“It's time to think outside the box#.”
- Mike Vance
Pardon me today, friends. I'm just not feeling myself lately.
It's as though I have been through the ringer and put away wet.
No, scratch that statement above, if I did feel that way at least I'd be on a shelf where I belonged. As it is I am still trying to get this moving nightmare completed.
At the onset it seemed so simple; put all my stuff into boxes. Take those boxes to the new place.
Unpack and put everything into its place. Pretty easy, right? Wrong.
The real problem is that I'm a procrastinator. I was the guy in school who would have a great weekend and at Sunday night, around 9 or so, I figured I was then ready to start a term paper that would be due the next day. Fast forward to today and realize that I have had a month to relocate everything so you can just imagine how much didn't get done before the deadline.
While I'm taking credit for finding a new place I also have to take the blame for the mess that is my “home” now.
I say “home” not because I don't like the place. I think it's going to be a great apartment but at this moment in time it looks more like a shanty town for homeless Munchkins.
I guess in the Wizard Of Oz they only wanted to show the good side of town, well the bad side is now in my living room. In hindsight I probably should have labeled the boxes while I was packing them.
Instead I just threw stuff into the cardboard and loaded it on the truck, then entrusted my friends to take things into the new house while I stayed back at the old one to clean.
This would explain why my pots and pans are in the bedroom and my socks are in the kitchen.
If you were to come over right now, you'd think it was time for me to seek professional help.
No, not an interior decorator, but a psychiatrist, because anyone with books in the bathtub and dining room chairs in the closet needs to be under some kind of supervision.
Evidently, I have become that person. To be fair, I have been working a lot lately and haven't had that much time to sort through things.
To give some indication to my peril I am currently writing this column not at my desk, which would be the norm, but I am actually typing with the monitor balanced precariously over the kitchen stove.
To complicate an already heated situation, the keyboard is resting on a bookcase that just so happens to be placed in front of the refrigerator. On the bright side, my microwave, for reasons I can't explain, is sitting on my night stand.
So when I sit in bed tonight to watch television I won't have that far to go to get my popcorn. Which so far, has been pretty convenient, so maybe my friends knew me better then I know myself.
Auburn native Bradley Molloy's column appears here,
each Sunday, in The Citizen.
He can be reached at lovonian@hotmail.com
Pardon me today, friends. I'm just not feeling myself lately.
It's as though I have been through the ringer and put away wet.
No, scratch that statement above, if I did feel that way at least I'd be on a shelf where I belonged. As it is I am still trying to get this moving nightmare completed.
At the onset it seemed so simple; put all my stuff into boxes. Take those boxes to the new place.
Unpack and put everything into its place. Pretty easy, right? Wrong.
The real problem is that I'm a procrastinator. I was the guy in school who would have a great weekend and at Sunday night, around 9 or so, I figured I was then ready to start a term paper that would be due the next day. Fast forward to today and realize that I have had a month to relocate everything so you can just imagine how much didn't get done before the deadline.
While I'm taking credit for finding a new place I also have to take the blame for the mess that is my “home” now.
I say “home” not because I don't like the place. I think it's going to be a great apartment but at this moment in time it looks more like a shanty town for homeless Munchkins.
I guess in the Wizard Of Oz they only wanted to show the good side of town, well the bad side is now in my living room. In hindsight I probably should have labeled the boxes while I was packing them.
Instead I just threw stuff into the cardboard and loaded it on the truck, then entrusted my friends to take things into the new house while I stayed back at the old one to clean.
This would explain why my pots and pans are in the bedroom and my socks are in the kitchen.
If you were to come over right now, you'd think it was time for me to seek professional help.
No, not an interior decorator, but a psychiatrist, because anyone with books in the bathtub and dining room chairs in the closet needs to be under some kind of supervision.
Evidently, I have become that person. To be fair, I have been working a lot lately and haven't had that much time to sort through things.
To give some indication to my peril I am currently writing this column not at my desk, which would be the norm, but I am actually typing with the monitor balanced precariously over the kitchen stove.
To complicate an already heated situation, the keyboard is resting on a bookcase that just so happens to be placed in front of the refrigerator. On the bright side, my microwave, for reasons I can't explain, is sitting on my night stand.
So when I sit in bed tonight to watch television I won't have that far to go to get my popcorn. Which so far, has been pretty convenient, so maybe my friends knew me better then I know myself.
Auburn native Bradley Molloy's column appears here,
each Sunday, in The Citizen.
He can be reached at lovonian@hotmail.com
