If anything the apartment is actually in worse shape than when I started four hours ago...
In just over 60 hours from now I will be greeted by friends from all around who will be arriving to help me pack up pickups, cars and U-haul trucks with all the stuff that's in my apartment, so that I can haul it over to Neowolf's house for storage. Just over 60 hours from now, and the place is still nowhere near ready for me to just pick up and move. I look around at all the things I still need to pack, all the boxes I've packed but need to inventory or label, all the art still on the walls that I need to take down and prepare for storage... and I just want to scream.
I still need to mail my friends to let them know the official go-time, and give some of them directions to my place. To paraphrase Kosh: Fuck.
To add insult to injury as soon as I'm done moving (or whatever term will best describe my flailing) I will spend 3.5 days at work, and then I throw myself into Midwest FurFest.
I think I know what it feels like to be chebutykin.
I must be crazy.
I feel a panic attack coming on, and I simply do not have time for it. Sorry, old friend, but you're just going to have to wait your turn in line, I've got other things to attend to right now that are demanding my attention.
I see a red door and I want it painted black