I had every intention of having a productive weekend, I swear I did. I took things very easy on Friday, staying home and having dinner with my roommates and hitting the hay early. Saturday shaped up to be fairly productive: made a trip to Costco, sold some used CDS, and started packing for the big move. Hooray!
The unfortunate thing about packing this far in advance (move isn’t for another 5 weeks), is that in an effort not to pack things you’ll actually need prior to the move, you end up packing odds and ends that are tucked away in strange places. This leaves two results 1) You leave a mess behind, as accessing these tucked away assets requires shuffling around more consistently used stuff and 2) You generally can’t see any signs that you’ve actually started packing. So by Saturday night, Tigger and I had packed up some china, glassware and rarely used Kitchen accoutrements (Fondue pot, Pasta maker, etc) and left behind one hell of a mess. Despite knowing what was now safely packed and stored in our locker room, the apartment actually appeared to have more stuff. Crap.
Tigger and I headed out Saturday night to celebrate a friend’s birthday in damn-near-Manitoba – or as the locals call it, Milton. All things appeared to be low key and not the toxic, Sunday destroying fun I was trying to avoid. Unfortunately, as we headed back into the city (a.k.a. Civilization), I made plans to have a few quick drinks with my friend Depot, so Tigger dropped me off at her apartment.
Depot and I can never have an early night, which we have proven time and time again. Saturday night was no exception. So despite my noble plans to have a tame weekend and be all Susie Homemaker during the day, I still ended up rolling home as the sun was rising with a distinctive swaying in my movements and an inability to navigate myself into bed without destroying any order that had previously existed in my space. Double crap.
As can be expected, due to my Saturday night festivities, I spent the majority of my Sunday puddle into the couch. I ordered my typical hangover food – Swiss Chalet – caught up on my beloved shows stored on the PVR and spent an unhealthy amount of time in that space somewhere between consciousness and the mercy of sleep. Thankfully, my misery had company. Prince William had been all but ignored on Saturday due to my fussing around the house, so he was happy as a clam to spend all day glued to my chest and purring away. I guess it wasn’t a total loss.