moving

My apartment is in chaos. Most of my things are in boxes, which are piled haphazardly in every spare nook and cranny of the living room. The rest of my things are piled on various flat surfaces in very broad categories, waiting for more empty boxes to arrive. These categories make sense to me, but I wouldn't be able to explain them to anyone else (why does the wooden wind chime belong in the same category as the glass measuring cup? Shhh, just trust me).

My roommate's patience with the chaos is wearing thin, but she can stuff it. [Have I told you that she throws a fit if you leave anything - anything - on the coffee table? She's a nut.]

On Friday, the new furniture from Ikea will be delivered to Frank's apartment. In flat boxes. Needing to be assembled. I kind of hate assembling furniture.

Saturday morning, I'm picking up a rental truck, but the truck rental place is nowhere near a subway stop, so in order to get there, I'll have to call a car service. (As someone who used to have a car, it drives me nuts to have to call a car so that I can rent a truck.)

Sometime after that, the moving dudes should arrive to take care of the heavy lifting.

On Thursday, or maybe on Sunday, some lady from Craigslist is coming by my place to inspect and hopefully purchase my enormous stereo that I never use.

Somewhere in this whole process - not sure when - we're going to move my kitties and begin introducing them to Frank's kitty. Hopefully they'll like each other, or at least not try to kill each other and destroy the apartment in the process.