Real

We have a realtor coming here to our current house in two hours. The bank is insisting we list this house for sale. They don't want us to be land magnets, or something. We don't actually have to sell this house before we buy the next one, we just have to act like we are. Go figure. But whatever they want.

I have to use the next two hours to move around all of the things we've been packing so she can walk around.

Saddly, all of my books were the first things packed. They take up considerable space. We've also started packing the kitchen, all of my seasonal decorations, and my art supplies. God, I have alot of crap. My husband has his jeans and some fishing poles. He just loves the inequity of our possessions. Makes him especially happy when he has to carry all of the bins.

Although all of the stuff in the kitchen is really his. He cooks. Everynight. I used to cook, but he bitched about what I made one too many times, so I just quit and refused to do it ever again. And I'm really not a bad cook, which he has admitted, but now it's too late and I'm used to his doing the daily chore. So, there's no going back for me.

I'm rambling now, because I don't feel like getting up and doing anything, but I must.

After she leaves, I'm taking the rest of the day off. The sun is shining, the sky is blue and it's 65 degrees. I think the puppy and I need a walk in the park.