The move is creeping up. Actually, the move is not so much creeping up as it is barreling directly at Sarah and I like a runaway freight train.
I. Hate. Moving.
I mean, everyone hates moving, but I think I would rather be impaled on a rusty spike than pack up a house. I actually get to the point where I say things like "Hmmm, this bed is pretty heavy.....Do we really need it?"
I'm pretty sure that if left to my own devices I wouldn't ever own anything of value simply because of my aversion to the idea of ever having to move it.
Luckily, I married a woman who fully understands this. Together we came up with the compromise that post-wedding I would keep working at my miserable job and she would pack the house.
