I haven't left my house in 36 hours. I was snowed-in and couldn't leave; Whether or not I wanted to didn't matter. All day yesterday, and the first half of today, I've watched snow pile up on our deck and cover our cars. I don't really mind being snowed in, though, because I have a ton of things to do here. This week, I'm supposed to move out of this house and into a brand new one. I've been living here, with my parents, for almost two months, and I've spent that entire time living out of boxes. I never unpacked them because I knew I'd just have to re-pack them eventually. So I took out only what I needed and let the rest of my belongings sit packed away and ready to reside in their new home.
But as it turns out "only what I need" happens to amount to quite a bit of stuff. My room is littered with purses and shoes and clothes. Coats, scarves, hats, nail polish, makeup and other little odds and ends are strewn about, creating a mess more horrible than I imagined one could create in the space of two months. If I were to actually sort through it, it's probably not all that bad, but looking at it sends waves of panic through me: I'm supposed to be moved completely into my new house by Friday. I was supposed to start this weekend. But the snow was in excess of a foot, and that excused me from having to do any actual moving. Knowing that I wouldn't be repeatedly loading and emptying my car gave me some relief, as I knew that I would be able to use this time to pack up what is my room, facilitating the move I'll have to make after work each day this week. When the snow began to fall around 11 a.m. yesterday, I said to myself "This is perfect: I'll pack up everything, and when the snow subsides, I'll be ready to move." But do you know what I did while all that snow fell? I ate.
Maybe it's not fair to say that I just ate. I ate ferociously, and I watched a lot of bad TV. I also drank wine. I spent my entire Saturday parked in front of the television, first watching VH1's I Love the 90s, Part Deux. Then I watched some TLC. Then I played some computer games. Then I watched some of the Real World/Road Rules Challenge on MTV. I watched an old episode of Desperate Housewives, and then I watched an old episode of CSI. I stayed up until four in the morning talking to my wonderful mother about everything: Her childhood, my childhood, love, life, death, pain.
Today, I woke up hungover, but not from the wine. From the complete lack of activity that yesterday involved. Too much food, too much TV and far too much doing nothing. But here it is, almost two in the afternoon, and I'm doing the same thing. I know I have boxes to pack and things to do, but I'd rather sit and type about how horrible I feel for not doing anything than actually get up and do something...
Anyway, I know what's going to happen: I'm going to wait until I have the minimum allotment of time to pack up and move. I've always been a procrastinator, and I function most proficiently at the eleventh hour. So, come Thursday night, my SUV will be creating a steady path between this house and my new one, knowing that I have no excuse to let myself wait any longer.