Progress is being made toward our move. I can prove it.
The thing is, despite the huge number of boxes and furniture lining the walls, waiting for someone to pick it up and say, "I will love it and squeeze it and name it George," I still feel like we're behind.
Truth is, we're probably not. Last night, Spousal Unit and I counted out Q-tips and underwear, t-shirts and hair ties. Various bathroom monkeys jumped into boxes, and some beloved Packers gear followed - a treat to be discovered once victory is complete.
But there's still the kitchen. And the closet.
Hopefully, they won't be so bad. We've already packed certain extraneous items, and the diabolical closet plan is to just throw everything in a giant box and hope they don't all need ironing in the end.
My biggest nightmare right now would be to start packing kitchen gear and discover a 20-piece set of wine glasses that haven't been packed yet, and still need to be lovingly wrapped and carefully stowed. Luckily, our kitchen is so tiny that unless an alternate reality opens under the sink, that's not likely to happen.
My second-biggest nightmare is that it will be 31 degrees the day of the move, and all 13 of our plants will die.
(Oh crap. I didn't realize I had that many. ... I'd better go buy another.)
So far, I am still sleeping well. We'll see how long that lasts.