My Life in Boxes

Unpacking continues. I’ve managed to get all my science fiction books over to the new apartment now (I’ve guesstimated that there are about 1200 books in the collection, but I’ll really have to sit down and inventory them one of these days). All my veterinary and science texts remain at the old apartment, though. They’re bigger, heavier, less uniform in size, and a bitch to pack and carry. The temptation to heave them over the third floor balcony, collect the survivors, and toss them into the back of my car is nearly overwhelming. I honestly think the only thing stopping me is the fact that the person in the first floor apartment below my third floor one has gone to great troubles to create a very nice flower garden; I rather fear that my edition of Ettinger’s Small Animal Medicine would pulverize her petunias.

The Socialist got a good peak into our new ex-neighbors’ apartment while taking some of his remaining stuff down to the car last night. Apparently the Addams Family (with its seven kids) has absolutely no furniture at all, just a big screen television in the living room. Be afraid. Be very afraid. Then again, that serves to explain why their little monsters feel the need to use the hallways as their play space. I honestly considered paying one of their boys a couple of bucks if he’d stand by the door to our building and open it for me each time I brought a box down, figuring that at least I wouldn’t be tripping over him on the stairs that way. I reconsidered quickly though when realization dawned upon me that this would inevitably require me to give a couple of bucks to each kid in this unBrady Bunch. I wasn’t feeling that rich last night.

Back at the new apartment, I continue to live out of boxes. I empty the ones I bring home each night so that I’ll have boxes to reuse the next day. By the time I grab something to eat and empty the boxes, it’s time to go to bed so I can do it all yet again tomorrow. The arranging and settling part of the move has had to wait. I dread the arranging part, but looking forward to the settling-in part should get me through most of this.

I desparately need a cat sitter for our three little hellions for the third week in August. I’ll try some of the local vet offices to see if any techs are willing to do it, and I’ll check out the ad board at the local PetCo as well.

I sent an email out notifying a handful of the closest and dearest of my address change and new phone number. I stuck my ex on there, almost as an afterthought. I haven’t heard from him in months, but I figured there was always a possibility he’d need to locate me for something, so it seemed reasonable to give him the new address while I was thinking of it. Rather to my amazement, he wrote back overnight. Granted, it wasn’t a particularly long or in depth email. It actually went more along the lines of “oh, so you moved…how are the cats taking it…is it a bigger place…I’m going camping in some mountainous area or another next month…I’m going to bed now because I have a sore throat.” The irony of the situation is not missed; this is more than he ever had to say to me while we were married.

I finally closed out those stagnant accounts at the First Bank of the Evil Empire and now have a check for nearly $13,000 that I need to send to my broker. I’m praying I’m managing to catch the market at the deepest part of its doldrums. Mr. Brokerperson assures me that it is a good time for investing if you are careful about your picks. He’s not led me wrong before, so I’ll stick to his advice this time as well. I do miss the late seventies when you could waltz into a bank and get a certificate of deposit for an obscenely good interest rate. It seems that now the only guaranteed interest rates you can get are guaranteed to be less than the rate of inflation.

Finally catching up on some of the national/international news. I’m not sure I follow what Zacarias Moussaoui, the man accused of assisting the terrorists in the September 11th attack, is attempting to achieve by representing himself. He has apparently already admitted that he assisted the terrorists by boarding them and teaching them and was quite willing to plead guilty to this. His protests that the United State’s courts do not follow Islaamic law because they don’t allow him to plead guilty to some of the charges and not others confuses me though. Surely he realized that we are not an Islaamic nation. And his further statement: “Dictated by my obligation to my creator, Allah, and to save and defend my life, I withdraw my guilty plea, I cannot plead guilty for something that I don’t know.” If Islaam dictates that he save and defend his life, why did it not dictate the same thing to the terrorists who died in the suicide attacks? After all these months I still fail to be able to wrap my mind around these events.

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  1. hi there…

    this is my first time at ur diary and while i have nothing specific to say about today’s entry, i do want to mention that i really enjoy ur writing style

  2. Moussaoui seems to be proving he is insane. Could have been his plot all along.

    You might have each one of those 7 kids carry one book out at a time.

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