a day in the life of slacking packing

I get stressed out fairly easily. When I say fairly I am using it in the most-definitely-all-the-time kind of way. It's really rather ridiculous how I can take the smallest situation and stress and overthink and ponder and wonder and worry over it until the cows coming home and get back out and come freaking home again. 

Freddie rarely gets stressed out. When I say rarely I am using it in the maybe-once-a-year kind of way. The dude is the most laid back, go with the flow, don't worry/be happy kind of dude. 

We've got a good thing going on over here.

E: OMG we are going to be late! Why did we plan better? You should call. Call. Are you calling? Ugh. Why are we late? What did we do wrong in life for this horrible late thing to happen to us.

F: ::sits there in silence::

See? A really, really good thing going on over here.

Anyways, so what was I going to talk about? Yes, packing.

Dun dun dun. The dreaded p word (t rhymes with p and that stands for pool/packing) (bloggy bonus points to whomever can name that musical). 

We are moving across the way this weekend into a newer, nicer, hardwood floored condo. Which means there is going to be a lot of rug talk going on here soon...but anyways, back to moving and packing.  We have been slowly going through stuff, throwing away stuff, and giving away more stuff. I thought we had been keeping up a pretty good packing pace. A little boxing up here, a little throwing out stuff there, and voila! The last week to pack is upon us. No big deal, right?

WRONG. SO WRONG.

Three nights ago was a Monday night which means it was an ew, gross night. Mondays are long and this one was made longer by the kind of Monday-ness that was going on this past Monday. Catch my drift? We ate some din din, hardcore finished the kitchen and the pantry, and had plans to finish the china cabinet. I was rocking out to my music, stopping for the ever-so frequent dance party when Ricky started to get stressed. I could tell he was stressed because he was laughing at me in the haha oh you're dancing? WHY ARE YOU DANCING WHEN WE SHOULD BE PACKING? kind of way. I ignored the jaded laugh because I mean, it was Monday and I wanted to dance. I also wanted to eat Freddie's leftover birthday eclair because yummy so I had plans to sit on my booty and eat that eclair as soon as we were done for the night.

My view from the couch. Err, I mean from packing stuff around the couch. 

Except we were never done for the night. Never! The work is never done! <<what Rick sounded like that night. Freddie started listing off everything we still had to pack and wanted to take me on a walking tour of the apartment so we could see his list in person, but the thing is....we didn't need to take a walking tour because I knew everything that is left and we are fine.

We are fine. 
We can sit down and eat some eclair for a break. We don't have to work until midnight. We don't have to box up all our underwear because I would like to have some to wear until the weekend. Because we will be just fine come this weekend.

And I promise not to freak out to him if we aren't fine. Because stopping to eat some eclair will have been worth it. 

And that, my friends, is the story of how Freddie and I upped and switched personalities after one year and one month of marriage.