I hate moving. Even when I'm not the one packing up. I'm not going to say anything else for fear of stress-induced ranting, but boy will I be glad when all of this is over and done.
My parents were here helping me on Wednesday and I think the state of my apartment gave my mother a heart attack. To be fair, we spent four hours just cleaning the kitchen, so she had a point.
I'm realizing now that the clock is ticking and my roommates will be moving out very soon, so I have been scrubbing and check-listing and micro-managing ever since...
John's birthday is this weekend and he is the best boyfriend in the history of boyfriends because he is spending his birthday in Queens with me, doing guess what...cleaning. I love you, honey.