like a job for loud, nostalgic music and a lot of it. Paging U2, Men at Work, NWA (at least til beti gets back from daycare), Duran Duran, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, and the other odd bedfellows on my jogging mix.

When all else fails, there’s always  "Numa", which is so irresistibly infectious it could make Lincoln get up off his throne and do the "Wop".